Sing For Me

Chapter Twenty-Two: Coffee and Cigarettes P1

It was kind of nice; being back in familiar territory. I mean, who would have thought that fame could be so... pressure. From everything I'd seen previously in The Goss, fame looked like nothing but sunshine, rainbows, lollipops, eyebrows constantly on-fleek, and uncracked iPhone screens – but after my two days' worth of experience with Tim? Well. Fame seemed more like being trapped in a hellish fever dream of paparazzi, pressure, and pariahs.

I scrunch my hands into fists, taking a deep breath and then releasing them.

I'm still on edge, still wondering what is with Tim and why he suddenly turned all weird on me. Part of me desperately wants not to care, but another, deeper part really hopes I haven't just screwed up our first (or was it our second?) date by saying something extraordinarily Meg-like and stupid.

But I almost forget about my awkwardness and all those feels the moment I see Rob's shocked face when he realises who just walked in his back door.

Seeing me, his worst, most "loved" employee shuffling toward him in Nike slides and a strapless red dress?

Yeah. His eyes practically bug right out of his head.

As we approach the counter, Rob clears his throat. "Err, table for two is it, sweetie?" I try to refrain from rolling my eyes -- of course I should have guessed that my ensemble would have elicited a sweetie response.

I nodded. "I'll take my usual, in the corner." I replied, nodding toward my favourite table.

There was an awkward moment of silence.

"Err, Tim? You going to order anything?"

Tim's gaze was all glassy and far away. He shook his head like he was shaking himself out of a trance. "Um, yeah, sure. A latte. And do you have a menu?"

"Sure thing," Rob nodded, handing one over. "Coffees will be out in a sec, take a seat."

Tim shoots me a smile that doesn't reach his eyes or elicit a response from that gorgeous dimple in his left cheek.

We sit down, and I can't help but think that at least this was a damned sight better than sitting at some expensive, rooftop restaurant feeling anxious and agonizing for the entire night over spilling food on my dress -- or even worse -- being caught making gross eating faces by a bunch of constantly flashing cameras.

Tim gets that faraway look in his eyes again and I narrow mine.

Rob carries our coffees over and looks between us for a moment – the awkwardness so palpable you could cut it with a knife.

I adjust myself and straighten up in my seat before taking my first sip of delicious coffee.

Then, I clear my throat. Tim is still staring somewhat glassy eyed out the window.

"You know, I may be the queen of awkward, but this is a whole new level," I say.

Tim just looks at me blankly.

"I mean, really. What's up with you?" I wipe at the corners of my mouth. "Is there, like, food on my face or something? Am I embarrassing you?"

For a second, Tim looks stricken. "No! No, it's not that..."

He fades out, but he looks thoughtful, like he's searching for the right words.

"It's just... Do you really think – like, after everything – that I'm only here for the sake of publicity or album sales or whatever?"

Tim's voice cracks a little and I suddenly feel like the most terrible person in the world. I take a deep breath in to give me a moment to think about how to respond.