Ripe

Chapter 9

♪Chapter Song♪

"Diamonds In Her Eyes" by Owl Eyes

(I do not own this song) PLEASE LISTEN TO IT!

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CHAPTER 9

"NO MATTER HOW cold you say you aren't, I can tell you're at least chilled," I mumble to Andrew from behind my thick, warm scarf. It's another cold day and all he's wearing over his sweater is an extra thin jacket.

He's totally insane.

We just left the hotel, just Andrew and I today, to explore the city for ourselves. Charlie and Careen were cool enough with the idea, but we have to be responsible and answer their calls. My parents asked a billion questions when I called them to let them know that we were leaving, but thankfully they're okay with this as well.

Right now, we're heading to a good place to have breakfast, The Red Flame. The hotel had mostly french food, and despite it's beautiful and expensive 5-Star quality, Andrew admitted to hating french food. All we had to do was take a look at the food to notice that it wouldn't be working out for us. The toast was stale, eggs not done and super runny, biscuits were dry, crapes too thick, et cetera.

"For the last time, I'm fine," Andrew laughs, running a gloved hand through his hair. He's giving me an observant side glance. His green eyes are so bright in contrast to the world around us. It's hard to not notice his orbs rigjt now. "You know something?"

"What?" I ask, forcing my hands further into my coat. I feel my hair shift as I turn my head, pressing against my neck and ultimately helping me maintain warmth.

He stops looking at me and looks ahead, more than likely expecting the restaurant to come up soon. "Your nose and cheeks turn the brightest red everytime you get cold. It happens every single time. It's cute," he says blatantly.

I almost stumble over my own two feet, but I steady myself just in time to put one foot before the other. My head is spinning as I try to comprehend the weird, harm feeling tingling up my spine. Since when did anyone other than family call something I did 'cute'?

Never.

"Th-thanks, I guess." I push my already red cheeks further into my scarf. The wind picks up and blows my hair from under my collar in one giant gust, and I almost freeze in place from the frigidness of it.

"You don't have to thank me for a compliment." He gives me one last look, one I can't quite decipher, before blurting, "You think you can make it? Breakfast is one building away, see the banner outside of it?"

I nod my head. Will I make it? Of course! After all, I had almost died walking home from the school dance in weather colder than this, fewer clothes to cover my skin, and a longer distance from my starting point. All I have to do it summon that dreadful feeling for a second to feel way better about this. Compared to that night, this is pie.

We're walking into the doorway before I can even finish saying, "I can definitely make it." As soon as we close the door behind us, the aroma of so many breakfast foods slaps us in our faces. The scent of buttermilk pancakes, bacon, strawberry deserts, eggs, coffee, hot chocolate, bagels, hot muffins and cakes, corn fritters, biscuits, so much more.

My stomach grumples and I know Andrew hears it. I look away, embarrassed, and follow him towards a shallow wall that divides the place in half. One side is a tiny bit more formal than the other. We head to the casual side, where a row og small booths are built connected to the low wall.

As we settle in, I immediately love how warm the place is. I slip my coat and scarf off, along with my gloves, to reveal my favorite fitted, black turtleneck sweater. It's the softest thing ever, and it somehow manages to insulate a lot of my body heat within the thin material.