It wasn’t the same as before when he couldn’t breathe at the other café. There, his chest felt like it had been put in a vise, like something had gripped his heart and squeezed, or like he was back in the Thunderbird tumbling down the mountain, the hard steel of it searing into his flesh and crushing his ribs, crumbling them to dust and shredding his face more and more with every flip.
No, this was nothing like that.
When this woman smiled at him, it was like the clouds parted and revealed the light of the sun for the first time in months. It was as if he’d been sitting in a dark cave all this time and only just now stepped out into the light, blinking and blinded but warm.
She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen in his entire life.
She was radiant.
“Hi! Welcome to Déjà Brew. What can I get started for you?”
At the sound of her voice, every word in the English language he’d ever known immediately abandoned him.
Those were words. He knew those were words, but what was she saying? What was she asking? Startwhat?
What did he come here for again?
“Um…” He started to sweat. It was exceedingly hot in here, wasn’t it? He tugged at the collar of his hoodie before remembering he had a scar there he was desperately trying to hide, and he scrambled for something,anythingto grasp on to. He looked up. Right. A menu. Coffee. He glanced back down at the woman, who was watching him with a quizzical eyebrow raised.
Oh god, she knew. She had to know what he was thinking just now, and none of it was even remotely appropriate.
Maybethisis where he should die. It’d be less embarrassing than whatever was happening now if he did.
“One…l-large Americano.” Good, yes. Those were coffee words. It was the first thing his eyes landed on when he looked at the menu. That was appropriate for a coffeehouse.
Her eyes were gorgeous.
Bright spring green flecked with gold.
It was a good thing she couldn’t see his cheeks. He was sure they were on fire, scorched red and raw from the inside out.
“A large Americano?” She repeated the order and he nodded. “For here or to go?”
“To go.”
Better, yes.
Good.
Good words.
Good words?
Fuck me.
Oh shit. He didn’t say that out loud, did he?
Tiny russet freckles dotted daintily across her button nose like flecks of paint flicked from a delicate brush with a deft hand.
He couldn’t tear his gaze away from them.
“Room for cream?” He shook his head. “Name?”
Fuck. What the hell was he called again?
Idiot. That was his name.
“Theo.” Did—did hisvoicejust crack? What, was he fifteen again all of a sudden?
