ZACH
Livingin the same building as Rodriguez and carpooling with him to the arena means I’m basically a hostage for whatever side quest he’s currently obsessed with. This month it’s the figure skater who won’t make eye contact with him. He’s been at this for a month now and I’m not sure why he hasn’t given up. It’s the longest I’ve seen him commit to something, longer than the rubber duck war with Dex, or the few months where he exclusively ate breakfast burritos, longer than anything that isn’t hockey.
“Pucks and... Pucks?” I read the sign as we pull into a coffee shop a few streets from the practice facility.
“Don’t be so judgmental. It’s hockey pucks and espresso pucks.”
“No, I definitely got it. Solid marketing. I’m totally convinced to try their coffee.”
“Whatever, do you even like coffee? Come on, we need to be there right when Juliette’s skating class ends.”
“So you can hand a latte to a woman who won’t look at you.”
“She looked at me once.”
“When?”
“Last Tuesday. I said good morning and she kind of... glanced.”
“A glance. Wow. Wedding bells.”
“Shut up and be supportive.”
The bell jingles above us when he opens the door.
The barista has her back to us, fiddling with the espresso machine, and I’m looking at the menu board trying to decide what someone who doesn’t really drink coffee is supposed to order when she turns around and my heart stops.
It’s her. The same red hair that isn’t quite red, the same freckles, more of them than I realized or maybe I just couldn’t see them in the dark. I’m standing three feet away from the girl I have not stopped thinking about for seven days and Rodriguez is right next to me.
“Rodriguez!” She breaks into a huge smile, nose scrunching up the same way it did on the patio when she laughed about having a plan to be smooth. Then she turns to me. “And his friend!”
She knows it’s me. She has to know it’s me. But her face gives nothing away, just that bright open smile like I could be anyone, like we’re meeting for the first time, and I can’t tell if she’s playing it cool for Rodriguez or if she’s testing me to see what I do.
Rodriguez jerks his thumb between us. “Mackie meet Zach. Zach meet Mackie.”
Mackie. Her name is Mackie.
I’ve been lying in bed every night for the past week replaying each second of that conversation, and her name is Mackie and Rodriguez just said it like it was nothing, like he didn’t just hand me the one piece of information I’ve been desperate for since she walked out of the bar.
Rodriguez leans on the counter. “Okay, let’s talk about what a sort of uptight, maybe a little prickly, definitely fighting her feelings for me, girl from Canada is going to like.”
Mackie laughs and reaches for a cup and marker. “Rodriguez, who DOESN’T like you?”
“This girl apparently,” I say. She turns to me and our eyes meet where I swear there’s a half-second where her smile drops into something private and warm and meant only for me before she snaps it back.
“Great, we’ll let Rodriguez consider his life choices first. What can I get for you?”
Green. Her eyes are green. I couldn’t tell at the bar but in daylight, this close, with the window behind me, they’re impossibly green and I need to stop staring and order something like a normal person who hasn’t spent seven days remembering what her mouth feels like.
“Coffee,” I say. Nailed it.
“What kind of coffee?”
What kind? There are kinds. I know there are kinds. I’ve seen menus before. But my brain has completely abandoned its post and is runningIT’S HER IT’S HER IT’S HERon a loop like an emergency broadcast.
“Black,” I say, because it’s the only word my brain produces. “Just. Black coffee.”
She tilts her head and studies me, like she’s already got me figured out and she’s enjoying watching me fall apart.
