CHAPTER SEVEN
EMERSON
SEPTEMBER
SOPHOMORE YEAR OF COLLEGE
The pungent odor of freshly ground coffee beans permeates the air. I take a deep inhale to breathe it in.
“You’ll get sick of it soon,” Ashley my coworker, says dryly as she walks by.
“I haven’t so far,” I counter with a smile.
I got a job at my favorite coffee shop, Caffeine Corner, on the edge of campus this summer. I worked here part-time when I wasn’t painting my mural. I kept the gig to help fund my living expenses when the weeks drifted into the start of my sophomore year. Money is tight, but I’m making it. And I’m proud of that.
“Excuse me, miss,” a familiar voice rings out.
I turn to see Suki leaning across the counter.
“Can I please have a triple shot, one pump caramel, two pumps vanilla, half oat milk, half coconut milk, light foam, extra-hot latte?” She flutters her eyelashes after finishing that complicated order.
“No,” I answer, placing the coffee I was working on onto the counter for the next customer, “but I will make your normal iced vanilla latte.” I smile sweetly.
Suki laughs. We’ve joked about the ridiculous coffee orders I’ve gotten since working here many times now.
“Sold,” she says. “I’ll be sitting right over there.” She points to a small table across the room, where her bag is already resting in a chair.
“I’ll bring it to you.”
“Best service in town, folks,” Suki announces to anyone in the vicinity who is listening.
I laugh and shake my head.
“We need to hire her for our PR department,” Ashley suggests, leaning against the counter next to me.
“We couldn’t afford her,” I jest.
I start grinding the dark roasted beans for Suki’s coffee when the bells on the front door jingle, announcing the arrival of new customers. Ashley whistles softly.
“I’m so glad most of the hockey team drinks coffee. Hello, handsome …” She draws out the last two words beneath her breath.
I glance over my shoulder to see Sam entering with two other guys, who I assume are some of his teammates. They have the same broad shoulders and confident air about them.
“They’re all yours,” I quip, focusing on assembling the coffee in front of me.
Her eyes narrow. “You’re not interested?”
“Nope.”
“ Everyone’s interested in them.”
“Well, I guess I’m not like everyone else.”
“Do we need to check your eyesight?”
I giggle and push her away when she waves her hand in front of my face.
“I thought you painted and could appreciate beautiful things.”
“Oh, I appreciate beauty all right. It’s the cocky attitude that accompanies the beauty that turns me off,” I say.
“Sam Anderson can be cocky with me anytime,” she murmurs in a sultry tone.
I roll my eyes and place a lid on Suki’s coffee. “You’re the reason those guys think they’re God’s gift to all women.” I grab a glass of water for myself and a straw. “I’m going to take ten.”
Ashley nods to acknowledge me, but I can tell her focus is on the guys.
I walk around the counter and to Suki’s table, ignoring Sam and his friends altogether as they approach the front to order.
“Hey,” I say breathlessly, plopping down in the seat across from her.
I set her iced coffee on the table, and she reaches for it.
“You are a goddess, my friend.”
I bat my eyelashes while she takes a drink.
She swallows and sighs. “I needed that.”
“What, the caffeine?”
“The caffeine, the sugar …” She looks across the room, and her forehead furrows. “Why is that hot guy at the counter looking over here? Do you know him or something?”
I follow her eyes to see Sam looking in our direction. Ashley says something to him, pulling his attention away. He laughs, his mouth morphing into that arrogant smirk he always wears. Especially when a woman is around.
I’m irritated to see how gorgeous he still is. I’m even angrier at myself for noticing. I haven’t seen him again since our run-in outside of the arena at the end of last semester. It’s easy to forget how handsome he is until he’s standing in the same room as me. The light coming through the windows plays with the natural blond highlights in his tousled hair and catches my eye. The T-shirt and shorts he’s wearing are ordinary, but the way they hang from his muscular frame and show glimpses of his cut thighs are anything but common. We make brief eye contact before I look away.
“Nope, don’t know him.”
She eyes me suspiciously before letting it go. “What time do you get off today?”
“My shift ends at three,” I say after sipping my water.
“I wish you didn’t have to work.”
I think Suki feels guilty that her parents are paying for her tuition and bills and that she can just enjoy college and not worry about money while I’m struggling. She does a lot of little things, like buying extra groceries and always getting the kind of yogurt and milk that I like. I notice every single time she does it, and I appreciate her even more for it. But what she doesn’t understand, what I try to keep telling her, is that the struggle is worth it to me. I don’t feel deprived or robbed of the college experience because I have commitments now. I feel … free.
“I’ll be off at two. I have class at two thirty, and I’ll be home after that.”
I glance toward the front to see Sam and his friends leaving with their coffees in hand. Everyone is aware of their presence. They draw attention regardless of where they go.
“Oh, by the way, Sue Bowman wanted me to tell you that the mural looks amazing. She posted it on social, and it’s racked up twenty thousand likes.”
Sue is a sophomore at Sinclair who lived on the same dorm floor as Suki and me last year. We’ve all kept in touch even though we don’t have any classes together this semester.
“Wow, really? That’s awesome!” I respond.
