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His eyes crinkle at the edges and he tips his coffee cup in my direction—a pointed gesture after his gaze flits down to my table, to the matching coffee cup sitting before me. Only a few hours earlier I told him I no longer consume the beverage.
He finds the fact that he’s caught me in a lie extremely amusing, I’m sure.
I reach for my cup and gulp down a long sip. It burns, but I don’t let up.
He smiles and turns back to finish his conversation.
It feels like I just survived a third world war. I push my tray of food away from me and drop my chin into my hands.
“Tell me when he leaves,” I tell Carrie, moping.
“He’s walking toward the exit…oh! Wait. Now he’s talking to a girl.”
My head whips around so fast, it takes my body with it. I nearly slip off the plastic chair and eat the ground before I catch myself.
She laughs. “Ha. Made ya look.”
So yeah, Carrie and I aren’t friends anymore, which is a pity given our history, but I’m confident I can survive this cruel world on my own.
That night, I walk into my dorm room and step directly onto a Starbucks gift card. The plastic crunches under my foot before I realize it’s there. There’s no accompanying note or signature. I look around to see if anything else was slid under my door with it, but I find nothing. No hint as to who it’s from. Deep down, I have a pretty good idea.
By the way, it’s for $15. I don’t know why I find that fact charming. Maybe it’s because I know Derek and his family are worth a trillion and one dollars. I’d half-expect him to be so out of touch with reality that he’d mistakenly gift me a card loaded with a thousand bucks. Isn’t that the cost of a cup of joe these days?
The gift card comes with a hundred questions. How did he find out where I live? What does he think of the fact that I still live in a dorm?! Did he hand-deliver it?
I drop it on my nightstand and vow not to use it.
When I awake the next morning, I blink my eyes open and stare directly at it. It’s blinding.
At work, Derek is back for another shift. He and Ryan stand together in front of the hearth. There is no competition. There is only a very obvious, very confident winner with a knowing glint in his eyes when I step up to take my position.
“Sleep well, Whitney?” he asks, the emerald green in his jacket setting off his eyes.
He’s wonderful.
WHAT?!
I clear my throat.
“Wonderfully,” I say, voice strained.
“Get your caffeine fix this morning?”
So there it is, a definitive answer.
I should thank him for the gift card, but something tells me that’s the wrong move. It ends the game right here and now.
“As a matter of fact, I did.” My tone is dipped in sugar. “Thank you for asking. I have a little coffee pot in my dorm room. I used an extra dark roast this morning. Drank two cups while I listened to the birds chirping outside my window. Aren’t mornings so peaceful?” Without pausing, I turn to Ryan and smile. “Ryan, you look handsome. Did you get a haircut?”
His eyes widen in shock that I’ve given his appearance any thought at all.
“What?” He touches his hair. “No, uh…but I did get some new hair gel last week.”
“Well whatever you’re doing, it looks great.”
My dimples pop with the compliment.
His cheeks are rosy red and Derek hasn’t uttered a word in minutes and maybe I’m better at this game than I thought I was.
A quick glance back at him proves that theory wrong.
His smirk is in place. He sees right through me.
An hour later, a girl who looks to be around ten asks me why I have “two princes”.
“Oh my. Two princes? Surely not. His Royal Highness is right here.” I place my hand delicately on Ryan’s arm.
She narrows her eyes suspiciously then inflates a bubble out of her pink gum and makes it POP.
“Well then who’s that?” she asks, pointing back at Derek.
Yes. Who is that? No one has given me a script for how to handle this scenario. She’s not the first child to ask me about my two princes, she’s just the boldest.
“That’s a friend of His Royal Highness,” I assure her, bending low. “I love your blouse. Is that a butterfly?”
She rolls her eyes. “Thanks. Yeah. Anyway, he must be a prince too because he’s dressed just like this guy. And if they’re both princes, is this like The Bachelorette? My mom lets me watch it with her sometimes—”
At this point, her horrified mother is dragging her away while she continues, now shouting.
“I just want to know which one you’re going to choose?! I think the other one is cuter! He looks like a real prince! Mom, let me go! You’re hurting me!”
