Dad’s eyes widen as I gently slam the door shut. I don’t look back. With my tan purse hanging from my shoulder, I fumble with the strap and make my way to the Refinery, the small coffee shop on the corner that Rachael and Meghan took me to at the start of the summer, the one with the naturalistic vibe and the to-die-for caramel shots. It’s quiet when I enter. There are only half a dozen people huddled over steaming mugs, some reading, some with laptops, some talking to a friend.
The girl behind the counter catches my eye and her lips curve up into a welcoming grin. I make my way over to her and run my eyes over the menu on the wall behind her. It’s written in chalk, which only makes me appreciate it even more. “What can I get for you?”
“Just a regular vanilla skinny latte, extra hot with a shot of caramel.” I reach into my satchel for my wallet and place five bucks on the counter. I feel guilty for adding the extra shot, but Amelia’s spent months convincing me that it’s perfectly okay to indulge in my favorite beverage every so often.
“No problem,” the girl says as she gathers my change from the cash register. “I’ll bring it straight over to you.”
I take my change and head over to a small table against the wall. Setting my satchel down, I sit and get comfy. It feels so relaxing to just sit here, to chill out and study the people around me. I love to people watch. I always wonder what their life story is. Where did they grow up? How many siblings do they have? What’s their favorite flavor of ice cream?
Most importantly, I wonder if their summer is as complicated as mine.
“Here you are,” the girl says softly from my side as she places the mug in front of me a few minutes later. “Enjoy.”
I thank her and then wait until she disappears again behind the counter, and when she does, I grasp my drink and take the longest of sips. It’s piping hot. It burns my throat slightly, but I don’t mind. It tastes amazing.
Sinking farther into my chair, I fish around my satchel for my earphones and my phone before plugging myself into the sound of La Breve Vita. I close my eyes, nod my head in sync with the beats, and breathe. I’m so glad I ended up at their gig. I love them. Their lyrics have depth, and each song tells a story about our past mistakes, about our futures. The bridge in most tracks is in Italian.
I’m totally caught up in the music when I feel something shift in front of me. My eyes snap open, and my heart almost hurls itself out of my chest as a pair of eyes stare back at me. I immediately jump upright and my earphones fall to the table.
“Hey,” he says.
“You scared me,” I gasp as I place a hand to my chest and struggle to catch my breath again.
It’s only Dean. He looks like he’s just attempted to run a marathon but passed out before he even saw the finish line. His cheeks are red, his face sweaty, hair ruffled. “My bad,” he apologizes with a rueful smile. “I was getting some coffee when I noticed you sitting here.”
My eyes fall from his to the to-go cup clasped in his hands. I glance back up again. “Did you just get out of the gym?”
“Is it that noticeable?” He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand and then laughs.
I shake my head and take another sip of my latte. “No.” Mid-drink, a thought crosses my mind and I quickly swallow so that I can ask, “Is Tyler with you?”
My eyes scour the small shop, searching for a pair of green eyes and a pile of black hair, but Dean says, “No, he’s headed to Malibu to get his car waxed,” and my search is cut short.
“Oh,” I say. Disheartened, I stare at my latte and run my finger around the rim of the mug. “That doesn’t surprise me.”
“So what are you listening to?” Dean asks. He leans forward over the table to tap my phone, and when La Breve Vita appear on my screen, his face lights up. “No way!”
I shrug sheepishly. “They’re so good.”
“What’s your favorite song?”
“Oh, Dean, that’s a tough one,” I groan. I tilt my head and rest my cheek on my palm as I run through all the band’s songs from all three of their albums until I come to a conclusion. “I think it has to be ‘Holding Back.’”
Dean leans back and folds his arms across his chest. He presses his lips together as he shakes his head. “Unbelievable.”
“What?”
He falls still. His brown eyes meet my gaze for a long moment, and his lips slowly and carefully twitch into a small smile. “That’s my favorite too.”
I grin back at him while trying not to, biting down on my lip. “It’s an incredible song.”
“It totally is,” he agrees. The smile on his face widens into a beaming grin and he stares at me, as though he’s content with just watching me awkwardly sip my latte. He sits down opposite me. “Your coffee is on me,” he says finally. He reaches into the pockets of his jeans and pulls out his wallet. For a few seconds, he rummages inside it and then places a crumpled five-dollar bill down on the table in front of me. “Five bucks to reimburse the expense. Your five bucks.”
I part my lips as I reach over to pick up the crinkled note, holding it between my thumb and forefinger as I squint at it. There’s black ink scrawled across the Lincoln Memorial on the reverse side. The more I focus my eyes on the writing, the quicker I realize it says Eden’s Gas Money. My mouth parts even wider as I lift my eyes to meet Dean’s.