Because it’s not college,I remind myself.There aren’t many people in the same boat, wanting to make new friends.
Regardless, I have to put myself out there. I gather up my courage and get on the treadmill next to her. I put my water bottle in the holder and glance over at her. She’s still running, but must feel my gaze. She turns her head toward me, her brown brows furrowed.
“What?” she snaps. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
DAMN IT, UNIVERSE, YOU MESSED UP MY ORDER.
“Nothing. I … just like your workout top,” I lie.
She scowls. “Alo.”
“Um … well, it looks great.”
She shifts her gaze back to the screen on her treadmill and rolls her eyes.
Well, that went well. I can’t wait to try again. Sigh.
I pull up Spotify on my phone and put on one of my workout playlists, then begin my workout. I’m so tired, and I feel as if I’m struggling to pick up my pace after my warm-up. The oh-so-not-cheerful brunette next to me ends her run, shuts off her treadmill, and leaves without even looking in my direction.
I can’t help it. I begin to laugh. It figures that my first attempt to find female friendship ended in a big fail.
Okay, universe, I’m telling you now,I would like to make one nice girlfriend here in Miami. Just one. Go and do your magic, please.
I feel more awake by the end of my run, but my legs are heavy. I go over to the mat area and take some time to stretch, then head back upstairs to get ready for the day. I shower, slip into an outfit for work, do the whole hair-and-makeup routine, and feed Mochi and Matcha. I’ve practically forgotten about Ms. Workout Top from this morning.
Almost.
My apartment is only one building over from my favorite café, so I always take a walk to get a matcha latte. It’s in the seventies outside, with clear blue skies, and my mood is already elevated as I stare up at the palm trees overhead. I reach the café, pull open the door, and find the end of a massive line of people waiting to get their morning drink before heading off to work. The music—I’d label it “coffeehouse folk”—fills the air, nice and mellow, but of course, the hissing of the espresso machines is the dominant sound I hear.
And you can’t escape the scent of coffee.
I always get the same thing—and the baristas know me, so they always get it ready before I even come up to pay—but today I study the overhead menu board, looking for one thing.
Cuban coffee.
Funny, I never paid much attention to other drink offerings since I have a usual order
Sure enough, they have everything from café Cubanos and café con leche to Miami sweet coffee. Interesting. It’s a whole new language I’ll have to learn for Aiden.
I take a picture of the offerings and save it to send to Aiden later. I’m sure he’s still asleep after coming home late last night. I would hate to wake him up with a stupid coffee text, so I’ll text him once I get to the office.
And the next time Aiden comes over, or I go over to see him, I’ll offer to grab him a coffee from here.
Which will hopefully be very soon.
“Scarlett,” Javier says as I reach the front of the line. “I’ve got you covered.”
His tattooed hand reaches for a ready-made large matcha latte, sliding it across the counter to me. Javier has dark purple hair, the color of eggplant, and is rail-thin, with multiple piercings. He started working here shortly after I moved into my apartment, so we know each other well enough to be friendly.
“I swear I love you,” I tease him.
He laughs. “Please tell me your requirements for a partner are higher than knowing your matcha order.”
I think of Aiden, and warmth spreads across my chest. “I promise you, they are. They have to know my pastry order, too.”
He playfully rolls his eyes, and I laugh as I move on to Tania, who is running the cash register today. “Anything else?” she asks.
“Nope. Just the matcha,” I say.
