Chapter 34 Coffee Date
Chapter thirty-four
Coffee Date
Jameson Sinclair
Did she get scared and change her mind?
I shake my head. She wouldn’t stand me up. It’s more likely that she slept through her alarm … or forgot to set one. It wasn’t that long ago that I had to force her to sleep after Paisley called me worried.
I’m not sure if her roommates will wake her up, or if they let each other handle their own schedules. I remember one of them, Jasmine, telling me they share a calendar. But I don’t know what all that entails.
Sliding my phone into my pocket, I head toward the elevators.
I’ll check on her, and maybe if she’s ready fast enough we can still grab coffee.
If not, there’s always lunch. A smile tugs at my lips at the thought of getting to spend every day with her again, but now I can hold her and kiss her.
Anticipation floods my veins at the memory of yesterday.
I step onto the elevators as I’m replaying the moments in my mind. When I approached her to talk, my words were tangled up in the fear of what could go wrong. Yet somehow, none of those fears came true. We argued, but it ended with a dream instead of a nightmare.
When I make it to her floor, I’m smiling so much I’m sure I look like a lovesick fool. But since that’s what I am for Marigold, I don’t suppose I mind. I walk to her door and knock. Hopefully one of her other roommates is up and won’t be annoyed by my coming this early in the day.
The door opens to reveal a tall woman dressed in layers of pinks and white. The color scheme does not match her scowl.
“I came to check on Marigold,” I tell her. “We were supposed to meet in the lobby this morning.”
The woman’s eyes narrow.
“I’m Jameson, by the way,” I tack on, hoping that Marigold told her friends about us last night and it went well. If not, then I might get a door slammed in my face if they think I’m still the Traitor. Marigold didn’t seem to think they’d disapprove, but I wouldn’t blame them if they did.
Her expression softens just barely and she nods.
“Aurora.” She introduces herself simply. “And I haven’t seen her leave her room. You can come in. I’ll check on her.”
“Thanks,” I say as I follow her inside.
“Shoes go by the door unless you want to face the wrath of a tiny blonde pixie,” she says over her shoulder.
I breathe out a chuckle and toe off my sneakers by the neat line of women’s shoes. Aurora walks into the living room, then veers off to the left. A blonde woman wearing scrubs walks out a different door.
“Who was at the—oh!” She spots me and grins. “Are you Jameson?”
“I am,” I say, and scratch the back of my neck.
Her grin widens. I’m not sure how it’s possible for a person to sparkle when they smile, but this woman does. Since I’ve already met the other two roommates, neither of whom were blonde, this must be the pixie Aurora was talking about.
“I’m Saylor.” She introduces herself as she closes the door behind her. “I’d stay and chat, but I have a busy schedule and I didn’t build in time for meeting anyone new. Maybe another time!”
She walks past me, a bulging backpack weighing on her shoulders. After sliding on a pair of pristine white sneakers, she disappears out of the apartment. I turn back around in time to see Aurora leaving what I assume is Marigold’s room.
“She’s asleep at her desk. When I tried to wake her up, she threatened to stab me with a pen,” Aurora says wryly, and gestures to the doorway. “You’re welcome to give it a try.”
I chuckle. “I’ll do my best. Thanks.”
When I walk in Marigold’s room, I’m taken back to our high school days.
Her room looks fairly similar. Books everywhere.
Stacks on end tables, her dresser, the floor.
Different art prints from her favorite novels hang from a string of twinkle lights above her empty bed.
But the sight that’s the most familiar is her messy red hair on top of her vintage writing desk.
“Some things never change,” I say, and her head pops up at the sound of my voice. A piece of notebook paper is stuck to her cheek. I bite back a laugh as she snatches it away.
Marigold rubs her eyes, then squints at me.
“Jameson?” Panic washes over her features. “I missed our coffee date, didn’t I?” She springs up from her seat. “I’m so sorry. I was writing, and I must have fallen asleep before I set my alarm.”
