Page 10 of Last Letters to Ara
Theo lifts his brows. “Do you have an issue with my preference in coffee?”
I open my mouth to say something snarky, but I’m interrupted by, “One coffee with extra, extra cream,” Susan says,soooconveniently. “Food will be out soon.”
Theo bites his lip and looks down at his coffee, trying very hard not to say whatever witty bullshit he’s thinking. After he manages to suppress the urge, he slowly lets his bottom lip go and runs over the spot with his... oh my God, why am I looking at his mouth?
“Do YOU have a problem with MY coffee preference?” I fire his own question back at him, sounding defensive in my own question.
“Can you really call it a ‘coffee preference’ if it’s mostly milk?”
“Does this normally work with your Tinder dates? Stalking with a side of immature badgering?”
“You tell me,” he says with a wink.
This time, I’m happy to see Susan approaching the table, right up until she opens her mouth. “Mickey Mouse pancakes with chocolate chips and fresh strawberries.”
I want to evaporate.I know what I ordered, Susan.
“Please,” Theo motions to my plate, “continue with your lecture on maturity as you eat your Mickey Mouse pancakes.”
I want to strangle him. “Why are you here?”
“You looked like you could use some company.”
“No. Why are youhere?Atthisdiner.”
For someone who is normally so quick with his answers, this one takes him a little too long, setting off the warning bells in the back of my mind. “I heard they have great waffles.”
Anyone with half a brain cell would realize he’s not being forthcoming and would immediately abandon ship, but the inescapable look in his eyes has me retracting my claws. I’m intrigued. Regardless of what he says, something tells me that Theo is here because I am here, and part of me gets a little thrill at the thought, even if it’s just a certain lady-bit (in dire need of attention) interfering with my instincts and I’ll be dead by the weekend.
“What’s your name again?” I say over a bite of pancakes.
Theo gives me a look saying,I-know-that-you-know-my-name-but-I’ll-play-along.“Theo.”
“Theo.” I try it out on my tongue. Interesting one would come all the way here for the waffles, yet not order any. “You’re not eating.”
“I already ate, you can ask Susan if you don’t believe me.” He winks. “I’m an early bird.”
“Of course, you are.” Gross.
“I write best early in the morning, before the rest of the world is awake.”
“What do you write?” I try to conceal my genuine curiosity, but it doesn’t work.
“Whatever comes to mind that day.” Theo knows he’s got me on the hook and isn’t going easy. If he’s going for the tall, dark, and mysterious thing, it’s fucking working. “What do you do, Ara?”
“I work in a café.” I hate this part. Where I inevitably have to tell someone that I do nothing of consequence, that I’m not in college, hardly pursuing a dream or on any kind of path. Glancing up to catch the judgment pass over Theo’s face, surprise ends up passing over mine instead when I see nothing of the sort.
“Which café?” he asks with such authentic curiosity that I almost forget that I shouldn’t tell him, self-preservation and all that. I don’t like how unfiltered I seem to feel around him. A bit longer at this table and I might as well give him my birthdate and Social Security number while I’m at it.
“As if I’m going to tell a stranger where I work, especially when that stranger is already stalking me.”
“I won’t need to resort to stalking for long,” Theo says with such unassuming conviction, it’s got my stomach doing flips while I try to convince myself that it sounded douchey, not disarmingly attractive.
I clear my throat. “Someone seems wildly confident in themself.”
“Someone else seems wildly dedicated to fighting everything I say.”
Touché.
