Page 31 of Love You A Latte

“Oh wait!” I gasp, appalled. “We didn’t toast or cheers or anything!”

Frankie holds their glass up, then says, “Cheers,” when I clink mine to theirs.

“Oh my god, you’re ridiculous,” I laugh.

“Excuse you,” Frankie says, a mock scowl on their face. “I’ll have you know I’m very badass.”

A laugh rips out of me as I tip my head back, loving thisside of Frankie. I bring my glass to theirs again, relishing their pleased grin.

“I’ll do it,” I say. “Cheers to setting boundaries, standing up for ourselves, and not letting mean people get in the way of our happiness.”

Frankie stares at me for a moment, then raises their glass.

“Yeah okay, I’ll definitely drink to that.”

They take a long gulp and the ice clinks against the side of the glass when they set it back down, half empty. We spend the next hour chatting, flirting, perhaps drinking a little more than we should on a weekday.

Somehow we end up on the topic of our current reads, and decide a trip to Crooked Books is in order. We wobble down the street, clinging to each other and laughing when I trip over the curb and stumble into Frankie’s arms. There may not have actually been a curb there, but who’s going to know? Certainly not us.

We stumble into Crooked Books and Frankie loudly shushes me.

“Shh gotta be quiet,” they slur, “Mrs. Langdon hayfus—hates… fuss.”

We take turns “shh”-ing each other as we weave our way to the back where the romance books are shelved. We’re only a few feet from our destination when Mrs. Langdon pops out from the aisle next to us.

“Ah shit,” Frankie says. “Shhhhoot.”

“Shhhhh,” I say, and Frankie stares at me.

“No shhh, she’s already caught us,” Frankie says.

I blink and look around, remembering we were being quiet to avoid Mrs. Langdon, not because we’re in a library. Because this isn’t a library. The harried bookstore owner is glowering at the two of us, her hands on her hips and a scowl lining her age-worn face.

“Oops, sorry,” I whisper, and Frankie cackles.

Mrs. Langdon starts talking too fast for me to understand, something about hooligans and unnecessary noise, as she puts a hand on each of our shoulders and bodily turns us around. I don’t know what she’s talking about, we were being perfectly polite and neither of us wasbeing loud.

She’s muttering under her breath as she ushers us back toward the door, pulling us this way and that and scolding Frankie. Apparently they ‘know better’ whatever that means.

“We jus’ wanted a look, a book, Mrs. Langdon,” I say, trying to plead our case. “Issssat too much to ask for?”

“In your current state it most certainly is!” she exclaims, opening the door and hustling us out.

I spin around, ready to ask for a second chance, but the door is already swinging closed. It snaps shut right in front of my nose and I pull up short, then see her flip the lock while glaring at me from just inside the glass. Her nose is only inches from mine.

I huff, then turn back to Frankie, only to see them folded over a few feet away.

“Frankie?” I ask, stumbling over to them.

They’re wheezing, but when they look up, it’s because they’re laughing so hard they can’t breathe. I don’t know what’s funny, but I start laughing too, and soon we’re sitting on the sidewalk, leaning into each other with tears streaming down our faces.

When I can finally catch my breath, I ask, “What was so funny?”

“What?” Frankie says.

We both crack up again at that, and it’s in this moment that I realize I’m beyond tipsy and well into drunk territory.

“I never,” Frankie says between gasps of laughter. “I always wondered how… what it was like… to be kicked out by Mrs. Langdon!”

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