The Story of Finneas - [COMPLETED]

13.

It had been a few weeks since Finneas left. We kept in touch only in the beginning—we'd text quite often and he'd call me once every few days. He didn't tell me anything about his ex—who now may be his girlfriend—and only spoke to me about his new apartment, his recording sessions, and his new musician friends. Unfortunately, it didn't last very long. Last week, we only managed to text for a bit. Mostly he doesn't reply to my messages now, and I stopped trying. I understood that he was busy—everything was new to him there—and with his busy schedule, I couldn't possibly expect him to talk to me for hours every day.

I got up from my chair and walked weakly towards the pantry. Becky stared at me with an obvious worried expression. I told her everything about Finneas, and since Finneas stopped answering to my messages, Becky started feeling concerned about me; and I'd always assure her that I was alright.

When I arrived at the pantry, I quickly grabbed the mug Hans gave me and waited for the machine to finish brewing the coffee. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and just stared at the screen, somehow waiting for Finneas' name to pop up. I didn't realize how long I was doing it until someone poked my shoulder and made me jump from the surprise.

I quickly turned and found Hans behind me, looking as nonchalant as ever. Frankly, I felt more comfortable with him than Becky, since he doesn't look at me with pity or worry. I hate it when Becky asks me how I'm doing, because one time I couldn't hold it in anymore and just burst out crying. Embarrassing, I know.

"How's the coffee?" He asked, giving a short glance at my mug.

"I'm sure it gets worse as days passed," I gave him a little smile.

"Just don't drink it, then," he grabbed my mug before I could reach it and emptied it with big gulps, like it wasn't hot at all. He put the mug down at the ceramic counter with a loud sound and wiped his mouth (and mustache) with the back of his hand.

"What did you just do?" I whispered in disbelief, and I immediately felt annoyed by him. That coffee was the push I needed to go through the rest of this day. It was a slow day at work, and even though the coffee tastes terrible, I didn't care. I needed that cup of coffee.

He smirked like it was nothing, but he quickly noticed that I was upset. "Brooke, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have done that. Please don't cry," he looked around the pantry, afraid of anyone seeing us.

"I'm not gonna cry for a cup of coffee," I said, yet my eyes started to get watery and my voice was trembling. I wiped away a tear that managed to escape my right eye and looked down, not wanting Hans to see me crying right now.

He bent down a little and held my face in his big, warm hands. I had no choice but to look up to him. "Let's get coffee together after work. I promise it'll be much better than the coffee I drank just now."

It wasn't a question, so I nodded weakly. His blue eyes gleamed and he smiled widely. He moved his hands away from my face and pulled me into a short hug. "There, there."

We promised to meet at the parking lot at 5 o'clock sharp. When I arrived, he was already leaning on his car, wiping the lens of his glasses with the fabric of his shirt.

"Hey," I muttered when I got in front of him. He smiled and opened the car's door for me, and I went in. His car smelled good and masculine—like musk—just like how he smells. It was clean, with a pair of running shoes and a few books on the back seat. He got in as well, and he told me firmly to put on my seatbelts before starting to drive. We were sitting in silence, with just the sound of Oasis from the speakers played with a low volume.

Soon enough, we arrived at a small café in an unfamiliar street. I haven't seen or even noticed this place—mostly because I haven't explored this particular area of Portland. The place was pretty, with a small flower garden in front of the windows and a few outdoor seats with large maroon umbrellas. I followed Hans inside and I immediately loved the place. There weren't a lot of tables and chairs inside, and the bar was rather narrow—but I saw that they have a lot of machines and equipments to make coffee. The walls were painted in a warm beige color, with yellow fairy lights decorating every corner. Hans said hello to the twin baristas behind the bar, and it seemed like they knew each other well.