Chapter 18
My Friday night shift passes quickly in a flurry of serving coffees, toasties and muffins to a constant flow of uni students requiring sustenance between classes and gathering study groups.
I am right back in my element, having worked in a cafe through my uni days, and I can’t help but feel like I’m erasing the last six years of my life and picking up where I never should have left off.
There’s a lull at about eight when most people have left campus for the day and Toby, the heavily tattooed young barista, offers to teach me the basics of making coffees.
After twenty minutes of practicing under his skilled guidance, I’m overjoyed to announce my frothed milk looks less like a bubble bath and a bit more like liquid velvet.
I proudly pour the heated milk into an already caffeinated cup for Brett, who popped in a few minutes ago and ordered a flat white before plonking himself down at a table near the windows.
I try to replicate the fern coffee art I’ve watched Toby pour to perfection all evening but fail miserably, and end up carrying my artistic blob over to Brett with the sounds of Toby’s light-hearted chuckles at my back.
“Your flat white,” I say cheerfully as I place the coffee down before Brett.
He’s dressed in what I’ve playfully teased him over the last two weeks as being ‘professor-chic’, with beige chinos, a button-up and a patched blazer.
He’s always had a more arty sense of style, but it’s definitely matured from his ripped jeans and Vans era back when we were both students.
He leans back and runs a hand over his face.
“You know, I still find it wild that you’re back here,” he grins, reaching for his cup. “It’s surreal.”
“I know, right. Feels like I’ve used a time turner and jumped straight back to 2013.”
“I tell you what…” He laughs as he pulls the cup to his lips. “Never thought I’d say it, but there’s nothing I’ve missed more than your Harry Potter references.”
“HA! I knew it! You always acted like I was so lame.”
“I didn’t say you weren’t lame. You are.” He nearly spills his coffee when I slap him on the arm. “But I still missed you.”
He takes a big sip of coffee, then I watch with confusion as his face pinches and he struggles to swallow the liquid down. He turns to me with watery eyes.
“What on God’s green earth did you serve me?” He gasps. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“What’s wrong with it?” I ask, mortified. “I heated the milk myself.”
“For how long? A thousand years?” He sputters dramatically, banging on his chest for good measure. “Tastes like lava.”
“You’re just being dramatic now,” I say, stifling down a smile and propping a hand on my hip. “I thought I had done well.”
“Dramatic? You tried to burn off my tastebuds! I just came close to never being able to experience the deliciousness of the Bean & Cup apple strudel ever again!”
I can’t stop the burst of laughter that tumbles past my lips now. Brett lives for the strudel here.
“Promise me you’ll stay away from the strudel,” Brett warns as I try to surface from my laughing fit. “I don’t trust you near it. You’ll probably turn the crust to ash when you heat it.”
“Stop, you twat.” I push his shoulder again as I dry the tears that spill from my eyes. “What are you doing here anyway? It’s late.”
“Needed caffeine after a long day. Didn’t realise my tongue would be murdered in the process.”
I pick up the offending cup of coffee. “Careful,” he says, eyeing me warily, “it’s lethal.”
“Oh stop it!” I pretend to drop the cup over his crotch. He pushes away from the table so quickly I erupt again and almost do drop the cup.
“Bloody hell. I’ll have an iced latte instead, thanks.”
I smile like a loon all the way back to Toby. “Why didn’t you tell me I burnt the milk?” I ask him after I dump the cup in the sink.
“That guy failed me last semester,” Toby shrugs nonchalantly, his nose ring glinting against the overhead lights. “I had to repeat the unit. Call it sweet revenge.”
I snort and start making Brett an iced latte. Unbelievable, the youth these days.
When our last customers are gone, I wipe down all the benches and tables, put away the clean dishes and wrap the leftover food in the display fridges. It’s just me and Toby on tonight, and he finishes cleaning the coffee machine at the same time that I finish the floors.
“He your boyfriend?” Toby asks as I wring out the mop. He nods his head in the direction of Brett, who’s waiting for me by the front door.
“Nah, just a friend.”
“Right. I’ll lock up here, you can go.” He heads out the back door with the trash.
I give the kitchen a quick glance over, then I grab my bag and head for Brett.
“You didn’t have to wait,” I say as we pass through the front door into the dark. We stand off to the side, turning to face each other. It’s a chilly night and the threat of rain lingers in the grey clouds overhead like a dark promise.
“All good. I wanted to have a quick word, anyway.”
“Oh? What about?” I throw my puffer jacket over my black work clothes and shove my frozen fingers into the pockets. I want nothing more than to go home and soak in a hot bubble bath with my kindle.
“I’m going for drinks in a couple weeks with some colleagues and was wondering if you wanted to come along? Meet some people in the industry. Make some contacts.”
The offer is surprising but not unwelcome.
“Really? That sounds great, Brett! I’d love to come,” I smile widely at my old friend. “Text me the details and I’ll be there.”
“Sounds good.” He shifts on his feet. “What are you up to toni-”
His words are cut off by someone clearing their throat right beside us, and I practically jump out of my skin. There’s a dark figure leaning against the brick wall of the cafe, mostly cloaked in shadows, who just happens to be staring straight at me.
“Finished for the evening, Gianna?”
Why does the quiet, unspoken demand in his voice both send a thrill down my spine and piss me off?
“What are you doing here, Zayn?” I ask, ignoring the former.
He pushes effortlessly off the wall and approaches us, his hands in the pockets of his suit pants. He looks gorgeous, as always, and I feel the familiar tingle of electricity that dances along my skin whenever I’m in his presence.
