𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐌 | ⁿⁱᶜʰᵒˡᵃˢ ᶜʰᵃᵛᵉᶻ

39 | coffee confessions

We stepped into the café, the familiar aroma of freshly brewed coffee wrapping around us like a comforting blanket.
Nicholas walked up to the counter, glancing at the menu before looking back at me. "What do you want" he asked, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"Vanilla latte," I replied, almost automatically, and he chuckled as if he had expected that.

He turned to the barista, placing our orders. "One vanilla latte and a black coffee, please."

I fumbled with my wallet, but before I could pull out my card, Nicholas had already handed over his. "I can pay for my own drink.", I said.

"Consider it my treat for today," he insisted.

I crossed my arms, trying to hide the smile that was spreading across my face.

We found a small table by the window, and I sank into the chair, finally feeling some of the tension melt away. The sunlight streamed in, casting golden highlights on the wooden surfaces. Nicholas sat across from me, his gaze soft and attentive.

"How are you really feeling?" he asked, his voice gentle, but there was a seriousness in his eyes.

I traced my finger along the rim of my cup, thinking about everything that had happened. "Overwhelmed," I admitted. "It feels like everything is happening too fast. Dean getting out, the threats... it's like I can't escape the past."

Nicholas leaned forward, his elbows on the table. "I get that," he said.

His words made my chest tighten, but in a good way, like I was holding onto something real and solid. "Thank you," I whispered, meeting his gaze. "For everything."

He shrugged, a smile playing on his lips. "It's the least I can do. Besides, I kind of like being your knight in shining armor."

I laughed softly, and for the first time in what felt like forever, it wasn't forced. It was genuine. "Don't let it go to your head," I teased, taking a sip of my latte.

Nicholas's phone buzzed, and he glanced at the screen before putting it face down on the table. "Work?" I asked, tilting my head.

"Just a friend," he said with a sigh.

''Oh, okay.'', I said with a odd feeling in my stomach.

Nicholas tilted his head slightly, his gaze soft and encouraging. "So tell me, what was your favorite childhood memory?" he asked, leaning forward with genuine interest.

I paused, my fingers tapping lightly against the warm surface of my coffee cup.

"Random question but I guess it would be spending summers with my grandma," I finally said, a small smile forming at the corners of my lips. "She had this old house in the countryside, surrounded by peonies that she took so much pride in." My heart warmed at the thought. "Every year, we'd pick fresh ones to put in vases all around the house. That's why they are my favorite flowers."

His expression softened even more. "She sounds incredible," he said, his voice gentle. "What was she like?"

I swallowed, feeling a lump rise in my throat. "She was the sweetest," I continued, my voice a little unsteady. "She taught me everything about baking, always saying that love is the secret ingredient. We'd make cookies and bread, and she'd tell me the most beautiful stories about her life when she was young. It was the only place where I felt safe, you know?"

He didn't speak for a moment, just took in my words."It must've been hard losing her."

I nodded, a sadness flickering across my face. "Yeah, it was," I admitted, the ache of loss pressing against my chest. "She passed away when I was eighteen. It felt like my whole world fell apart." I glanced out the window, my eyes misty. "But her memory, the way she made me feel... I try to hold onto that."

Nicholas reached across the table, his fingers brushing mine for just a second, a gesture that felt more comforting than words. "It's beautiful that you remember her like that," he said. "And I bet she'd be proud of who you are now."

I looked at him, my heart swelling with appreciation.

He smiled, the moment feeling intimate, like a secret just between us. "Okay, your turn," I said, needing to lighten the mood. "Favorite childhood memory?"

Nicholas's face lit up. "Ah, easy," he replied. "I was obsessed with this treehouse my dad built for me and my siblings. We'd spend hours up there, playing pirates or knights or whatever our imaginations could come up with. It was our little world, where anything felt possible."

I grinned, picturing it. "Sounds magical," I said. "You as a little kid playing knights? I can totally see it."

He laughed, his eyes crinkling. "Yeah, and trust me, I always took it way too seriously. But it was the best." He leaned back, a wistful look in his eyes. "Funny how those little things stay with you."

"Yeah," I agreed, feeling a sense of shared nostalgia. "They shape us more than we realize."

Our conversation drifted into laughter and shared stories, and for a moment, the weight of everything we were facing didn't feel so heavy.

Nicholas raised an eyebrow, a playful grin spreading across his face. "Okay, now I'm curious," he said, leaning forward slightly. "Who was your first crush? And don't say it was someone from some movie."

I rolled my eyes, trying to hold a laugh. I tapped my chin dramatically, pretending to be deep in thought. "Okay, okay, my first real crush was a boy named Tyler in fifth grade."

Nicholas leaned back, smirking. "Tyler, huh? What was so special about this fifth grade heartbreaker?"

I groaned, covering my face with my hands for a second. "He had this ridiculously ugly skateboard, and he was the 'bad boy' of elementary school," I admitted, giggling. "He got detention for drawing graffiti on his desk, and for some reason, my little heart found that wildly attractive."

He burst into laughter, the sound warm and contagious. "Oh, so you had a thing for troublemakers even back then?" he teased. "That explains so much."

I protested, trying to sound offended but failing miserably. "I was young and clueless, okay? He tried to teach me how to skateboard, and I ended up with a sprained wrist. The crush died quickly after that."

"Good to know your taste has evolved since then. But I guess I can't blame you."

I crossed my arms, playfully narrowing my eyes at him. "What about you, Chavez? Who was your first crush?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish smile appearing. "Mine's kind of embarrassing," he admitted. "It was my babysitter, Azra. She was, like, a high school senior, and I was eight. I thought she was basically a goddess."

I burst into laughter, picturing a tiny Nicholas trying to impress his teenage babysitter. "Oh my god, that's adorable," I said. "Did you ever confess your undying love for her?"

He shook his head, grinning. "No way. I just spent every second trying to act cool around her, which, let's be honest, wasn't very effective when you're eight and missing a front tooth."

We laughed together, the tension from before easing as we swapped stories of our younger, more innocent selves. It felt so normal, so easy.

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