The younger barista, who graduates from Juniper Grove University this May, has always been perceptive. Lucy and I frequent this place enough that she would of course be able to tell us apart at a glance. It doesn’t help that Lucy has bangs now while I don’t.Why in the world did I decide to come here of all places?
“I am Lucy’sboyfriend,” Finley boldly states.We haven’t defined anything, Finley Andersson! Plus you’re stating your intentions with the wrong sister!
“Hm, I could have sworn…” Emma Jane stops, a slow smile spreading across her face. Then… she winks at me. “My apologies,Lucy.You two just look so much alike.”
Great. Just great. Now the barista is in on my lies. How much broader will I weave this web?
“No worries. Happens all the time,” I say with a shrug, trying to be Lucy on the outside while inside I am two seconds away from splintering and breaking.
“What can I get for you two?” she asks, still eyeing my hand in Finley’s.
We order, wait for our teas, and then Finley leads us to the dimmest corner of the room, which I’m thankful for because I’m scared my darkening whirlwind of emotions might break through my stoic expression.
The entire front side of the coffee-shop-slash-bookstore has floor-to-ceiling windows. Sunlight filters in without restraint on most days, but today, the clouds obscure the rays. Indoor strand lights are fixed to the ceiling, and there are lamps stationed throughout the shop. This is how they get around having those harsh ceiling lights, and it creates a calming vibe. It’s why I come here often, though now, this safe space of mine is also tainted.
“It must be tiring, always getting mistaken for your twin,” Finley states as he sips on the chai tea he ordered.
You have no idea how tiring it is…“We’re used to it.”
I close my eyes, bringing my mug to my nose, and inhale the lavender chamomile tea as if it will transport me away to my bed, tucking me into cozy blankets with an Agatha Christie book. But when I open my eyes, there’s only a prince staring at me like I’m themost interesting woman on this planet. I tap my feet, grounding my thoughts with each miniscule movement.
“Excuse my forwardness, but Lucy, you are exquisite.”
I clutch my plump, olive green mug, the heat burning my palms. I set it down, my hands reddened. Does my face match?
I’ve never been called exquisite before…
Lucy!My brain reminds me.He’s talking about Lucy. Isn’t he?
“Thank you,” I whisper. And then an idea hits me, a way to figure out if he enjoys Lucy’s look over mine. “I’ve been contemplating cutting my bangs like my sister. Do you think I should?”
Finley tilts his head, evaluating my face. My fire-hot face. The corners of his lips lift, then he stands; he’s at my side in one step, his tall frame lingering over me. He kneels on one knee, and I think I might die of a stroke at twenty-five.He said he wouldn’t ask for marriage!
“Finley, what are you—” but my words are cut short when his fingers pinch my hair tie and gently pull, careful to stop at snags and lightly tug, as if he’s done this before. A wavy, frizzy mess of hair springs free from its constraint. He drops his hand and gazes up at me.
Instinctively I scrunch my fingers in my hair to fluff it out, though that’s the last thing I need to do since it’s already a captive of the humidity.
“While the bangs are cute, and they look nice on your sister, you should keep your hair just as it is. It’s the perfect color.” He slides his thumb and index finger over the ends of my hair, “The perfect texture.” He stands but bends towards me, reaching out that very hand to cup my face.
Why am I not backing up? Why am I not slapping his hand away? Why do I feel like I might implode if he inches any closer?
Because I’m Lucy right now. Right.
“The perfect cut to frame your lovely face,” he finishes. Though still a bent arms length away from me, his lips are way too close to mine, sending all the warning signals blaring in my mind.
Finley Andersson cannot be my first kiss. Even if by mistake.
I clear my throat and lean back. He takes the hint and straightens, smirking before returning to his chair across from me. “Don’t get bangs, Lucy.”
Not knowing what to do or say, I reach for my mug and scorch my tongue with hot liquid.
“Careful,” Finley says, sipping his own tea with an amused expression.
At that time, Emma Jane brings our sandwiches out, placing the turkey BLT in front of me and the ham croissant in front of Finley. “Enjoy,” she says with a wink, and the tone in her voice implies so much more.
I think.
To be honest, I don’t know which way is up and which way is down right now. I feel out of control, and I want to go home. But I have to try and stick through this meal. For my sister. And then, I will spend the rest of the evening decompressing and blocking the chaotic world out. I’ve got to be focused at work tomorrow. For my clients.
