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The next day was sort of like de-ja-vu. But instead of my ringtone waking me, it was the heavy, relentless pounding at my door that my sleep ridden mind was convinced was my landlord demanding to know where my rent money was. Because knowing my luck, it probably hadn't gone through like it was meant to.

But to my surprise to it was just Daniel. I couldn't decide if it was relief or disappointment that filled me at the sight of him standing on my doorstep.

"You're finally back," he noted, with a nod. I raised an eyebrow at him, fully aware of my bed hair and cheap pyjamas which always left me feeling self-conscious (though he'd always told me I looked beautiful), and fought the urge to close the door in his face.

"Well yeah— I live here," I replied, unable to stop the sarcasm from seeping through. But seriously, what did he expect? For one, it was none of his business what I did or where I was at any time of the day— my updates were pure courtesy and he should be thankful I even bothered sending them. And for two, it was 100% not okay for one's ex to show up at the doorstep at freaking eight in the morning— if at all.

So if he got sassed, that was his fault, as far as I was concerned.

"I just wanted to say goodbye. My plane leaves this afternoon," he said, and I couldn't help but notice the way the sun made his blonde hair sparkle. And the button up shirt he was wearing, despite the Californian heat. He looked entirely out of place here— a proper businessman in the slums of LA, where the most on trend outfit you could wear without getting mugged was a sweatshirt and jeans. He was pretty much asking for a thug to try and steal from him.

Not that that made it any more okay— any decent human being wouldn't mug someone, period.

"Well, goodbye then," I said, really not sure what else he wanted to hear. He hesitated, hovering in the doorway.

"I thought we could grab coffee," he said finally, and I made a face at him but he pressed on. "No— hear me out. I understand. You like it here, and I want that for you. I just want you to be happy. And I want to end this on good terms. So please... let me take you out for coffee one last time, okay?"

He gave me the puppy dog eyes and God, I could never say no to those stupid eyes. I let out a strangled sigh as my heart swelled betrayingly, and said,

"Alright, fine. Let me get some clothes on. I have to return my Starbucks uniform anyway, so in a way, this actually works for me."

A small smile grew on Daniels face, and I did my best to ignore how hopeful he looked as I let him inside. Grabbing a change of clothes, I scurried to the bathroom and quickly got ready.

Half an hour later (because Daniel had rented a car and traffic wasn't too bad) we arrived at Starbucks. I felt like a thousand butterflies had taken flight in my stomach as I approached the doors of my old workplace. Was Fiona working today? I couldn't remember— but I knew she was the last person I wanted to face right now.

I walked in, the familiar rustic feeling of the place bringing back a wave of emotion— both good and bad. It was fairly busy. In fact, a few people noticed me, but I couldn't tell if they recognised me or not.

"Do you want your usual order?" Daniel asked, fishing his wallet from his pocket, and something twisted in my heart. I'd always gotten a vanilla bean frappe, but mind you, that was before I'd worked Starbucks. And certainly before I'd become the face of the whole Starbucks Scandal thing.

Regardless, I couldn't believe he still remembered that.

"Um, you know what? I'm not really a fan of frappe's anymore," I said, and it wasn't a lie. Frappe's were probably the most time-consuming beverage to make, and it was hard to memorise the steps involved— especially during rush hour. After having to make so many, the idea of putting someone else through that torture didn't exactly appeal to me.

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