The mural has turned out to be a huge success. My name is at the bottom of the finished product, and I’ve been surprised by how many people have congratulated me on it. People I don’t even know. I painted it on the side of Vibe, a clothing store in the small downtown district, a few short blocks from Sinclair University. Vibe mostly sells T-shirts and sweatshirts with our college logo on the front, but they have a lot of sporting goods equipment too. I had only been in the store one time before, but while I was working on my piece, I witnessed how popular the place is. Especially when the summer was ending and the town became crowded with students again. Regardless, I’m proud of how my mural turned out. And the owner was happy too.
“Don’t sound so surprised. Everyone is constantly telling you how talented you are and how great your work is. Professors, classmates, other artists … maybe one of these days, you’ll believe them.” Suki takes a long pull through her straw while eyeing me over the cup.
“That’s why I keep you around, Suki. You’re always building my confidence.”
“I’m just telling the truth.”
“And I love you for it,” I say, reaching over to squeeze her forearm.
“Emerson!” Ashley yells from behind the counter. “I need you!”
Five or six people have amassed at the front.
I glance back over at my friend with a wry grin. “I guess that’s my cue. Gotta go earn my paycheck.”
“Okay,” she says, gathering up her things. “I’ll see you later at home, roomie.”
Suki leaves as I go back to work. There’s a line when I make it behind the counter. Ashley and I tag-team for the next half hour, handing out pastries and making drinks until all the orders are filled.
“Sam Anderson asked about you,” Ashley says, feigning nonchalance when there’s no one left in line.
I pause for a moment, then continue to wipe down the counter. “Oh, yeah? What did he say?”
“He asked if you were the girl who painted the mural on the wall at Vibe.”
“And what did you say?” I ask, still cleaning.
“I told him I didn’t know. Are you?”
I smile. Ashley and I have worked together for months, but we don’t really know each other beyond surface things. She has never been very interested in going deeper, and I’ve always been fine with that. She mostly talks about herself. She reminds me of my sister in that way.
“Yes,” I confirm.
She looks surprised.
“You know I’m an art major, right?”
“No. I just knew you painted some.”
I’m sure I’ve told her that before, but I’m not surprised she doesn’t remember. Or that she didn’t put two and two together when I told her I was working on a piece.
I hold out my hand like I’m introducing myself. “Hello, my name is Emerson. I’m a sophomore at Sinclair University, majoring in art. I painted the mural on a brick building downtown.”
She eyes my hand, but doesn’t take it, playfully slapping it away instead. “That mural is amazing. It looks professional.”
“Why, thank you,” I say, taking a small, dramatic bow. “My name is at the bottom of it, you know.”
“I never paid that much attention.”
Shocking.
When I look at the clock, I see that my shift is ending. I untie my apron and walk to the back to gather the rest of my things, bidding Ashley goodbye as I go. On the way to class, I see Sam in the quad, surrounded by a bunch of jocks and beautiful girls. The scene is so stereotypical.
Ah, the beautiful, popular people.
Sam surprised me. Again . Not because he asked about me at the coffee shop, but by noticing the mural in the first place. He doesn’t seem like the type to appreciate art or take the time to even look at it. I wonder if he saw my name at the bottom and was curious if it was me. Or if he drove by sometime this summer and saw me painting it. I had plenty of people stop while I was working to talk and take a closer look. Sam was never one of them. I would’ve noticed. He’s hard not to notice, even if I despise everything he stands for. Then again, maybe he paid attention because the hockey arena is front and center in the picture. That makes more sense.
But I can’t help the tingling that forms in my stomach, knowing people—all kinds of people, even the jocks of the world—are noticing my work. My art.
Somehow, it motivates me to keep going.
“Emerson,” someone says breathlessly.
I glance behind me to see one of my classmates running closer. Eliott Simpson. We’ve been in several core classes together. He’s a science major, and he’s planning to apply to medical school after graduation.
“Hi,” I greet him with a smile.
“Hi,” he says back. “Here, let me.” He hurries in front of me to open the door, allowing me to pass through before him.
“Thanks.”
Eliott enters behind me, and we walk down the hallway together. He’s always been incredibly considerate. A true gentleman. He’s easy on the eyes, too, with his dark brown hair that’s slightly too long, curling around his ears. And his sweet smile. He’s a little shy, but I get the impression he’s interested in me. I guess it’s the lingering stares or the way he goes out of his way to bump into me before and after class. I’m interested too, but he hasn’t asked me out yet.
“Did you finish your essay for English Lit?” he asks.
“I’ve got it outlined, but I haven’t written it yet.” We walk in the room and up a few rows, settling in the middle seats. “Let me guess … you’ve been done with yours for a week now.”
A blush rises on his cheeks as he diverts his eyes to the backpack he’s unloading at his feet. “Two weeks.”
I laugh. “I knew it. Overachiever.”
“I have an Anatomy exam next week when it’s due. I need to focus on that.”
I nod, glad that I’m not in classes that are so demanding. Science has never interested me.
The professor walks into the room and straight to her desk to get settled.
Eliott leans closer to me. “If you need help, let me know.”
I meet his blue eyes and decide to take the bull by the horns. “Actually … there’s a band playing downtown on Friday. Would you like to go with me?”
The blush deepens across his cheeks, but he smiles. “That sounds like fun.”
“So, yes?” I ask.
“Yes,” he answers. “But only if you let me take you to dinner first.”
“Deal,” I say.
“Okay.”
“Okay,” I parrot.
I pull my attention to the front when the professor starts talking down below.