"That’ll be $11.78," the barista says, punching the total into the register.
I bat my eyes at Brooks. "Oh no, I left my purse in the car. And since you parked so far away…" I trail off, giving him an exaggerated pout. "Looks like you’re paying."
His eyes narrow, and I know he’s weighing whether this is worth the fight. Begrudgingly, he pulls out a battered leather wallet, muttering under his breath as he slaps a ten and a five onto the counter. "You’re lucky I’m a gentleman."
"Oh, babe," I say, the words dripping with faux adoration. "You’re the absolute best."
He’s about to retort when the barista’s eyes widen, her finger pointing directly at me. "Wait a second, you’re Elowen Donovan!"
Relief washes over me. Finally, someone who recognizes me for what I’ve built. "Do you want an autograph?" I ask, already reaching for my phone in case she wants a selfie instead.
The barista laughs loudly, almost obnoxiously. "Why would I want an autograph?"
Brooks lets out a snort, his shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter.
I blink, confused. "I just assumed… most people who recognize me from Highlight do."
"Oh, honey," the barista says with a pitying smile. "I don’t know you from social media. We went to school together. Our whole lives. It’s me, Trudy Walters."
I could melt into the floor. Scratch that. I could dig a hole straight through the earth and never resurface.
My stomach sinks, my face heating like it’s been set on fire. "Oh. Uh, sorry."
Brooks doubles over, howling with laughter, and this time, he doesn’t bother hiding it. The sound booms across the tiny coffee shop, drawing stares.
"Oh, that’s rich," he chokes out, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. "Highlightstardoesn’t even recognize her old classmates. Classic."
"Shut up," I hiss, the sound barely audible over his obnoxious guffawing.
My face feels like it might combust on the spot.
Brooks plants himself right next to me as we wait for our drinks, his presence suffocatingly close. I cross my arms, staring intently at the counter, willing the embarrassment to leave my body. But it doesn’t. It clings to me like the smell of burnt chicken.
I can’t believe I assumed someone recognized me because of Highlight. Is that who I’ve become? Some narcissistic idiot who thinks my internet fame transcends city limits? It’s not crazy tothink it could happen here, though, is it? It happens all the time in LA.
Brooks, of course, has to open his mouth. "I don’t get it," he says, exhaling like he’s been personally wronged. "You lived here for most of your life, but the moment you leave, you just… forget everyone? Forget where you came from?"
My head throbs, a sharp ache blooming behind my temples. "What do you want from me, Brooks?" I bite, turning to face him. "You want me to admit I’m embarrassed by what just happened? Fine. I’m embarrassed. Are you happy now?"
He shrugs, leaning casually against the counter like this is just another day in the life. "Not really. I’m just trying to figure you out."
I throw my hands in the air. "Figure me out? What’s there to figure out?"
He smirks, and it’s infuriating. "You’re just… different."
"Different how?" I snap, narrowing my eyes. "Different because I have a career outside of this town? Different because I don’t spend my days collecting pinecones and making whatever it is you and Jasper make?"
His expression hardens, but his voice stays maddeningly calm. "Different because the Elowen I remember didn’t care what people thought of her. She didn’t need strangers to tell her she was important. She already knew."
The words hit harder than I expect, knocking the breath out of me for a second. My fingers dig into my palms, a thin layer of defense against the truth in his statement.
"Are you serious right now?" I fire back, low and sharp. "This coming from the guy who’s been attached to Jasper’s hip his whole life. You’re still hanging around, still stuck in this town playing it safe. So don’t lecture me about who I am, Brooks."
His jaw locks, but his smirk doesn’t falter. "Touché, Ellie. At least I’m not pretending to be something I’m not."
"Pretending?" I laugh bitterly, shaking my head. "You think what I do is fake? Do you have any idea how hard I’ve worked to get where I am?"
The words come out rushed. Louder, too. A few people turn to look. I hate that I care.
