“Not-so-hot-anymore chocolate,” I say.
“You don’t drink coffee?”
“No, not really.”
“You invited me out to coffee … and don’t drink coffee?”
I face him. “Actually,youinvitedyourselfout to coffee. I just … went along with it.”
Just then, six loud and laughing high school girls come around the corner, maybe on a lunch break from school. Austin, proving himself as skittish as the cat, tucks his cap further down and peers off. The girls enter Chatty Cat laughing, door dinging as it opens, then muffling them when it slaps shut. Austin keeps staring off.
I didn’t realize his thing about crowds was so serious.
“Y’know what?” I say, coming to his rescue, “Coffee was such a lame idea. And that place is a bit … muggy.”
He smirks at me. “That a coffee pun?”
It takes me a second. “Why not. Though Chatty Cat doesn’t serve coffee in mugs. Yet. Should we … go for a walk, maybe?”
He nods sideways at the glass. “What about your hot cocoa?”
“Already forgotten it.” Then I start off down the sidewalk.
In a blink, he’s by my side.
Can’t say I remember the last time I strolled next to anyone around town. Let alone someone like him who, with every waking minute spent in his presence, keeps my heart aflight. Idon’t seem to stop learning things about him. And the more the box opens, the more there is inside.
“Born and raised here?” he asks.
I clear my throat.And my head. “Yep and yep.”
“Seems really peaceful. Welcoming.” His eyes wander over the buildings on Main Street, which we’ve turned onto. This time of day, middle of the week, it’s mercifully quiet and devoid of the usual bustling crowds. “Not seeing the quicksand so much yet.”
“It’s still early in the day,” I reason.
“You’re determined to prove how miserable this place is,” he notes with humor.
“It’s …” I cross my arms and chuckle it off. “It’s notmiserable. I like my life here. For the most part.”
“Saw two dudes kissin’ in front of the church the other day.”
“Not usually the first thing you encounter in a small Texas town, huh?” I reconsider my earlier words. “I guess I sound … a bit ungrateful. The day I finally come out and end all of the possible speculating, I know I’ll be able to be myself. No matter which way you turn, there’s a friend. Shouldn’t I be more grateful?”
“Sounds like you’ve got more love inside you for this old town than you realize.”
“Love can be a trap, too.”
He frowns. “Yousureyou don’t listen to Chase Holt?”
“Why? Is that one of his lyrics?”
“Could be. I should jot that down.”
I snort. “What do you plan to do? Fold it into a paper airplane and fling it onstage during his next show? Or sneak backstage into his dressing room and offer it to him in person?”
My question seems to cause something inside him to squirm. Is it at the prospect of actually interacting with Chase directly? Just the thought makes me laugh suddenly, causing him to shoot me a look. “What?” he blurts.
“You’re such a diehard,” I say through my laughter. “I bet you wouldfaintif you ever ended up in a room alone with him.”