Page 46 of Don't Puck His Best Friend
“My mom liked my dad, okay? Just not the traditional way.”
I smile. “I know. I’m just––”
She mocks my voice, “Poking fun.”
I nod, laughing.
Then we quiet down and let the silence fill the room.
My mind starts racing at how complicated my love life has gotten. I exhale because that’s a bit dramatic. Nothing crazyis happening. I just can’t stop my mind from flipping between images of Liam’s knowing smirk when he called me “Trouble,” Cole’s steady smile when he asked if he could call me. The way Liam makes me feel reckless and alive, the way Cole makes me feel safe and seen.
I hate how different they are. I hate how each of them appeals to opposite sides of me—the part that wants excitement and the part that wants stability, the part that craves passion and the part that needs security.
Eventually, I throw myself into homework for the afternoon, spreading my marketing textbooks across my desk and keeping my phone face-down where I can’t see the screen. I’m determined not to check messages from either of them, to focus on something productive instead of spinning my wheels over guys and feelings and decisions I’m not ready to make.
But even with my phone hidden, I can feel it there, a persistent awareness of unread messages and unanswered questions.
That night, I’m lying in bed scrolling through social media when I accidentally open my text messages. Cole’s last text from Thursday is still there—something funny about Rex stealing his breakfast that morning, followed by a photo of the dog looking completely unrepentant.
I start to type a response three different times, then delete each attempt. What am I supposed to say?Sorry for not responding for two days, I was too busy having an existential crisis about whether I want the nice guy or the bad boy?
Instead, I turn off my phone and flip off the light, even though I’m wide awake and my mind is racing.
Somewhere in the darkness, I can feel myself standing at a crossroads I didn’t ask for, with two paths leading in completely different directions. And for the first time in my life, I have absolutely no idea which way I’m supposed to go.
21
Coffee and Clarity
Cole
Sundaymorningfindsmelying in bed longer than usual, scrolling through my contacts while Rex sprawls across half the mattress like he pays my rent. My thumb hovers over Harper’s name, and I tell myself this is just about coffee, nothing heavy or complicated. But there’s a little charge in my chest when I finally type,Coffee later? My treat.
I set the phone aside and scratch behind Rex’s ears, trying not to watch for the three dots. It’s been four days since our first date, since we kissed, and I’ve been thinking about her nonstop.
My phone buzzes.
Harper:Yeah. There’s a place near the park I like.
The swiftness of her response catches me off guard in the best way. No games, no making me wait to see if she’s interested. She just says yes, simple and direct, and I realize I’ve been holding my breath waiting for her answer.
I spot Harper through the windows of the coffee shop before I even walk in. She’s already waiting inside, hair falling loose around her shoulders, wearing a soft gray sweater that makes her look approachable and warm. She’s studying the pastry case, and I can’t help but smile at the sight.
The café is busy but not crowded, filled with the Sunday morning mix of college students with laptops and families sharing newspapers. It’s the kind of place that feels lived-in, comfortable, with mismatched furniture and local art covering the walls.
“Find anything worth considering?” I ask as I join her at the counter.
She looks up with that smile I’m starting to think of as specifically mine. “I’m torn between responsible adult breakfast and the chocolate croissant that’s calling my name.”
“What would irresponsible Harper choose?”
“Definitely the croissant. With extra chocolate if they had it.”
“Then I vote chocolate croissant with extra chocolate. Life’s too short for responsible breakfast pastries.”
She smiles at me.
We settle at a corner table with our drinks—black coffee for me, some complicated latte with extra foam for her—and the conversation picks up without any of that awkward second-date stiffness I’ve experienced with other people. It feels more like continuing a conversation we started Wednesday night rather than starting over.
