Everywhere, Everything. ★ STURNIOLO TRIPLETS

CHAPTER TWELVE

I must have looked like a deer in the headlights. All the blood rushing out of my face, every nerve in my body on edge, hanging onto Chris's words. The tall, lanky cashier was blinking at me, a thin smile plastered across his face.

Chris nudged me gently with his shoulder and I stumbled forward a step. "Good morning!" I said, too cheery, my voice cracking. A low laugh came from Chris and I shoved my elbow hard into his ribs.

"Ow!" He yelped as I smiled sweetly at the boy behind the counter who didn't look older than fifteen. Thick black-rimmed glasses were pushed all the way to the top of his freckled nose, making his dark eyes appear wider behind the lenses. The kind of doe-eyed innocence you'd expect to see on someone who grew up in a place like this. When he smiled, you were met with a slender gap between his front teeth.

"Good morning," I said again, calmer this time. "Can I please have an iced oat milk latte with extra ice and...four cinnamon rolls." I peered through the glass display case at the pastries.

"I hope one of those is for me," Chris teased over my shoulder.

"Behave yourself and it might be."

I could practically hear the innuendo playing in his head, but he didn't say anything other than his order.

"I'll take three bacon, egg, and cheese breakfast sandwiches on plain bagels, please. Oh! And three orange juices," he pulled several Tropicana bottles from a cooler beside the register and placed them on the counter.

"You don't drink coffee?" I asked.

Chris pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and handed a card over to the cashier. "Do you really want to see what pure caffeine can do to someone like me?"

In high school, I sat next to a boy in English that would chug an energy drink every morning before walking into class. His breath smelt like battery acid and he'd practically be vibrating in his seat half way through the period.

I made a face at Chris. "Good point."

"Can I have a name for the order?" The cashier asked, his voice an octave higher than expected.

"Natalia," Chris said, tucking the debit card back inside the wallet.

Customers waited for their orders by a milk station in the far corner of the cafe lined with napkins, straws, and carafes. Chris and I congregated off to the side.

"So, are you going to text Macy?" I wiggled my brows at him. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little jealous at how casually she'd put herself out there. The way she reached her perfectly manicured fingers into Chris's front pocket like it was second nature, made me both envious and protective. Never would I have done something like that. The closest I've ever come to making the first move was with a guy I'd met in the concessions line at the movies once. I was going to see the new IT by myself and we started talking about our favorite horror franchises. I said Scream and he said The Conjuring. Thinking he was flirting, I offered to give him my number so we could get coffee sometime. That's when he said his girlfriend was in the bathroom. I ended up sitting in the same row as them during the film and spent the whole two hours sunk into my recliner with the popcorn bucket blocking my face.

Chris pulled the slip of paper out of his front pocket and laughed dryly. "Yeah, no."

"Why not? Not your type?"

"First of all, I don't have a type." He looked down at me. A soft shadow of stubble was starting to form along his jawline. "Second of all, I can almost guarantee that the whole interaction is going to be on the internet by the end of the day. They'll probably start assuming I'm dating you."