“Wow.” He shakes his head. He mumbles something I can’t quite make out, which troubles me. So I ask, “What’s wrong with my choice?”
“Nothing.” His smile returns. “You just surprised me and it’s a good thing.”
“Oh.” I blink a few times. “What’re you getting?”
“Espresso.”
“Wow. You’ll be up all night.”
“Good. I’ve got a lot of homework.”
Oh, if that wasn’t a hint, I don’t know what was. “Well, then, let’s get our coffee to-go so you can get home.”
“No way.” He shakes his head. “Homework can wait. Let’s relax and talk a bit.”
I don’t respond. Instead, I look ahead and see the line has moved quickly. It’s already our turn to order. I stand next to him as he orders our coffees and several of the sweet pastries from the case. “We’re going to share those,” he looks down at me and states matter-of-factly. “And don’t give me any guff, Emma Perkins.”
I’m not sure why he keeps saying my entire name, but I like it.
I like it a lot.
Somehow, we find seats––two big comfy chairs in the back corner of the shop. They’re placed so close to each other the arms are touching. Curling up into one, my body is leaning to my left so I’m close to Eli. Holding up the plate with the sweets, I reach out and take an apple tart. “Are you sure? That one is the most fattening.”
I quickly drop it on the plate and retract my hand until it’s in my lap. I know I’m blushing again. “Oh. Right.”
His face changes again. His smile is now in a straight line. “No. I’m sorry. I was only joking.” Pushing the plate closer to me, he says, “Please, take the one you want.”
“No.” I shake my head. “I’m not hungry.” I’ve learned the hard way that humiliation is very filling.
“Damn it, Emma.” He’s now scowling. “Please. It was my attempt at humor, and it failed miserably.” He stares at me. “Please? If you don’t eat it, I’m throwing it away.”
With a sigh, I reach out and take the apple tart and set it on a napkin. “Happy?”
“No,” he says softly. “I shouldn’t have teased you like that. You’re…”
“What? I’m what?” Already fat? Stupid? Ugly? Naïve?
“You’re sensitive.”
Sensitive?That’snota compliment. It’s right up there with overly emotional and high maintenance. “Okay.” I unfurl my legs and scoot to the edge of my seat. “On that note.” And the other one. “It’s been swell. But I need to go.”
“What?” he says loudly. “Why?”
“This—” I point to him, then back at me. “—is weird. Maybe I’m just being ‘too sensitive.’”
“Weird?” He blinks a bunch of times. “What’s weird about two friends having coffee together?”
And there it is. Two words that are very familiar territory for me––the friend zone. “Friends.” Because of course we’re only friends. Why else wouldheaskmefor coffee? Heck, maybe he was going to ask me to set him up with Ava. Or he needs help with some homework… “Well,friend, I need to go.”
“What about your tea?”
Just then, Eli’s name is called up to the front. “At least take your tea with you.”
I nod because I don’t know what to say. I could use the tea.
“Good.” He reaches out and touches my shoulder. The zing happens again, but I force it out of my mind. “Wait here. Don’t move.”
I do as he asks. Well sort of. I step over and grab my backpack, slinging it over my shoulder.ThenI wait on the spot until he returns with my cup saying, “I didn’t mean ‘sensitive’ in a bad way.”
