17. Noah
NOAH
Once, when we were kids, Mom took Daphne and me to a local coffee shop for her birthday. All she wanted to celebrate was us, a hot latte, and a slice of cake. The coffee shop we went to was a little rough around the edges, but they always had a fire brewing in the corner.
Daphne and I sat on a rug on the floor, splitting a cup of hot chocolate. Mom reread her favorite romance book as her kids played endless games of tic-tac-toe. After an hour, a barista brought a slice of red velvet cake with a lit candle as everyone in the coffee shop sang Happy Birthday.
“Coffee and cake can solve anything,” the barista, an old woman with gray hair, said.
I had taken those words to heart.
Mom had a bad day? Coffee and cake.
Daphne experienced her first heartbreak? Coffee and cake.
That simple piece of advice changed the way I approached my problems for years.
Now, as I stood outside my neighborhood coffee shop, scrolling through Instagram, I wished solving my current problems were that simple .
There were a lot of frequent commenters on Macey’s Instagram. One account in particular, Fishly541 , left rude comments daily. Even though I was normally very good at ignoring the rude comments on my own photos, for some reason, I struggled to do the same with Macey’s photos.
Your not even that good a writer.
I rolled my eyes. If you’re going to hate online, at least use proper grammar.
Wait. It wasn’t until I reread the comment that a memory from Aruba connected the dots. Macey, by the pool, complaining about her boss. She used the wrong version of your versus you are again.
There was no way Victoria was leaving rude comments on Macey’s Instagram…right?
I shook off the thought, pushing the door into the coffee shop instead.
The coffee shop smelled like fresh espresso and something sweet—maybe cinnamon, maybe vanilla. It had that effortless charm of an indie coffee shop, exposed brick, hanging plants, and shelves lined with coffee beans in glass jars.
My gaze swept the room, landing on Macey instantly. She was tucked into a corner booth, already deep into her laptop, a half-finished iced coffee beside her. Loose strands of hair had slipped from her braid, framing her face as she chewed her lip in concentration.
I made my way over, dropping into the seat across from her. “Tell me you’re not already stressing over this.”
Macey glanced up, startled, then rolled her eyes. “I have to stress. This is my future.” She gestured to the screen as if it held the keys to her destiny. “My blog, my brand, my livelihood.”
I reached for her drink, taking a sip without asking. “And that’s why I’m here—to make sure you don’t spiral into a black hole of overthinking. ”
“Rude,” she muttered, swatting at my hand, but she was smiling now.
I leaned back, stretching my arms along the back of the booth. “All right, let’s get to work. Show me what you’ve got so far.”
She shifted her laptop in my direction. “It’s called Macey’s Miles . I’ll be focused on travel blogging for now, but maybe I’ll expand my silos as I grow.”
On the screen, her homepage was clean and modern. It had a crisp white background, bold but elegant font, and a logo that suited her perfectly: stylish yet approachable. A soft blue-and-gold color scheme tied everything together, giving it a polished, professional feel.
“It looks good,” I said, scrolling through the pages. The navigation was smooth, the branding consistent. The only thing missing? Content.
“There’s not much here yet,” I pointed out.
Macey sighed, rubbing her temple. “I know. That’s the part that terrifies me. A blank website feels way more intimidating than a blank notebook.”
I smirked. “That’s because a notebook doesn’t have the entire Internet waiting to judge you.”
She groaned. “Not helpful.”
I turned the laptop back toward her. “Then let’s fix it. I’ll help you make a content plan. Blog posts, Instagram, engagement strategies. We have to tie them together.” I took out my own phone. “Actually, I use an app to plan mine. I wonder if I can add you as a user so you can try it out.”
I looked up from my phone to see her staring at me with a soft smile. “What?”
“Nothing.” She shook her head. “Thanks for offering to help.”
“It’s part of our deal,” I said .
“Right.” Macey tucked her chin, focused again on her computer. “Our deal.”
I cringed, knowing I’d said the wrong thing, but unsure how to make it right.
She pushed her coffee cup to me. “If you’re getting a coffee, can you get me a refill? It’s only fair since you had the last sip.”
“Yeah, I can do that.”
I returned a few minutes later, two coffees and a slice of cake in hand. My respect for servers increased tenfold. Balancing items on your forearms was difficult.
Macey craned her neck. “What kind of cake is that?”
“Carrot.” I handed her the second fork. We both took a bite.
Yeah, coffee and cake really could make anything better.
She got up and joined me on my side of the booth. “Can you show me how to use the app? I can’t figure it out.”
“Sure.”
She handed me her phone, and I went to the homepage of the app. Macey scooted in closer, so our thighs were touching, and suddenly, it was like my brain short-circuited. All the buttons looked the same.
“I…don’t remember.”
“You don’t remember?”
We were arm to arm now too. Macey wore a thin tank top, so I could feel every inch of her soft skin against mine. Did she know what she was doing?
Macey laughed and poked my bicep. “I thought you said you’ve been using this for years.”
“Yeah, but sometimes when I get distracted my mind goes blank.”
“Distracted?”
Ah, shit. Didn’t mean to say that either. “By the cake.”
