Page 51 of The Ring
“But you already know—Laurie told you, didn’t he?” she asks.
I nod. “Since Laurie can’t keep his mouth shut, what was all that about back there?”
We arrive at Ralph’s Coffee. I hold the door open for her; she walks in, and I slip inside after her, tossing the empty cup I’d been carrying into the trash can by the entrance. We get in line, but unfortunately, there’s only one person ahead of us—I was hoping for a longer wait so I could spend a little more time with her.
“It wasn’t exactly a secret. She comes every year for my birthday,” she teases. “But if you want to know—and if it’s not already obvious—they’re in love.”
“Are they?” I ask in disbelief. I would be so happy if it were true, but Cornelia has always pushed for the idea of them together. I know Annabelle had a crush on him during part of high school. While I could believe it from Annabelle, it’s hard to see it with Laurie. After Camille’s death, he hasn’t looked at any other girl. But if he’s finally starting to open up, I can’t think of anyone better for him. Annabelle has in abundance what his last one lacked: loyalty.
“Of course they are,” she says, her conviction so strong it makes you believe her. “They just don’t know it yet.”
Maybe she’s right—she’s always had a broader perspective on these topics than I have. I just hope Laurie doesn’t let the insecurities from his previous relationships mess this one up.
We reach the front of the line, and I order a macchiato. Turning to Cornelia, I ask, “Chai or matcha this time?”
Cornelia always switches between the two. Her usual choice depends on her mood—always the largest size, on the rocks, with regular milk. It’s just one of the many things about her I’ve memorised by heart. When she’s really tired, she’ll opt for a coffee, but it never seems to help her stay awake. In fact, it almost has the opposite effect. She insists it doesn’t, but trust me—once, she fell asleep in my lap twenty minutes after finishing a large coffee.
She thinks for a second. “Matcha.”
I turn to the barista and order her matcha with ice and regular milk, but as I mention the last part, I give Cornelia a pointed look. She prefers regular milk, but her stomach? Not so much.
She pouts. “I know, but it tastes better.”
I chuckle as I pay.
“Thank you,” Cornelia says as we move to the pickup counter. When we get there, she turns to me. “I heard you guys had acelebritykeeping you company yesterday.” She practically air-quotes the wordcelebrity.
It takes me a minute to realise she’s talking about Weberly Johnson. Once that clicks, it doesn’t take long to figure out that the tension between Annabelle and Laurie is partly because of her. Weberly spent the entire night trying to get Laurie’s attention, and he spent the entire night politely turning her down. Laurie has way more patience than I do, and he’s much nicer, too. If it had been me, the gloves would have come off the second she didn’t take the first hint.
“So, the reason Annabelle seems mad at Laurie is Weberly?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
Our order is handed to us, and I almost curse the barista for being so fast. I’m really enjoying my time with Cornelia. Why is it that when you’re in a rush, they take forever, but when youhave all the time in the world, they suddenly move like the Flash?
Cornelia looks out the window, biting her bottom lip. The urge to cup her face and kiss her is strong, but I hold back.
“Maybe,” she says, trying not to give Annabelle up.
“Either way, neither you nor Annabelle should worry about it—he’s not interested in her,” I tell as we start walking towards the door.
“Good,” she replies as I open the door for her, and she goes through it. “Because I’m not going to let her ruin my plans.”
We walk towards Prada. “You’ve already planned their wedding, haven’t you?” I say jokingly, but I wouldn’t put it past her.
“Parts of it.” She chuckles a little. Her green-blue eyes, without a doubt the most beautiful eyes in the world, meet mine. “But I believe the couple should havesomesay in their wedding.”
Fuck, I miss being playful with her like this. Spending time with her makes me feel so light and forget all my problems. It feeds my soul.
“Very considerate of you.”
“I know, I’m Miss Consideration.”
We pass by two teenagers, one with blonde hair and the other with tan skin and black hair, both around fifteen years old. The moment we walk by, their eyes light up, and I know exactly what that means.Fuck.
“It’s you! It’s really you! My friend didn’t believe me, but you’re Cornelia Monroe! Can we get a picture?” the girl with the blonde hair exclaims as she and her friend approach us. They both have their hands full of shopping bags.
Cornelia nods, looking slightly uneasy. Although this happens to her frequently, she doesn’t particularly enjoy it—but she would never refuse. For a girl who never aims to be thecentre of attention, she certainly attracts plenty of it. But how could she not? She’s stunning.
The blonde girl squeals with excitement, pulling her phone out of her bag and handing it to me without saying a word. I find it disrespectful; while I don’t mind taking the picture, it would be nice if she asked rather than demanded it. She gives her bag and her five shopping bags to her friend and goes to stand beside Cornelia, flashing a huge smile for the camera. Her friend could take the photos if they left the bags on the floor, but she doesn’t seem inclined to, which, in truth, is very Cornelia of her.
