Page 42 of Collide
Chapter 8
Animal
The Drip is an eclectic little hole-in-the-wall café tucked away in a quiet part of Brooklyn. I’m grateful Alex texted me the directions last night. Otherwise, I’d be lost.
The distressed yellow door groans as I push it open, the scent of freshly ground coffee wrapping around me like a warm embrace.
The place is dimly lit, its back wall all exposed brick, and indie music hums softly in the background. The café is empty—mismatched chairs and tables scattered throughout, with lanterns casting a cozy glow against the dreary rain outside.
Behind the counter, a barista with tattooed arms and a sage-green beanie—an odd choice for July—barely lifts her eyes from her book as I enter.
Alex isn’t here yet.
I choose a large wingback chair by the window, its striped fabric worn and faded, like it’s survived a few lifetimes. The whole place has character—old records stacked haphazardly on shelves, suitcases spilling over with tiny potted plants, tattered coffee table books scattered across low tables. Outside, rain drizzles steadily. Pedestrians rush past with their umbrellas, lost in their own worlds.
And then, there he is. Alex.
Standing across the street, waiting to cross, looking as handsome as ever in a long-sleeved white shirt, casually rolled up to his elbows, revealing his strong forearms. The same arms that carried me, unconscious, into the hospital. The thought makes me cringe and swoon. His jeans cling just right, showcasing his athletic physique beneath.
He holds a hand—rather pathetically—over his head to shield himself from the light rain, his lips curling into a smirk as he spots me through the window.
I quickly look down, pretending to scroll through my phone, though my heart is already picking up speed.
The bell above the door chimes.
“Hi!” The barista’s voice chirps from behind the counter, far more enthusiastically than when I walked in. I glance up to see her put her book down, her attention now firmly fixed on him.
I roll my eyes and shake my head.
Okay. So I’m not the only one who thinks he’s good-looking.
Alex’s gaze zeroes in on me. My eyes dart down, hoping he didn’t catch me staring. Footsteps approach. I risk a peek.
Our eyes meet.
He smirks.
I melt.
Before I can second-guess myself, I rise to meet him. His arms wrap around me, the scent of rain and something fresh clinging to him. Before I can linger, he pulls back, planting a soft kiss on each cheek.
The European custom still feels strange to me, but endearing.
“Have you ordered?” he asks, voice smooth, his hand trailing lightly down my back, resting at the small of it.
I shake my head, offering a small, shy smile. “I was waiting for you.”
Something shifts in his expression—nerves?
That’s unexpected. Yesterday, he was full of confidence, so sure of himself.
Is it the pressure of today?
“Coffee?” His arm grazes my shoulder as we step toward the counter. “You drink coffee, right? Or we can go somewhere else.” His words come out in a rush, a rare moment of uncertainty.
I place my hand over his, hoping to steady him. “Coffee’s good.”
The barista is still watching us, her eyes darting between us like we’re the most interesting thing to happen to her all week.
