Page 12 of The Sound Between Us
I glance at the window seat—Double Shot Latte’s usual haunt. It’s empty.
“You look so sad.”
She tries to reach for me, but I dodge. Spine straightening, smile tightening.
“I’m not sad.”
She fills her cheeks with air, holding her breath in protest.
“Anyway—has it been a good birthday so far?”
“Oh yeah. Look at me. Dripping in glamour. I’m a literal princess.”
But to me, she always is. Flick has that effortless light. Nothing fake, nothing filtered. All real.
“Beautiful. I’ll see you at eight?”
“Seven. Cocktails. Don’t forget.”
“You and Simon with cocktails is basically chemical warfare.”
“But it’s my birthday.” She turns on the puppy-dog eyes.
“Fine. Seven. But only because it’s your birthday.”
I grab the drinks, balancing them carefully.
“Better get this back before Simon throws a tantrum over cold chocolate.”
“Go, winner!” she sings, already wiping counters.
“Happy birthday!” I call as I leave, laughing to myself. I’m still humming Happy Birthday when I hit the pavement.
And slam directly into a person-shaped wall.
A dark blur. A jolt. A soft thud.
My strawberry milkshake erupts between us like a sticky, sugary bomb.
“Oh shit.” I blink up—and meet the eyes of the man from the shop. The baseball cap. The one who didn’t turn around.
Now he has milkshake on his hoodie.
“Oh fuck.”
I should run. I should apologise. I should rewind time five minutes and pick a bloody espresso instead.
Instead, I just stand there. Staring.
