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“I’ll leave you a positive review with my dying breath. For capitalism.”
“You’ve mentioned that before. You don’t like them.” I study his face, his gaze locked on mine with the faintest trace of trepidation. “Any reason why?” “I like the part about eating food I didn’t have to cook,” he replies. “Not having to wash any dishes? Great. But then they destroyed the idea by letting people in.” Something about the quick cadence of his words, how easily they roll off his tongue, tells me he’s leaned on them at least once before.
Wesley meets my eyes, his smile still warm. The aroma of cinnamon and cocoa powder drifts on beyond reach, pink neon chinks of light magicking back into sunbeams of an eerie golden green. The color of the sky before a storm.
hand hovering over the small of my back as though I might get lost otherwise. We’re soaked and shivering when we make it back to the manor, but at least I’ve got my rain slicker. Wesley isn’t wearing a jacket. His hair is dripping, shirt clinging to his skin. It’s glorious.
I don’t know what I was hoping—actually, yes I do. I was hoping he’d light the fireplace and we’d talk more. I want to see him smile again. I want the unexpected warmth of talking to Wesley, and Wesley talking to me, just as much as I want warmth from a fire. I’ve only gotten a taste of it. “Oh.”
Scratchy lines for shading, no border, one of the table booths interrupted by words: AU? The enchiladas were good. Thank you. A freehand sign with my name on it, and a half-eaten donut on a countertop. A vintage telephone. It’s my coffee shop. He’s drawn my coffee shop.
And inside it, two people. A chill steals through me—not at all an unpleasant one—when I recognize that he’s positioned us exactly the way I envisioned. I’m behind the counter; he’s seated opposite, in the second-to-last stool. We’re leaning toward each other slightly, enough to notice. He’s exaggerated the messiness of his hair while downplaying his broadness and height, as though he views himself as smaller and slighter than he actually is.
