To Everyone But Us

5. Missing iPod

Rafe doesn't quite get the concept of being "fashionably late".

When I stepped inside Bean & Bored, the cool air washed over me like a gentle breeze off a lake—a welcome relief from the sweltering heat outside. It's as if the café itself was beckoning me in, the chill wrapping around my skin and easing the sticky discomfort of the summer day. I wanted to bottle the air in my water bottle and sell it to the locals as a luxury item. Then I would be a millionaire by tomorrow. But then again, if wishes were horses...

I've only been to Bean & Bored a handful of times. With its large glass windows and cozy booths, it has a casual vibe that's inviting but slightly intimidating. The prices are a bit steep for my taste, making me wish I were at Izzy's instead, where I could grab a milkshake without worrying about my wallet. Still, at least their air conditioning works wonders, and no music make your ears bleed.

The café has a laid-back atmosphere, neither bustling nor empty. A few patrons sit at their tables, engrossed in books or quietly chatting. As I stood at the entrance, looking for a head full of dark hair, I could feel their curious glances, eyes flicked over me as if they knew I was lost and they could tell I didn't belong here.

I finally spotted Rafe in a booth at the very end of the cafe leaning against the window, his expression a mix of annoyance and impatience as he glared at me like I was the personification of tardiness. I had to smile like a fool trying to shake off their stares as I did my walk of shame until I slid into the seat opposite Rafe.

Even now as I am scanning the laminated menu, he is still glaring at me. "Rafe, if you don't stop looking at me like that, you are going to burn a hole through my head. I'm pretty sure that qualifies as manslaughter."

He rolls his eyes at me. "I just don't understand why you are late. Thirty minutes late, to be precise."

I sigh audibly. "I told you. It's called being fashionably late. Every woman does it. And besides I had to take my brother to have a haircut and spent ten minutes looking for a place to park the car. Wouldn't have happened if we were at Izzy's instead."

"We needed privacy."

Yeah sure. That's why he chose the window seat.

I close my eyes and rub my forehead. "Look I know you called me here to talk about the dog—"

"And other things," he adds, looking nervous.

"O-kay, "I say suspiciously, "but can we at least order something first?"

He exhales. "Knock yourself out," he says.

Why do people even say that? How does that even work? Am I the only one who pictures myself wearing boxing gloves in a ring and punching myself to a knockout every time someone says knock yourself out?

The waiter comes around and asks for our orders. I order an iced latte with almond milk with two pumps of vanilla syrup extra cold with light ice. I also get a glazed doughnut. Rafe looks at me like I've ordered the whole store but I ignore him.

When it's his turn to order, he just says, "I'll have a medium black coffee. Hot."

I scoff at him.

"What?"

"Guys are so unimaginative."

It's weird when the waiter is gone, and we have nothing to do other than stare at each other. Rafe takes his phone out and starts texting someone. I seize the opportunity to really study him. He's grown up since eleventh grade; the boy I knew is now a man. Or a manly boy. His shoulders have broadened, and there's a confidence in the way he sits, relaxed yet commanding. His dark hair is tousled in that effortlessly cool way, and even though he's wearing a simple navy T-shirt and jeans, he somehow manages to look put together.