This isn’t for me. I can do this for Sophie.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
After chapel,I speed over to Common Grounds.
Excellent. I’m first in line, so I have my pick of seats. I order an iced mocha, thankful I have coffee punches from my meal plan so I don’t have to shell out cash. I would order for Levi, but I was so nervous about him the other times we were here that I have no idea what he chose for himself. It’s weird that I can learn so much about him and still not know his coffee order. I pick a spot on the farthest end with carpet—maybe a loud noise would be muffled here.
Please, can this time be different? Peaceful?
Levi strides in, glances at the long line recently formed, and heads straight for me.
“Hey, friend.” He slides his Jesus backpack to the coffee table, retrieves his Tic Tacs, and sits. His elbows rest on the armrests and his leg crosses widely in confident Levi fashion. Open, shut. Yep, he’s Mayberry’s Tad Hamilton. Minus all the bad parts.
“Hey, Levi. I wanted to order for you, but I don’t know what you get.”
The cutest expression comes to his face.
“Why are you smirking?” I accuse.
“You’re going to laugh at me.”
I raise my brows.
“I usually get an Earl Grey Tea.”
Sure enough, I tilt my head back and laugh. “Is it exhausting being so sophisticated all the time?”
He takes my teasing as a compliment, crinkles appearing. Open, shut goes the Tic Tac box. My skin tingles.
Time to focus. I glance around Common Grounds. No one I know, but I talk quietly anyway. “Okay, talk to me about Leo.”
“Leo,” Levi repeats, following my lead on volume. The grin drops off as he assesses me. His leg comes uncrossed, and he readjusts in his seat.
I wait with pen in hand, unsure why this is so far from what he expected. He said he’d seenHitch.
“That scooter, of course. Silly humor. Quiet demeanor, except on the floor. Genuine faith.”
That’s important if I’m going through with this. I wait for more, although Levi’s stilted speech gives me pause, and “demeanor” sounds almost formal.
“I believe he played golf in high school. Affinity for junk food.”
I half snort. Compared to what Levi prefers, nearly everything is junk food. He eats impossibly healthy, with the exception of his Tic Tac habit. I’ve seen his imperial face more than once when Saga has nothing up to his standards, though I’ll grant that he doesn’t complain aloud.
“He leaves Twizzlers strewn about,” he says, as if he knows my inner thoughts.
“Ah.” The way Levi says “strewn about” is adorable. My pen scribbles purple notes into my notebook for later strategizing, but my mind is squarely on Levi.
“He has a penchant for puns.” He keeps readjusting like he can’t get comfortable. He’s hiding something—something sad? I want to cheer him up, especially while he spends his break helping me. An urge rises to bring out the smile that’s nearly always in his eyes. Maybe just a little flirting, without actually interrupting his train of thought. I’m no good at this. Really, zero practice, so I’ll just imitate what I’ve seen others do.
I comb through my hair and … clunkily catch on a tangle. Ugh, I give up with that and fling it all over one shoulder. A piece catches in my mouth, and I bat it away, like a toddler in her mom’s heels prancing down a runway. This is not going well.
I tilt my head … maybe a little too much, so I bring it back up a smidge. I must look like a malfunctioning robot. He scrutinizes me, not even laughing at my ridiculous behavior. Bleak. Head still almost tilted, I try just looking at him as if I like him. I mean, I do like him, obviously. I just constantly work to keep my face in line. It has a habit of embarrassing me.
To my horror, my “I like you” face results in his mouth drooping open the tiniest bit and his eyes falling sadder. Wow, I am terrible at this. He looks like I imagined Gale Hawthorne inHunger Games—also the Liam Hemsworth version. When I tried to communicate silently that other time, it seemed to work so well.
“That’s all that comes to mind,” he says. “Have I answered the question to your satisfaction?” Reminiscent of our first coffee date—no, coffee meetup, or whatever that was—except his mood and delivery are so different now, sullen rather than playful.
“You did very well, thank you.” He’s so sweet to help me, and I don’t know how to help him at all.
