Short Stories

eleven | wrong number

"You good?" he asked quietly, his lips so close to my ear I shivered, and not because of the cold.

"Y-yeah."

He didn't let go of his arms and after a few seconds I found the warmth in his arms quite comforting. I only let myself lean back a little into him.

"So where are we going?" I asked after a couple minutes.

"This really, really, really, really good Italian restaurant that we always go to, and you have to make sure to get the spaghetti and meatballs because it's legit the best thing you'll ever taste."

"Nah, bananas prevail."

I looked up at him and saw his fake look of offense that always looked so cute on him.

"Okay, if anything it's muffins but not bananas."

Playing along, I fake gasped like he'd just Sharpied on my Nikes. "Obviously it's bananas, like have you tasted those things?"

"You can have your own, cough, wrong, cough, opinion as long as you know that my is the right one."

I rolled my eyes and elbowed him, saying with a grin, "You're so annoying."

"It's part of the persona darling."

"But I've seen you be sweet, why can't you just be sweet all the time?" I pouted.

He pouted back. "You're supposed to like me for the way I am."

I held back a laugh and gave his nose a little boop, not paying attention to the staring eyes around us. "Just kidding. It's kind of fun when you mess with me."

He smirked. "Thought so."

...

The train came to a stop, the cart feeling a bit warmer than it had when we got on. We exited the station into a bustling, snow covered, golden glow covered street with buildings tall and short all with the same style neon signs advertising anything from candles to vintage records to 1000 different colors of spray paint. Shawn let out a sigh of relief when we stepped onto the street, like he'd finally returned home.

"See that tall apartment building over there? That's where we live."

"And the dog likes it there?"

"It's surprisingly roomy. C'mon."

He guided me around the initial row of shops and into a second row I never would've guessed was there, his long legs moving too fast for me to follow. He led us past the thrift shop, the DQ, the stuffed toy shop, the bakery, and into a restaurant that looked straight out 1970's Italy.

Black and white photos hung on the wall and red checkered tablecloths were on every table. The first photo I saw was of two men who looked like brothers, both with dark, thick mustaches and big smiles.

"Those two still come here sometimes," Shawn said, noticing my staring. "That guy's son runs the place now but they visit pretty often." A bright smile covered his face. "Mum! Dad!"

He waved at two people at the nearest table. It made me smile how excited he was to see his parents again.

He smiled at me and pulled me over to the table, making sure to pull out the chair for me before he sat down.

"Hi Shawn," his dad said.

"Hi Dad." He grabbed a breadstick from the basket and bit off the end. "Where's Aaliyah?"

His mum replied, "She has a school sleepover thing."

He set down the breadstick and his expression got just slightly murderous. "Like with the whole grade? With the boys?"