“Yup, composes and plays his own music.” He smiles at me, a dimple presenting itself.
“That’s so cool.”
His face turns back to the road, fingers tightening around the steering wheel. The drive isn’t long; we make it through three and a bit songs on the playlist before we’re pulling into a space. Unbuckling my seatbelt, I open the door and jump down, only to find Royce is already waiting for me on the pavement.
“You move quick,” I mutter, lifting my bag onto my shoulder.
“You need to move quick in my job.” He winks at me and I smirk, following him towards the coffee shop.
We sit tucked away at the back of the cute shop. I have a hazelnut latte with whipped cream and sprinkles; Royce has a black coffee. I watch as he eyeballs my coffee, then glares at me.
“What?” I mutter, placing my coffee back on the table and smiling at him.
“Can you even taste the coffee?” His gaze drops to the glass.
“Of course.” I furrow my brow. “Want to try some?”
He holds his hand up and shakes his head. “Thanks, but I think I’ll pass.” The corner of his lip lifts as a small smirk creeps onto them.
“It’s got to taste better than your coffee.”
He shrugs, fingers curled around the handle. “Coffee is coffee, I drink it to keep the tiredness at bay.”
“My coffee does that.” I pout and he chuckles.
“Your coffee gives you a huge sugar high, mixed with a caffeine kick just to drop you half hour later with an almighty low.” He sighs, sitting back in the chair, his finger rubbing back and forth over his bottom lip. “Bet you feel more exhausted after that then you would if you drunk just a black coffee with a drop of milk.”
I don’t reply, but I do listen.
“So, tell me about you. How long have you been writing?” His ice blues gaze into mine.
I shuffle in my seat, slightly uncomfortable before I sit upright. “Few years,” I mumble, fingers wrapped around my cup as I watch the whipped cream wobble slightly on top.
“Enjoy it?” he asks, and I can tell he is genuinely curious.
I mull over his words. “Sometimes,” I say, thinking it’s best to keep it vague.
“Oh.” His reply has me dragging my eyes up to his.
“It’s just hard work sometimes. I mean, people probably don’t think it is because you know, how hard can it be to sit at a computer all day and type words… It’s not like your job.” I pause for a moment and focus back on the coffee, letting my gaze settle on one sprinkle that seems to be fighting for its life before being sucked into the fluffy goodness that is the cool whipped cream. “You have to drive this little car around tight tracks at like what… one hundred miles per hour?”
“More like two hundred, sometimes three, depending on the tracks and straights.”
I feel my eyes widen at his blasé response. “Wow.”
He chuckles.
“You love it though, right? You’re one of these people that love their jobs.”
“I fucking love it, yeah.” He nods.
I watch as his eyes glisten, his lips pulling into a full smile and I don’t think I have ever seen a smile as big as his right here, right now.
“Don’t get me wrong, it’s no walk in the park and you’ll see that whilst you shadow me, but fuck, I have never wanted to be anything else.”
“Love that,” I whisper, because suddenly this conversation feels heavy in my chest. My shoulders slump forward slightly, and I can’t quite put my finger on why.
“So, why do you onlysometimeslike your job?” He circles back to me and I sigh.
