Chapter 21 Coffee and Clarity
Coffee and Clarity
Cole
Sunday morning finds me lying in bed longer than usual, scrolling through my contacts while Rex sprawls across half the mattress like he pays my rent.
My thumb hovers over Harper’s name, and I tell myself this is just about coffee, nothing heavy or complicated.
But there’s a little charge in my chest when I finally type, Coffee later? My treat.
I set the phone aside and scratch behind Rex’s ears, trying not to watch for the three dots. It’s been four days since our first date, since we kissed, and I’ve been thinking about her nonstop.
My phone buzzes.
Harper: Yeah. There’s a place near the park I like.
The swiftness of her response catches me off guard in the best way. No games, no making me wait to see if she’s interested. She just says yes, simple and direct, and I realize I’ve been holding my breath waiting for her answer.
I spot Harper through the windows of the coffee shop before I even walk in. She’s already waiting inside, hair falling loose around her shoulders, wearing a soft gray sweater that makes her look approachable and warm. She’s studying the pastry case, and I can’t help but smile at the sight.
The café is busy but not crowded, filled with the Sunday morning mix of college students with laptops and families sharing newspapers. It’s the kind of place that feels lived-in, comfortable, with mismatched furniture and local art covering the walls.
“Find anything worth considering?” I ask as I join her at the counter.
She looks up with that smile I’m starting to think of as specifically mine. “I’m torn between responsible adult breakfast and the chocolate croissant that’s calling my name.”
“What would irresponsible Harper choose?”
“Definitely the croissant. With extra chocolate if they had it.”
“Then I vote chocolate croissant with extra chocolate. Life’s too short for responsible breakfast pastries.”
She smiles at me.
We settle at a corner table with our drinks—black coffee for me, some complicated latte with extra foam for her—and the conversation picks up without any of that awkward second-date stiffness I’ve experienced with other people.
It feels more like continuing a conversation we started Wednesday night rather than starting over.
“Black coffee,” she observes, wrapping her hands around her mug. “Very straightforward. Very you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just that it matches your personality. No complicated additions, no unnecessary flourishes. Just coffee that tastes like coffee.”
I take a sip, considering this. “And your sugar-and-foam concoction says what about you?”
“That I don’t trust coffee to taste good on its own and I have a sweet tooth I’m not ashamed of.”
“Fair point. Although I think it says you like things that are worth the extra effort.”
She tilts her head, studying me over her mug. “That’s a much nicer interpretation than ‘high maintenance.’”
“You don’t strike me as high maintenance.”
“Good, because I’m really not. I just happen to think life’s better with a little sweetness added.”
Something about the way she says it makes me want to know what other kinds of sweetness she adds to her life, but before I can ask, she’s thanking me for convincing her to get the extra chocolate.
“Do you want to try some?” she asks, reaching for it right as I do.
Her fingers brush mine. Neither of us moves away, and for a moment the air slows, the background noise of the café fading into something distant and unimportant.
“Your hands are massive,” she says suddenly, then blushes like she can’t believe she said it out loud.
I look down at where her fingers are still touching mine.
“Sorry, that was random, but I mean…” She grabs my hand and really looks at it. She touches the freckle I have on my thumb. “These must be good for hockey.”
I chuckle when she turns my palm up and rips a piece of the croissant and places it in my hand. I plop it in my mouth and nod.
“That’s good,” I say, holding my hand out to ask for more.
She makes a face at me. “Get your own.”
I reach over the table playfully, trying to grab it. She pulls it away and widens her eyes. I pretend to reach for it again, but instead, I kiss her.
She kisses me back, and I cup her face. When I finally pull back, she feeds me the croissant. I take a big bite and she watches closely.
“So good, right?” she whispers.
I nod, sitting back down. I swallow the food and say, “Want to get out of here?”
“Where?”
“A walk.”
She takes my hand and follows me out into the crisp October air. Leaves skitter across the sidewalk in the breeze, and there’s that sharp quality to the light that means winter’s coming whether we’re ready or not.
“So,” she drawls.
I look over at her and notice she’s cold. I shrug off my jacket and put it around her.
She chuckles to herself and then says, “Thanks, but I want to ask you something.”
“Ask away.”
She takes a moment to think as we walk and then she says, “So… this giving me your jacket, being sweet… is this how you are with every girl?”
I stop walking, and then she turns to me.
“I’m sorry,” she says.
I step forward. “Don’t be sorry. But, uh, to answer your question, no.”
“No?”
I shake my head. “No. I haven’t dated anyone in a while, and so I’m rusty.”
She rolls her eyes at that.
“I’m not trying to pull anything, just being myself.”
“Yourself?”
I nod, reaching for her. “This isn’t just an act, Harper. To be honest, I didn’t want to go on the double date. Sirus had to drag me, but I’m so happy that I did.”
“You are?”
I nod. God, she’s giving me a hard time. “Hell yeah, I am.” I lift my hands. “Look at us.” She looks around and smiles. “Look at me.” Her eyes meet mine, and I smile back. “I like you, Harper.”
She smiles shyly. It’s so cute that my heart jumps. I observe her in my jacket. It’s basically swallowing her whole.
“It’s cold,” I say.
She nods, biting her bottom lip. “Yeah.”
“I’ll walk you to your car.”
She walks close to my side, and I wrap my arm around her shoulders. She looks up at me with approval. Her blue eyes gleaming, and I grin, observing her content expression.
At her car, there’s a pause—that quiet space where either one of us could step back, say thanks for coffee, and drive away. Or we could step forward into whatever this is becoming.
I don’t know what happened back there, but I hope she sees I’m not wasting her time. I pull her closer to me and lean down while lifting her chin.
The kiss is unhurried but certain, my hands finding her hair, her arms slipping around my waist. She tastes like the vanilla from her latte and something uniquely her that I’m already starting to crave. When we finally break apart, she’s smiling in a way that makes warmth settle in my chest.
“I had a really good time,” she says, and there’s nothing performative about it. Just honest pleasure at having spent the morning with me.
“Me too. And I meant what I said.”
She presses her lips together, looking at my shirt. Then she whispers, “I like you, too.”
A smile spreads across my face, and I catch her eyes watching me closely. “I’m happy to hear that the feelings mutual.”
She nods and gets into her car, waving once before pulling out of the parking spot. I stand there a moment longer, hands in my pockets, watching her disappear around the corner.
I head to my truck and get in, smiling at her confession.