“Oh, right.” Macey cut another piece off with her fork. “It is really good. ”
Don’t stare at her mouth. Don’t get distracted by her tongue licking the cream cheese frosting.
Too late.
I turned away. “How about we work on your debut post instead?”
“Sure.” Macey pulled her laptop closer to her, settling into this side of the booth. “I’ve got a few ideas.”
We spent the next hour writing and rewriting her debut post. Macey made a list of posts she wanted to write during her first six weeks, and we got the start of a content plan going.
Fueled by cake, we also linked her Instagram to her blog. She could slowly transition into one online presence: Macey’s Miles .
It’d be a long, slow process, but I had full confidence Macey knew how to conquer it.
During our planning, a few more nasty comments made their appearance.
Macey brushed them off, even though it was clear they bothered her.
Trolls had taken over the Internet. It was like people forgot that the influencers and celebrities they followed were actual people with real emotions, not just characters in a movie.
I tried to bring them up to Macey again, but she claimed the angry comments and the bad press would be worth it for her blog. She had stuck her chin up and said she was going to “fake date me even harder now.”
I had no idea what that meant, but it scared me a little. I wasn’t terrified of the thought itself, but instead by how much I wanted it.
There was an even scarier thing—the more Macey gave me, the more I craved. I felt like a puppy, all too eager to accept whatever scraps she threw my way that day. A smile when she saw me. A glare whenever I said something stupid. A touch when she thought someone was looking .
Macey was fine leaving the comments alone, but something about them left me feeling unsettled. Especially with the new suspicion that some of the commenters may be closer to Macey than she realized.
“Oh, shit.” Macey frantically shut her laptop. “We’re going to be late.”
“Late to what?”
She grinned. “We have an appointment.”
When Macey said appointment, my first thought was Not another massage appointment, please.
As it turned out, Macey had something completely different in mind.
We walked across the lawn at the University of Illinois Chicago.
It felt like another world being here—old stone buildings towering above us, ancient-looking archways, the whole place humming with the quiet intensity of people who actually knew what they were doing with their lives.
Students rushed past, some deep in debate, others sipping coffee from biodegradable cups, all of them looking like they belonged.
I, on the other hand, stuck out like a sore thumb.
“Are you sure we’re allowed to be here?” I asked, hands shoved in my jacket pockets as I scanned the quad.
“Technically? No,” Macey said breezily, tossing me a grin. “But students sit in on random lectures all the time. No one’s going to stop us unless you, like, raise your hand and ask what’s on the midterm.”
“Wait, we’re going to a lecture?”
She quirked an eyebrow. “Did you think we were going to just wander around the campus and go home? ”
I shrugged. “I thought maybe you wanted to show me your old college haunts.”
“Nope. I don’t think I ever stepped foot into the architecture department.”
“Why are we going to the architecture department?”
Macey paused to lean against an empty wall, tilting her face toward the sun. “It’s part of our deal, remember? I’m supposed to help you figure out what you want to do and who you want to become after your road trip. You studied architecture before. Why not finish your degree?”
I glanced around the student body, trying to picture myself as one of them. It felt like too much time had passed, like I couldn’t stuff the current version of myself into the body of an older version of me.
“It’s no Cornell,” she said slowly, “but it’s still a good university. If you gave it a chance, I think you might like it.”
“I’ll consider it.” It was enough to earn a small smile.
She led me into one of the older lecture halls, the kind that looked straight out of a movie—high ceilings, massive windows filtering in the pale afternoon light, rows of wooden desks worn smooth by decades of restless students.
The room smelled like coffee and old paper, and something about it made my stomach twist.
Macey slid into a seat near the back and gestured for me to sit. “Look studious.”
I dropped into the chair beside her. “Do I look like someone who blends in here?”
She gave me a slow once-over—the leather jacket, the worn jeans, the fact that I was a grown adult sneaking into a college class on a Thursday evening.
“Not even a little,” she admitted. “But if anyone asks, just say you’re auditing. ”
I smirked, leaning back in my chair. “You just wanted to see me in a classroom setting, didn’t you?”
She scoffed. “Please. My daydreams of you don’t include you stressed over a final exam.”
“Daydreams of me?”
She blushed, but before she could fire back, the professor cleared her throat at the podium.
“Tonight,” she began, adjusting her glasses, “we’ll be discussing the evolution of the modern house.”
Macey shot me a look that was half how perfect is this? And half pay attention .
I did. More than I expected to.
For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t thinking about my next post, my next flight, my next anything. I was just here, sitting in an old lecture hall, listening to ideas bigger than myself.
The temptation to get back into a learning environment bit me harder than I expected. Whenever I thought about college before, a slew of excuses usually accompanied it: too much time had passed, I was too old, there was no point in me getting a degree anymore.
Now the list of excuses grew smaller and smaller.
At the end of the lecture, we left with the crowd. We walked down the breezeway where, at the end, Macey handed me a small card.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“The professor’s business card. She’s a department head. If you’re interested, I think you should set up a meeting with her to talk about enrolling here and finishing your degree.”
I pocketed the card but didn’t say anything. That was a decision I’d have to sleep on.
“Thank you,” I said, pulling Macey into a hug.
She rested her cheek against my chest. “You’re welcome.”