Hawthorne by Imogen Isles

First Sight

Chapter Two

The first time I met Nate Hawthorne, I was standing on the east side of a gas station where my cousin worked the night shift. The wall I was leaning against was disgusting, coated in unwashed slime and graffiti and wads of chewed gum.

Rain punched against the metal awning as I hovered underneath it, the wind fighting against the flame of my lighter as I struggled to light my only cigarette. I was on the brink of giving up in defeat when a long-fingered hand cupped around mine, allowing the fire to consume the end of the stick. I inhaled.

"Sigmund Freud was an avid smoker," a deep, husky voice said as they dropped their hand and shifted under the awning.

When I looked up from my navy painted nails, I half expected to meet with a sallow, bearded face with gray hair and craters on his cheeks. But instead, I found a pressed-lip grin on a square jaw with high cheekbones.

I scoffed. "Sigmund Freud was kind of an asshole."

"He also had cancer."

I rolled my eyes, pulling at the edges of my black hoodie and taking a long drag off the cig. "Not really in the mood for a lecture, dude."

"I apologize. It's habit."

I knew he was watching, so I tilted my neck back and blew out four rings of smoke into the air. We both watched them struggle to survive until the rain sliced them into nothing.

"Can I help you with something?" Though I couldn't focus on his eyes through the raindrops, I could still make out the sharp blue against the contrast of the black rim of his glasses.

He shoved a hand into his back pocket and pulled out his IPhone. Lit up on the screen was a beige and green map, with a red flag marking our current location. "Do you know where I can find the Shadow Pointe Apartments? I followed the GPS, but it led me to this gas station instead."

I point across the street to the crumpled piles of deep fried wood and brick. "You found it."

The man frowned as he stared upon the rubble. If anything, he actually looked horrified.

"That can't be correct," he said, eagerly thumbing at his phone.

I started laughing. "Calm your shit, cowboy. The old building burnt down last summer. They ended up moving it to the other side of town."

Back when those apartments were first built, this part of Albrook was expected to just explode in an industrial movement. But according to my mom, there was this big ordeal with the city council denying everything modern to preserve the history of the town. So when the corporations were able to get licenses north of the University, the south half of Albrook seemed to cement itself in 1960.

"Thank you," he nodded. He genuinely looked relieved at this new information. "The landlord failed to mention that."

"You just move here or something?"

"Yes, exactly. From the city. And you?" He reached up and pulled off his glasses, swiping them on the inside of his fleece-lined jacked. "

Now that I could finally see his eyes, part of me wished he kept his glasses on. They were so intensely blue...overwhelming with this brazen self-assuredness that I'd never seen in anyone my age.

"Hardly new," I snort, forcing myself to break away from our silent staring contest. "I've lived here basically since birth."

His brows furrowed in a way that almost resembled confusion, but just as I gathered a retort, the green door to my right swung open.