67. Lydia
Lydia
I see him sitting in the cafe that’s attached to the library as I walk up to the door—head down, books open, and…two coffee cups in front of him.
Did he order for me?
A smile creeps up on my face at the thoughtfulness, but I tamp it down as soon as his head pops up and his eyes find mine.
Be cool, Lydia.
He stands and pulls out the chair next to him. “Morning,” he greets in his raspy, morning voice.
“I don’t think people should be up this early,” I groan, sitting down.
He sits back in his chair and automatically pulls himself slightly closer to me. I don’t think he even realizes he does it, but it makes me hyper-aware of how close we are, that if he even moved slightly, our legs would brush.
He laughs. “No. We should definitely all still be unconscious right now. But, I’m more than happy to be up with you.”
My smile betrays me a little, and I try to not be so awkward. Sober Lydia is not great with social settings, especially around someone who makes me feel the way Bash does.
Don’t ask me how he makes me feel…I’m still not quite sure. I’m trying to ignore those feelings right now.
“You ordered me coffee?” I ask.
He nods, smiling, and I just see the cute sleepy daze in his expression as he rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, the line stays pretty long here…so I tried to guess what you would like, but if it’s trash, I won’t be offended. I can go get you something else. I was just trying to save you the wait.”
He hands it to me, and I can smell the hazelnut in it as soon as it’s close enough. I take a sip, and my eyes almost roll in the back of my head from the sensation of a perfect taste of coffee on my tongue.
I stare at him suspiciously. “Hazelnut Americano with half and half?”
“Bad choice?” he asks nervously.
I squint my eyes a little more at him. “No, actually. It’s…creepy accurate. Should I be concerned?” I let out a little laugh. “Are you my stalker or soulmate?”
My eyes go slightly wide as the words I just said hit the logical and embarrassed side of my brain. “I—I mean—”
His smile is so cute that I lose any ability to form words. “The second option sounds better…but it’s…actually what I always order, so I just took the chance in having superior taste in coffee orders and got the same thing for you.”
“So, we’re the same person?”
We both laugh, and the tension I had before walking in here quickly disappears.
He opens his notebook to the same neat handwriting I’ve stared at too many times in class. “Okay, Ms. Catch-Up, where are we starting?”
I prop my arms up on the table, one hand under my chin, one clinging to the caffeine lifeline. “Well, I came in a couple weeks late, and then I’m not sure if I ever actually started listening outside of our project, so…”
He grins. “So, page one?”
I groan, and it makes him laugh.
He leans closer as we go over the notes, his shoulder brushing mine every so often. It makes me lose focus, and this study session suddenly seems like a terrible idea when I realize how much more of a distraction he is.
We study. We talk. We don’t talk. We easily stay in sync without meaning to.
Somewhere between annoyingly hard chapters and half-finished coffees, the silence stops being awkward; it actually starts feeling comforting.
When I mess up a term or answer, he gently corrects me, never making me feel stupid.
When I drop something, he doesn’t miss a beat or stop talking as he picks it up.
When I joke, he hits me with the same sense of humor, and it makes my guard loosen another notch every time I hear his laugh.
When my alarm goes off, telling me it’s time to get to my first class, I don’t move. I don’t want to move. I want to ignore it. I want to stay in this bubble that makes me forget about the outside world.
I hit the stop button, but I still don’t go to pack up yet…and neither does he.
“Um…thank you,” I tell him, feeling the shyness creeping back in.
“Anytime.”
“Any?” I ask playfully.
He winks. “Any.”
“Well…as you could tell, I think I’m helplessly behind here—”
“So…tomorrow?”
I want to rub my cheeks that hurt from the smile on my face. “I—I don’t want to be a bother or anything—”
He stops me. “It would be the furthest thing from a bother, Lydia.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
I roll my eyes as my smile is still very present. “Fine…I guess I’ll keep using you. But there needs to be some sort of fair trade here.”
He gives me this sinful look, and my stomach swarms with butterflies. “Trust me, your presence is enough.”