Chapter 7 The coffee date

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I was beyond excited. We agreed to meet at a local coffee shop he suggested, The Pavement, which I had never been to before. I told him I would take the bus, but I didn't expect to find him waiting for me when I stepped off.

A surge of adrenaline rushed through me at the sight of him, and I instantly forgot about all the first date questions I had been Googling and memorizing on the bus. He had on a crisp white shirt rolled up at the sleeves and a pair of faded jeans with just the right amount of rips. Melted!

"Hi! You're here," I said unnecessarily.

"I was afraid you wouldn't be able to find the place."

"Thanks. And sorry for being late." I was fifteen minutes late, really not late at all in Flora Morgan's world, but I felt I had to say it.

He took in my outfit for the day, a loose-fitting silk top and a floral skirt, and smiled. "It's worth the wait."

I wondered how many buses he had to watch before I showed up. "Sorry."

He led the way. "Is this okay?" he asked as he pushed opened the door. The cafe was of industrial style with lots of exposed metal and wood. Pretty chic. "I'm here a lot. For homework."

I ordered my brain to scribble down this information. This is where he hangs out.

"I love it," I fibbed, even though it was a little too quiet for my taste. I tended to laugh really loudly when the situation permitted. He asked me what I wanted and went ahead with the bill, and I decided to let him. Perhaps it was an ego thing and it was my policy not to fight over small amounts of money. Besides, if Sean and I were to become something more, which we definitely would, I'd pay him back in buckets.

He drinks his coffee black, my brain took notes furiously. The poor boy also doesn't own a wallet. He has all his bills clipped together with a metal money clip which looks awfully...sophisticated.

I decided that from now on, money clips and black coffee were the definition of cool.

All through the afternoon I could only stare at him and wonder if it was even legal for a person to be that good-looking. He had espresso-colored hair that begged to be tousled, sculpted lips, and blue eyes with ever-changing colors under different lighting. I learned this information by sneaking peeks at him for two years. Sometimes they were azure with a hint of gray, other times they were darker, like heated minerals, and this afternoon they looked clear, like a delightful river at the shallow end. I wanted to kiss his lips. My conversation was auto-piloted but miraculously I could still make him laugh.

"Do you have any pet peeves?" I asked, after I learned that he was a dog person, his favorite place in the world was his bedroom, he enjoyed watching any movie directed by Christopher Nolan and David Fincher, and that if he won the lottery, he would still go to school next Monday.

He thought for a while. "People who blame anyone but themselves for their problems. And also drivers who switch lanes without signalling. How about you?"

Note to self: stop whining and use the freaking turn signal from now on!

"Um...I kind of hate it when I buy ice-cream and the scoop isn't a perfect sphere, and some of the cones are so badly made, halfway through it ice-cream would start dripping at the bottom. That really irritates me."

Can I change my answer? I sound so stupid.

If Sean felt the same way, he didn't show it. He smiled in amusement. "I hate that too, and I hate it when it melts too fast and starts running down the side of the cone. To top it off, if they only give me a very small piece of napkin, it really does no good other than sticking to the cone."

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