coffee shop

10

Lou

We're walking along the beach when my phone buzzes in my pocket. The caller ID flashes a familiar name, and instantly, my entire body is surging with nervous energy. I silence it and put it back in my pocket before J notices.

"Hey, Lou?"

I look over at her.

"What did you mean when you said you didn't know if your parents were still here?"

So she did notice.

"I don't speak to my father," I answer plainly, hoping she won't dig further into it, but knowing that she will.

"What about your mom?"

I'm afraid if I look at her, I'll crack under her gaze, so my eyes turn to the ocean. The waves roll in gently, and the sound is calming. "She passed away when I was ten."

She's quiet a moment. "I'm sorry to hear that."

I shrug. We lapse into silence, listening to the sound of the breeze and the crashing waves, unsure of where to go from here. I mentally punch myself for being so good at ruining a mood.

"It's Jo," she says finally. I look at her, and eyebrow quirked.

She didn't just—

"My name," she confirms. "It's Jo."

My lips crack into a smile. "You're telling me all I had to do was tell you my tragic backstory?"

She rolls her eyes. "It's not that tragic."

"And yet, here we are, weeks later, and I've won because you feel sorry for me." I poke at her side. "What a softie."

A blush creeps up her neck and she tells me to shut up, though I know she doesn't mean it.

"Jo," I say, looking at her. The longer I look, the more it suits her, with her short dark hair and deep brown eyes. "I like it."

"Is it what you expected?"

"I don't know. But I like it."

She smiles at me, and if it's possible for her to get any redder, she does. She hastily changes the subject. "Your turn, Davidson."

"What do you mean?"

"I told you my name—now you have to show me where you work."

A smile breaks across my face, and in a burst of confidence, I reach over and ruffle her hair. "You really wanna know that bad?"

She pulls my hand away from her head as she looks up into my eyes. "Come on, Louis. Play fair."

I don't answer immediately. Instead, I study her face, taking note of her freckles and the dimples in her cheeks, her long lashes and the way her lips curve slightly upwards in the corners as she teases.

Suddenly, she seems to realize she's still holding my hand. She drops it and takes a tiny step away, wrapping her arms around herself. "Well?"

I look over the water and suppressed a shiver. In the winter, Scotland lost the sun around four in the afternoon, so it didn't surprise me that the temperature had already dropped significantly. Time had flown by; after lunch in the cafe and a couple of hours driving around, chatting, and exploring the area, the sun had started to fall. Now, it hung low over the water, hinting the sunset to come.

I quirk an eyebrow at her. "How do you feel about bread?"

* * *

It's dark by the time we get to the Library. The door is locked—Calum closes early on Sundays—so I reach into the center console of my car, past my battered copy of The Outsiders, to get the keys. From the outside, the store looks dim, but a few of the lamps are still on inside, so I know Calum is probably finishing up closing for the evening.