Midnight Muse

“How about you, Ro?” Reid asks, holding the door open for the both of us to pass into the coffee shop. I thank him, perking slightly as the delicious scent of roasted coffee beans attacks my senses.

Caffeine is probably the last thing I need right now, but hell, I’m going to get it anyway.

The line inside of the coffee shop isn’t long, but it’s also not the shortest I’ve ever seen it. There’s a warm glow reflecting off of the terra-cotta floors, the emerald tiles of the counters, and the backsplash is bright in contrast. The warm wooden tables and booths make Sip & Savor a popular spot amongst studying students and the patrons of Hardwich City alike.

“I’m planning on doing something by Élisabeth Vigée Le Brun. Her work is breathtaking. I could only wish to create something half as good as hers someday,” Rory sighs in admiration, long and forlorn. Both of them trail me into line. “But I’m not sure if I want to do one of her landscapes or portraits. How about you? Did you pick anyone yet?”

“I’m choosing something by Santiago Calatrava for sure,” Reid’s features light up like they always do when he talks about his major, and I wish I was as excited as they are. The emptiness in my stomach only hollows and I grip the straps of my backpack tighter, silently willing the line to move faster. “I think he’s brilliant in the way he combines architecture and art. I think it will definitely help me work on bettering my skills.”

Sounds perfectly planned, I think sourly, then immediately feel bad. Why am I bitter about their excitement just because I haven’t figured out what I’m doing yet? It’s fantastic that they have their projects decided, but it makes me feel worse than I already do. More negative thoughts form thorns in my head, woven around my brain like a vicious poison.

If I can’t get my emotions in check, I’m not entirely sure what will spill out of my mouth, and I really don’t want my friends to be on the receiving end of them if they come slipping out.

The line is moving slowly enough to set my teeth on edge. The wait allows the volley of thoughts to grow stronger, and Rory and Reid’s continued conversation about the upcoming art project isn’t helping.

As I part my lips to interrupt them—to desperately change the topic to something that isn’t school or art related—the bell above the coffee shop door chimes and my stomach completely drops to the floor beneath my feet as Ace appears.

He’s wearing a cable knit sweater even though the autumn heat is sweltering today. There has been a tease of cooler days to come, but summer must have put her winds back to rest because it’s positively scalding today. There doesn’t appear to be a droplet of sweat on that angular face of Ace’s though, no dampness beading the hairline of his perfectly unruly blond hair.

I watch his gaze sweep over mine, those ocean eyes lighting in recognition. It’s as if his stare is drawn to Rory like a magnet, taking a leisurely fill of her while she chats with Reid, completely unaware to the newcomer. There’s a cheesy grin on her face and as I quickly glance back at Ace, I catch his lashes lowering slightly, the corners of his mouth turning downwards at the sight.

Studying him, I analyze the threat of him being here. If he’s standing in the doorway, the other two are sure to be close behind. Would I rather have a large cup of coffee or be subjected to whatever teasing is bound to happen, completely tarnishing my already irritable mood?

Slate sweeps into the coffee shop as if I’ve just thought it into existence. His frame blocks the sun cresting over the trees lining the street and people turn to stare at the sudden shift in lighting. The glow of his tanned skin shines brightly, giving him an ethereal radiance that rivals his easy smile. He is as all of the poets describe: tragically beautiful.

The door clangs shut behind them as the pair move forward and my shoulders sag in relief for two reasons. One, because Knox isn’t completing their little trio today, and two, because of the wide grin Slate greets me with, paired with the hug that makes me feel like a small child in the crook of his massive frame. It has me releasing a breath filled with the tension of a thousand wildfires.

“Hey, you,” Slate says, and I allow myself a moment to soak in his warmth because who doesn’t want to feel all smothered and protected by a handsome man? Sue me.

“Hey, Slate,” I respond, moving up in line when it shifts forward. I avoid looking at Ace, who seems to be trying to catch my eye from around Slate’s shoulder while he says hello to my friends. Thankfully, the latter is broad enough that it doesn’t take much effort for me to keep my eyes locked on the back of the person in front of me.

One more customer and then I’ll have my coffee.

My group of friends—and Ace—are all smiles and laughter. I don’t know what they’re talking about, I don’t care to focus on the conversation even when I see Reid shooting me a questioning look from the corner of my eye. I keep my gaze pinned to the menu, roving across the chalkboard writing as if I’m actually reading it and not skimming over the words because I already know exactly what I want.

What I definitely want is for everyone to leave me alone.

“So, if the football team wins homecoming this year—which they’re going to, because we’re undefeated—my sister, Peep, is throwing a party at her house afterwards.” I catch the tail end of Rory’s sentence and frown. She’s grimacing at the thought of her football-star ex. Rory already mentioned it over dinner earlier this week when she was complaining about Peep betraying her boycott of the football team since her breakup with Max. I wasn’t expecting her to extend the invitation to our rowdy neighbors. Reid, sure. I can even see her asking Slate, but Ace too? Why is she inviting him when I told her what happened at the art supply that day? Shouldn’t we be discussing a truce instead of just offering it up? I’m still pissed at him, too. “If you want to come with Quinn and I.”

Please say no, please say no, I beg, shoving the thoughts at them and hoping they take root in their heads.

“Sounds like fun,” Ace answers. He’s still staring intently at Rory, but before I can think about it too much, I’m called forward.

“Hello! How can I help you?” The girl behind the cash register asks. She’s pretty, her dark hair pulled back into a clip at the base of her neck, a few fly-aways looking effortless as they frame her long face. Her deep, espresso eyes are intimidating but soft, and her smile is bright for a fleeting second before it falters when she takes in the rest of my group.

“Hi,” I answer politely, putting on my best smile even though it takes a lot more effort than I’m willing to admit. “Can I have a medium mocha with an extra shot, extra whip, and light ice, please?”

“Of course,” she presses the buttons on her tablet and returns her attention to me. “Can I have a name for your order? Would you like any pastries?”

I shake my head. “Quinn. And, no, thank you.”

“My pleasure.” She sounds sincere. “Your total is $6.23.”

I tug out the cash I stuffed into my pocket after class ended when Rory asked Reid and I if we wanted to grab coffee. It’s a little crumpled and a smidge damp from the heat of my body and the warm end of summer, but it does the job, the barista taking it without complaint.

She hands me my change and receipt, then flounces away after letting me know that it will be ready at the other end of the counter. I slide the loose change from my palm into the tip jar and begin shuffling down to the pick-up area when Reid stops me with a hand on my shoulder, frowning in disappointment.

“Did you pay already? I wanted to buy your drink.”