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Elouise
When I catchmyself checking my hair in the rearview mirror for the third time, I squeeze my eyes shut and turn off the car.
“Just get out.” I tell myself. “It’s fine.”
Shoving my phone into my purse, I climb out and cross the street.
It’s Friday night in downtown Darling Lake and the block is predictably quiet.
Beckett sent me a text Monday night after parting ways at the Science Fair, asking me out on a date. I said yes. Of course, I said yes. And even though we’ve… done stuff, I’m still nervous.
The fact he’s had his hand in my pants, and his mouth on my tits, doesn’t make me feel more confident about tonight. Honestly, there’s a part of me that hardly believes that night in the tent even happened. Like maybe I made it all up.
Which is dumb. But that’s brains for you. They’re dumb.
My reflection looks back at me as I approach the glass storefront, my carefully straightened hair flying all over in the cool breeze.
Since we decided to meet at BeanBag for coffee, I went for casual. Casual, but it still took me two hours and dozens of combinations to find something I felt comfortable in.
I ended up in a pair of distressed jeans that hug my ass in a way that keeps the jiggling to a minimum, a low cut – and kind of snug – black tank top, and a thick multicolored cardigan. It’s low key enough that I’d wear it out with friends, and the tank is more revealing than something I’d wear to work. All in all, I feel pretty. And when the tiny voice in the back of my head reminds me how smoking hot Beckett is, I shove that voice into a box and wedge it into the shadowed corner of my mind. Because he seems to want me just as much as I want him.
Pushing the door open, I’m greeted with the soft tinkling of a rain stick filled with coffee beans and the scents of coffee and cinnamon bread.
The shop is expectedly quiet. There’s a college aged girl sitting at one of the tables, laptop open, headphones on. And there’s an elderly gentleman sitting near the crackling fireplace, with an honest-to-god newspaper in his lap.
Before I start towards a table, I spot a familiar head of black curls.
“Maddie!” I hiss out her name.
From her spot near the register, her head whips in my direction. “Hey,” she lifts her hand in a little wave.
At least she has the grace to look guilty, hunching her shoulders and cringing.
I hurry to the counter, looking over my shoulder to make sure Beckett’s not about to walk in.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, keeping my voice low so the employee stacking cups further down the counter doesn’t overhear – not that she’s paying any attention to us.
Maddie leans over the counter towards me, staying just as quiet, “I needed to come in to do some paperwork. I’m not spying on you!”
I roll my eyes, “Bullshit. I know as well as you do that your paperwork can be done from your laptop at home.”
After having worked here since we were 15, Maddie became the proud owner of this location a few years ago after BeanBag decided to go the franchise route. Which is a whole other story, but the point is that I know how she runs this business. And I know she wouldn’t be here unless she wanted to be.
“Okay, fine!” Maddie huffs, “I want to see Beckett. So, shoot me!”
“You did see him! At the restaurant!” I remind her.
She shakes her head, “That doesn’t count. I only got a glimpse at him. He was too far away, and I was too much of a chicken to try and walk past his table when I left. Plus,” she holds up a finger, “I was planning to be in my car before you got here. I was just gonna watch him walk in.”
I snort, “Creeper.”
We stare at each other for a moment, then both break out in grins.
Maddie glances at her watch, “Which, I might add, you’d never even know about if you weren’t so freaking early.”
Catching myself a moment before I scrub my palms over my face and mess up my makeup, I drop my hands to my sides. “I’ve been dying of nerves all freaking day and didn’t want to be late.”
Maddie snorts, “So you left a half hour early for a three-minute drive?”
