Discovering Licapta

7 (pt. ii)

"NO COOKIE TODAY?" I question when Audrick returns the dessert menus to our waitress, requesting for her to bring just the receipt.

Audrick answers with a simple shrug, but something I can't quite place in his eyes gives away his amusement. "Had too many for breakfast."

I raise my eyebrows and drop my jaw, feigning a look of appal. "Is there such a thing as too many cookies?"

"No," the dark blonde across from me declares matter-of-factly.

Seeing this side of Audrick— the smiling, chocolate-chip-cookie-loving, child-like version that lurks behind his typical authoritative facade— never ceases to put a smile on my face, and this moment is no different. As we hold each other's gazes like two opponents in a staring contest, I can feel all two hundred plus muscles around my lips tightening to produce a smile.

Clasping his hands together on the tabletop, Audrick sits up taller. He must take my expression as one of amusement because he says, "I'm not the one with a black sock fetish."

"What— oh." It takes a moment for the significance of Audrick's words to register, but a short, unexpected giggle leaves my mouth when they do.

After paying for my finds at Nordstrom's Rack, Audrick and I hit up a few other shops, including Macy's, American Eagle, and multiple boutiques I'd never heard of until today. Just like at Nordstrom, everywhere we went, he continued to surprise me, finding heavily discounted clothing that worked far better than most of what I'd picked.

Needless to say, it was a very productive and (cumulatively) expensive shopping trip. One thing's for certain: I won't need to visit any clothing stores in the foreseeable future.

But before completely abandoning the shopping district, I had just one final desire: to find socks. Black cotton ankle socks, to be exact. The generic kind that you can just grab and go on a rushed morning because all your socks match, and that tuck tidily in sneakers. Obviously in black because black hides those nasty stains that, even on socks, just look unkept and messy.

Black socks are just easy, and easy is what I need.

Well, I may have gotten a bit carried away when I saw Sock Warehouse was having a two for one sale on bulk bags of my sock of preference. I only picked up four packages, but that was enough to send Audrick's eyes bulging so large I swore they were about to pop out of their sockets.

No pun intended.

After dropping off the gluttonous number of bags at his car, Audrick wanted to show me a little hole-in-the-wall bistro a few blocks north of the main shopping street. While I wasn't feeling enthusiastic about putting down more money from my static savings account, especially when I can get free food anywhere on campus, my stomach won out over my wallet. At least I can say that the grilled chicken and truffle fries were worth it. And if the content look on Audrick's face is enough to go by, I'd say he is pleased with his butternut squash-filled ravioli, too.

Now the blue-eyed boy parts his lips to speak, but before he can get a word out, our waitress returns, check in hand. "Here you are," she says, leaving the black folder on the table between us.

"Thank you," Audrick and I say simultaneously.

I grab my purse from where it's resting beside me on the booth and plant it in my lap, digging around for my wallet. By the time I have it in my hands, Audrick's already filling out the receipt and slipping a card into the holder, and only then does it dawn on me that I forgot to ask the waitress to split the receipt.

"I've got my meal covered," I announce, pulling out my own credit card. I figure our waitress can split the amount anyway.

Audrick tucks the black pen inside the holder before closing it, keeping the receipt close to him and well out of my reach as he shoots me a grin. "It's my treat."

I hold his gaze for a moment, unsure whether or not I want to press further. Audrick's gesture is thoughtful, and I'm certain he'll be more wounded if I don't let him pay than if I do. But— and the idea sounds crazy even to me — I can't ignore the part of my brain warning me that maybe the gesture means more, that maybe it's a sign he's attracted to me on some other level. And I don't want him to get the wrong idea.

Convincing myself it's just him being nice, I remember my own manners and force a smile. "Thank you."

My words are muffled by the waitress, who's returned to our table. "Ready?"

Audrick nods his head and hands her the card holder, and I watch as she disappears behind one of the waiter stations, her short orange-red bob the only part of her slim figure that's now visible.

"Would it be alright with you if we made one last stop before I take you back to campus? There's something I need to pick up."

"Sure," I say as cheerfully as I can, though I wonder where on earth Audrick could need to go that we haven't already been.

Audrick checks the leather-banded watch on his wrist. "It's two-forty now," he tells me, and I'm amazed at how quickly the past five hours flew by. "Will you have enough time to get ready if we're back by four/four-thirty?"

"Yes," I assure him.

Before either of us can say anything more, our waitress returns, her slender fingers sliding the black folder across the table to Audrick as she thanks him. Even though she focuses all her attention solely on him, paying me no mind whatsoever, her expression is one of bored nonchalance, one that I'm not particularly disappointed to miss being on the receiving end of. While serving an influential member of both our nation's government and the most prestigious university on the continent, you'd think the girl would act a bit friendlier. Maybe she's not aware of Audrick's eminent rank. It's not like his face is plastered around the city or anything, and I haven't watched any news to see if he makes appearances in the media.

"You ready to go?" he asks once the waitress has left our table.

All it takes is a simple nod from me and we're slipping into our jackets, ready to escape this tiny booth.