“It’s no big deal.” I reassure her as I cross the space between us. “I just thought you’d want to be woken up in time to get to class.”
She covers her face with her hands. “I’m awful. I knew this would happen.”
“Hey, don’t talk like that.” I pull her against my chest and wrap her in my arms. “You keep forgetting that I know you. And I already told you there’s nothing you could do that would change my feelings for you.”
“I feel so bad that I ruined our first date.”
“You didn’t ruin it, you just … rescheduled,” I say with a soft chuckle.
Marigold tips her head back to look up at me.
“You’re not mad?” she asks.
I brush her hair away from her face, then kiss her forehead.
“Not in the slightest.”
There’s a look in her eyes that tells me she doesn’t quite believe me. It’s going to take time to show her that I love her and she can’t ruin our relationship with a simple mistake. But Marigold is more than worth the effort.
“Why don’t you do what you need to do to get ready, and then we can walk to class together? We can talk about a better time for our date while we walk.”
She gives me a small smile.
“Okay, that sounds good. I’ll be right out.”
I give her a quick kiss, then leave her room so she can get ready.
Once the door is shut behind me, I stand awkwardly in front of it.
I don’t want to look like I’m snooping, even if I’m curious what Marigold’s home is like.
If she didn’t share it with three other women, I wouldn’t feel as weird about it.
“I made coffee,” Aurora says, startling me. “There are travel cups in there, too.” She gestures behind her, where I can see cabinets and a stove.
“Oh, thanks. I’ll make some for Marigold.”
“If she asks, I’m headed to teach before my classes start.”
“You’re a teacher?” I ask, trying to be polite. I plan on sticking around, so it would be good to get to know Marigold’s friends. Aurora doesn’t seem all that keen on small talk—and neither am I—but maybe she’s just reserved.
“I teach a few elementary school dance classes for some extra money each week,” she says, and suddenly her outfit and hairstyle make sense.
“Oh, that’s cool,” I say, because Aurora is looking at me like she’d rather not be having this conversation. I don’t think she’s rude, simply reserved.
Aurora nods and doesn’t say anything else, just heads to the door.
Once she’s gone, I go into the kitchen to make the coffees.
There are two travel cups with lids already out, as if Aurora knew we’d want them.
I fill each one, then start hunting for the vanilla maple syrup I know exists if Marigold lives here.
Sure enough, a large bottle is in one of the cabinets.
I splash some in each of the cups, then return the syrup and open the fridge to find heavy cream.
Every cabinet, drawer, and fridge I come into contact with is organized to an immaculate degree. The countertops are so clean they shine beneath the fluorescent lights. I suspect this has to do with the same blonde pixie that would have my head if I wore shoes into the apartment.
Marigold comes barreling into the kitchen as I’m securing the lids on the cups.
“Did you make that?” Marigold asks, sounding slightly out of breath.
“I poured it, but Aurora made it before she left. She said she was going to teach,” I inform her.
Marigold nods and accepts the coffee from me with a grateful smile.
“She’s reserved, and a bit on the blunt side at times, but she’s got a big heart. Did you see any of the other girls?”
We head to the door together, coffees in hand.
“I met Saylor, though our conversation was brief. She told me she didn’t schedule time to meet me … was she serious?”
Marigold laughs, some of the anxiety seeming to dissipate from her.
“Very. The woman would schedule her breathing if she could. She’s premed and always running to her next clinic or lab or extra-credit seminar.”
“And I thought balancing hockey and the paper was bad.”
“Looking at her always makes me feel ten steps behind.” Marigold sighs as we walk down the hall to the elevators. “I really am sorry for this morning.”
I grab her free hand and squeeze it.
“No more apologies. I want to hear about what you were working on.”
She gives me a look but concedes. We walk to our first class hand in hand, talking about writing and books. It feels like something out of a dream I’ve had. I have to keep reminding myself this is real. Goldie is mine and I’m hers. And nothing is going to change that.