“I came to offer you a ride home.” He speaks to me, but his eyes are trained on Brett. “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”
Funny that, his tone suggests quite the opposite.
“You’re not. I was just walking Gia out,” Brett says easily, but he’s eyeing Zayn a little more closely than I would have expected. “I’m Brett.” He offers his hand to Zayn, who shakes it with a firm grip. The handshake lasts a touch longer than necessary, and I swear Brett’s knuckles turn white.
“Zayn. If there’s nothing else, then?” His gaze slides back to mine. “Can I take you home, Gianna?”
I stand there awkwardly, feeling like a child of divorce, my gaze flicking between Zayn and Brett as though they’re bitter exes struggling to co-parent without resentment at drop off time.
“I am an adult,” I say, trying yet failing to keep the sarcasm from my voice.
“I don’t need to be escorted from one place to another, you know?
” I roll my eyes and shove down my undeniable delight that Zayn came for me.
He gave no indication earlier that he cared about my plans or my job beyond clarifying that I wasn’t wearing a negligee in a hotel room right now.
“I’m well aware,” Zayn says softly, his sudden gentleness throwing me off. “I’m also aware of the statistics of women being assaulted after hours on university campuses.”
I shift on my feet, but no longer feel the bitter cold that was beginning to seep through my jacket.
Zayn’s words, paired with the concern lacing his eyes, heat me from the inside out until I actually feel my cheeks flush.
Did he really come all this way just to make sure I got home safely?
I guess with my track record lately, his concern is warranted.
“Right then. You good here, Gia?” Brett asks awkwardly as he turns to face me. I briefly wonder what he thinks of Zayn showing up here, especially as he asked me last week if I was seeing anyone and I said no.
“Yeah,” I nod to him. “Zayn is… another old friend of mine.”
Zayn’s looking at Brett like he’s sizing him up, and now I’m wondering what he thinks of my friendship with Brett. They couldn’t be more different. Brett is warm, charming and friendly. Zayn is cold, blunt and ruthless. Well, on the outside he is, anyway.
“Okay,” Brett says slowly, his eyes roaming my face as if looking for a cue from me that I need him to stay. He obviously finds none. “Have a good weekend and I’ll see ya Monday.”
Brett takes a few slow steps back, his eyes still trained on me, then he nods and turns to head down the footpath that leads to the front of the uni. Zayn tracks his movements with a tight jaw.
“Why are you looking at him like that?” I ask, my eyes narrowed. “Brett’s my friend.”
“You never dated? He asks coolly.
“What? No. I was with Daniel back when we met.”
“And if you hadn’t been with Daniel?”
His face looks drawn when it turns to mine.
“I don’t know, Zayn. I’m not a fortune teller. I can’t tell you how my life would have played out if I never married Daniel.”
Zayn’s features return to neutral, as if he just realised he was letting his emotions show.
“I think I just ruined his plan to ask you out tonight.”
I rear back, my brows flying into my hairline. “I highly doubt it. Brett’s my professor now. That would be pretty unethical.”
Zayn stares at me like I’m the clueless one.
“Why did you come back, Zayn?” I ask the question he wanted me to ask him the other day in my apartment.
I’ve had time to process, and now I’m stuck in this weird limbo of not knowing what to do with Zayn’s confession.
Not knowing how to feel. Not knowing how he feels.
Trying to dissect his actions but failing miserably.
He seems to pop up whenever I need him, and I don’t know how to take that or why he’s inserted himself back into my life.
Zayn looks back to the path Brett disappeared down. His eyebrows draw closer as he turns something over in his head.
“I missed the weather in Melbourne.”
As if calling out Zayn’s lie itself, a harsh wind whips through us and sends my ponytail flying across my face, wrapping my hair around my neck like a thick black scarf.
His lie is frustrating. That’s not the answer he was going to give me that day.
“It’s about to bucket down. Should we go?” he asks.
I nod and then follow as he turns to leave, not that I particularly want to keep being his damsel in distress as Anna so eloquently put it, but I also don’t fancy getting soaked while walking the six blocks back to my apartment.
“Did you come here on purpose?” I ask as I walk briskly to keep up with his stride.
“No. I tripped and fell out of my office and landed here.”
I scoff. “You know what I mean. Did you specifically come here just to bring me home?”
“No, I just happened to be spending my evening amongst uni students and inappropriate professors when I spotted you by chance.”
“Stop being a smart arse. How did you even find me? There’s at least six coffee shops on campus. And Brett isn’t inappropriate! I’m not some vulnerable, underage student. ”
We step out of the grand, arched entrance to the university and I spot Zayn’s car parked illegally out the front. Of course the lawyer thinks he’s above the law.
“He wait for all his students to finish work and invite them for drinks, does he?” Zayn shoots me an annoyed glance as he unlocks his car, then waits for me to disappear into the passenger side before he joins me.
I settle into the immaculate car that smells like Zayn and ignore the way it makes my body respond.
I admit to myself that it’s an addictive rush being in one of Zayn’s personal spaces, like I get a little piece of him that few others get to see.
“No, but stop making him sound like a creep. We were friends before he was my professor.”
The engine purrs to life and Zayn swings the sleek piece of black machinery effortlessly into the Friday night traffic.
“You didn’t tell me how you found me,” I continue.
He lounges back into his seat and pulls up at a set of traffic lights before turning his dark gaze on me.
“I’ll find you anywhere, Gianna.”
I roll my eyes and pretend that his words don’t turn my insides to molten honey. “Now who sounds like a creep.”
He only chuckles softly. Then, when the light turns green, he plants his foot on the accelerator.