She gives me an over-the-console hug when I drop her off in front of her building before running to the back and grabbing her bike.
“Thanks for the ride.”
“You need a new bike.” No matter my opinion, it’s a safety issue more than anything. That bike practically has a death rattle to it.
“Whatever, James, goodnight!” She’s still smiling that bright-as-fuck smile as she skips over to her front door.
I’m buying her a helmet.
I don’t know why I show up to the café the next day. I know I shouldn’t, and I definitely shouldn’t be carrying a sunshine yellow bike helmet with daisies on it. Guys like me don’t buy daisy helmets. I place it in the back office without saying anything. I’m sure one of these idiots will figure it out. Besides, it’s not like she can bike in that fluffy pink toque if she wants to protect her skull.
Should I have bought her a warmer helmet?
Goddammit, I’m losing it.
The excuse that it’s a great place to draw, that the lighting is perfect and the atmosphere peaceful, is starting to get a little thin. I know Beck doesn’t buy it anymore. I don’t think I ever did.
Pulling my sketch pad out of my bag, I look around for a comfortable spot to sit. The overstuffed, mismatched chairs are usually free at this time of day, but it must be the city’s unofficial meeting of old people today because most of the spots are full of elderly, white-haired geriatrics. I end up on a barstool looking out of the front window. It’s not the worst view.
At least I can’t get caught staring at the barista.
I hate the fluttering behind my breastbone that happens as I move through the shop and she notices me. The dazzling smile that splits across Stella’s face could kill a man.
The usual?She mouths, and I nod, knowing she’ll bring me my drink and my muffin as always. I merely grunt when she brings it to me, trying not to inhale the sweet smell of her perfume or remember her taste.
She’s in her typical, eclectic style today, pairing some neon green overalls with a white long-sleeved shirt and two little buns tied up on either side of her head. She looks freaking adorable, especially paired with her snow boots, which she still hasn’t taken off and I don’t blame her. The till is right across from the front door, and the frigid outdoor air must bite at her anytime someone comes or goes.
Halfway through pretending to be focused on the sketch in front of me, I take a bathroom break. I’ve been here for hours, working up exactly zero courage to either talk to her or leave. After I’ve dried my hands, I walk out into the hallway and almost careen directly into someone.
“Shit! Sorry,” I say gruffly.
“It’s fine,” Stella huffs out, giving me a half-assed smile.
“You sure, sunshine? Wouldn’t want to bruise you.” I try not to grin as she blushes.
“Nope! Right as rain. If I could just…” She motions scooting past me. I could let her by.
Or…
“You in a rush?”
“Well, I do have to get back to the till.” Her voice has gone airy, breathing through the words.
I slowly press her against the wall, my fingers brushing along her jaw. Those little buns are the perfect grip, exactly where I would grab her if she were down on her knees. Lust rolls through me, moving between us like a physical being. She arches towards me, her breath coming out choppy. I wonder if her lips will taste the same, like summer and strawberries. All my cravings for her rush to the surface, reaching out towards her.
A door slams in the hallway, and we break apart. Stella tries to slow her breathing as Hazel walks around the corner, laptop tucked under her arm.
“You guys get lost back here?” It’s a pointed question.
“Nope,” I say dryly, putting a disinterested amount of space between Stella and I. Stella’s cheery demeanour falters as she awkwardly excuses herself back up to the front.
“What’s going on here?” Hazel asks point blank.
“Nothing.”
“That didn’t look like nothing.” She crosses her arms, arching a brow expectantly. “There’s a cute bike helmet in the back as well. It looks new, so we know Stella didn’t buy it. I guess you don’t know anything about that either?”
I can’t face the accusation aimed at me, and at the same time, I can’t outright lie to Hazel. I settle for a noncommittal grumble and sulk back to my chair and settle in with my notebook. This time, I ignore everyone else in the café until I’ve finished thesketch I’m working on and leave without another word. I’ll never admit to anyone how full that notebook is of drawings of her.
