Red-Heads On The Battle Front

38. I Kind Of Maybe Sort Of Possibly Like You Perhaps

Dev.

My heart hammers wildly in my chest as his eyes meet mine. He looks kind of disheveled, a little sad, a little angry even, but there's a determination I've only seen once or twice before, and only when he's about to prank me. The thought makes me nervous and I discreetly wipe my sweaty hands on my jeans.

Move legs, move. And so they do, carrying me slowly but surely to his table. I stop in front of him, my mouth a little dry as I look at him. He doesn't say anything and neither do I. What was I to say, anyway? We stay like this, in awkward silence, for a moment or two, before he gestures for me to sit. I take the weight off my feet, sitting down heavily in the wooden chair. More staring. More silence.

Thankfully, before it gets too awkward, Brooke bustles by. She's a slightly plump, hearty sort of woman, with short, curly blonde hair atop her smiling face and ruddy cheeks. She's only a few years older than Celia, but, unlike my sister, decided to quit college after her bachelor's degree, choosing instead to work at the restaurant her grandmother had lovingly started in her name. It ended up being one of the best cafés in town.

"Devon! Sweetie, is that you? I thought I heard you were back" she said cheerfully. I looked to him to see his response and found, to my pleasure, that he was smiling. It felt good to see him smile.
"Brooke! I remember you. Kind of" he laughed and she chuckled, turning her attention to me.
"And Gwen" her eyes crinkled "It's been a while since you were here" I smiled too
"I've been grounded for a bit, couldn't really get out" I laughed. She grinned, and I had the sneaking suspicion that she already knew. Brooke knew everything that happened in town. She didn't say anything though.
"I suppose it'll be the usual for you?" she asked me. I nodded. Marbled cake and coffee. She turned to Devon who ordered some coffee too. Jotting it down, she tipped an imaginary hat and hurried off to address another table.

My grin faltered when I turned to him. Sure, she'd covered the sticky moment, but what if this whole meeting was a series of sticky moments? I'd need more than one Brooke to cover all of them.

"So..." I said, picking at my sweater.
"So" he answered, not rising to bait. It was clear that there was no way he would clean up this mess.

I peeked up at him. Up close, he didn't look any much better and suddenly, uncomfortably, I was aware that I was the one who did this to him. Maybe he doesn't want anything to do with me after all...In which case, it would be best if I saved us both the pain and just handed him what he wanted.

"SorryI was late, I was a little delayed. Anyways, here" I said, rummaging in my bag and drawing out the picture. His scowling face looked up at me from it and I felt a sudden rush of fondness.
"I'll have my book back now, thanks" I rushed the words together, attempting to conceal these feelings. His brows furrowed and he frowned.
"How'd you know about the book?" he asked, confused.

I rolled my eyes, pulled out the post-it and waved it under his nose. However, this did nothing to un-confuse him, only serving to puzzle him further. He read the note and then his expression cleared, as if he understood something.
"She didn't..." he mumbled
"Who didn't?" I asked. The confusion had shifted to this end of the table. He shook his head and slid his hand into a pocket, drawing out a bright orange piece of paper.
"I assume you didn't write this" he said, pushing it across the table to me. I took it from him, our fingers brushing as I did. He pulled away quickly, as did I. I didn't look up at him, choosing instead to engage myself with this note, which read as follows:

We need to talk. Brooke's Café, 4PM?
- G

"I didn't" I said as realization dawned on me. This wasn't my handwriting. Sure, to an outsider, it could pass off as my own, but to someone whose handwriting it was, this was definitely a fake. And I knew exactly whose it was.