aidan
he knows that he should be enjoying his trip, it isn't everyday that you get to fly across the world to italy.
he can't stop thinking about everett, though— since when did he become so dependent on another person? it's pathetic.
"you okay?" the barista from a few weeks ago asks. many would deem her as 'average,' but aidan notices her hickory-colored hair in a braid over her shoulder, and her olive skin which shines in the dark café. he finds her beautiful.
"huh?"
she laughs, almost a chortle, and takes his empty glass. "are you alright?"
"yeah... 'm alright," he sighs, mentally face-palming himself for being so pessimistic.
she glances around the room, then sits next to him, watching his body language. "i don't think you are."
her italian accent is strong, and it's sort of a struggle to understand her... it's hot. hot. now he's in the eighth grade again?
"do you want to talk about it?"
he shakes his head and offers her a charming smile. "i'd feel a lot better if you'd let me take you to dinner tonight."
the girl scribbles something onto a napkin, her petite hand brushing against his. "i'll take you. i know the way around better."
he takes the napkin and walks towards the door, winking at her on his way out.
YOU ARE READING
the recovery project [2]
Contoit does not matter how slowly you go as long as you do not stop.