The Last Wild Flower

07| Daffodils in church

The waitress arrives with my order.

It's a white drink over ice, in a glass cup, with a straw. I focus on every detail of the beverage, because it helps keep my nerves in check.

I decided not to order any food until Lincoln gets here, that way he can help me pick the best thing off the menu.

I twist in my barstool, and force my attention onto the place. The cafe reminds me of a vintage diner, with the pastel hues and red jukebox in the far corner. My stool is by the bar, and right across there are several mirrors.

I peer at myself from one of them. My hair is down, with a thin braid forming a crown on my head. I'm wearing a canary-yellow sweater matched with a pair of faded jeans, and my white sneakers.

I'm about to check my phone again, when I see his reflection walk in through another mirror. His eyes search the room before landing on me.

Today they look less like a storm, and more the color of a soft cardigan.

I break eye contact, and take a sip of my drink. Immediately, I wish I hadn't ordered an iced white tea latte. I spent five dollars for something that tastes like plain milk, but watered down. I could have made the same thing at home, for free.

Lincoln sits down in the stool to my right, and I turn to face him. He's wearing jeans and a white cotton shirt. The mere sight of him, urges me to forget about the curly-haired girl and his connection to Asher.

"Hey," I say softly.

"Hey." He grabs a menu from the pile, and opens it, turning his attention back to me. "Did you order already?"

I lift my glass for him to see, before setting it down again. "Only a drink."

He looks at my barely-sipped drink, and then his eyes return to me. "You don't like it."

"It's.." I begin, but then settle on the truth. "Yes, I don't like it, it tastes like milk with water."

A faint smile forms on his lips. "That's exactly what it is. Why didn't you ask for a switch?"

"No," I shake my head, "It's alright. Besides, most of the options are just coffee, and I've decided to go cold turkey."

He raises his brows and says, "That's the bravest thing I've heard come out of a college student's mouth." Then, he orders a quad macchiato.

"What would you recommend?" I ask, skimming over paragraphs of food descriptions.

"The granola bowl is by far the best thing on the menu, because they toast the oats in their own oven, then add honey drizzle." He sets the menu down. "But for you, I would recommend the blueberry banana pancakes."

"Why?"

"Because they're fluffy and delicious." He then gestures to my mouth with a nod, "Also, they're the safest option for your braces."

My cheeks heat, and I fight the disappointment settling in. Of course he's noticed, they're not exactly invisible.

I press my lips together, and his eyes form a trail from my mouth, to suddenly locking their gaze with mine. "Maybe on someone else they might look out of place, but on you..." He stops to consider his words. "I don't know, they look adorable, sort of like freckles."

Did he just call me adorable?

"You're just saying that to make me feel better." I joke, only to ease the sudden tension in the air. He shakes his head, but says nothing. Thankfully, our plates arrive shortly after. I'm greeted with the scent of warm butter and sweet syrup.