Page 231 of Small Town Firsts

“What?”

“Sweets,” he sighs. “You were walking with your eyes trained on the ground like it held all of the answers to the universe. I’d been standing still when you walked into me. You legit didn’t notice me. I’m six-five and two-hundred-and-eighty pounds. I’m kind of hard to miss.”

“So, maybe I was a little distracted?”

He reaches past me, holding the door to the cafe open for me. The smell of fresh coffee and cinnamon greet me, beckoning me inside.

“Or…” He lets the door close behind him. “Maybe you didn’t want to draw attention by making eye contact with anyone.”

Or maybe I felt like someone was watching me and the feeling made me want to crawl in a hole and never come out...potato, po-tah-to.

“Something like that,” I murmur, scanning the menu.

Gabe hums thoughtfully, but the barista greets us before he can reply.

“Welcome to Holy Roasters, what can I get y’all today?”

The beast of a man behind me prompts me to order first. “Um, a coffee, black, and a cinnamon roll.”

“And you?”

“Oh, we’re separate,” I mumble, but Gabe talks right over me. “I’ll also take a coffee, black, but with room for cream. A green smoothie, a breakfast burrito, a banana, and a blueberry muffin.”

My jaw practically unhinges at the amount of food he orders.

“Gotta keep my figure.” He winks and pats his belly.

“That’ll be twenty-two fifty.”

“But, we’re not?—”

Gabe bustles me behind him and then passes the barista his card, paying for my order along with his, despite my protests.

“Y’all’s coffees will be at the end of the bar, and we will bring the rest out when it is ready.”

Smooth as butter, Gabe maneuvers me to where our steaming paper cups are waiting. Gabe adds a healthy dose of cream and sugar while I simply pop a lid onto mine and call it good.

“How about that table by the window?” he asks, not actually waiting for me to reply.

Our seats offer us an unfettered view of both the cafe and the campus. I ignore the bustle around me and focus on the students milling about on the other side of the glass. People watching has always been a hobby of mine; there’s something about assigning stories and traits to strangers that thrills me.

Maybe it’s because, for a short time, I can see everyone as good. Who knows?

“Zone out much?” Gabe asks, knocking his knee into mine.

“Just taking in the scenery.”

An employee drops off my cinnamon roll, along with his mountain of food.

“Where are you from?” He takes a massive bite of his muffin, sending crumbs scattering across the table.

“Texas, you?”

“Alabama, but only just past the state line.”

“What made you decide to come to Central Valley?” I ask, for lack of anything more interesting to offer. Plus, if I keep the focus on him, it won’t be on me.

“Football.”

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