01 stolen coffee

THIS IS ONE of the scenarios where I wished I listened to my brain, rather than listening to my gut.

Fifteen minutes ago, I was just walking through the streets of Michigan, on my way to university like any other weekday.

The sound of flowing water filled the silence as I walked on the bridge and the earthy smell after rain circulated through the air. Luckily, no paparazzi was nearby to capture a photo of me wrestling my flying paperwork.

It has been 3 years since I moved out from my father’s home in LA and moved here in Michigan. I wish I could say that my dad begged me to stay, but I’m not a liar.

Well at least my brother did. At the airport, he was literally on the floor holding on to my foot making me almost miss my flight. Pictures of that event quickly spread all over the internet the day after that. People are desperate to see the famous tough NFL wide receiver, Nikolas Nicholls, being dragged through the floor.

That was the most emotional and embarrassing thing that my brother has ever done to me.

After wrestling the final paperwork in my bag--wrinkling it in the process--the smell of freshly-brewed coffee slapped me across the face.

I whipped my head to where the scent was coming from.

It was coming from Rena’s Coffee. It’s a block away from the bridge, and stands beside a gas station and a flower shop. The small shop was known for its authentic taste and ambience, with a rusty red brick wall and a dark brown slate tiled roof that held large marquee letters spelling out R-E-N-A-S C-O-F-F-E-E. On the outside near the entrance was a chalkboard standee with their best-selling coffees written—pumpkin spice, macchiato, peppermint, French vanilla, caramel—and inside were wooden tables and chairs and a red couch was placed on the right side beside a bookshelf.

The café was filled with people and the amazing aroma of coffee. A long queue was formed on the counter where a barista was busy designing a latte. I check my watch and see that I still have 50 minutes left until class starts.

As I make a bee line to the queue, I can see people looking and whisper among themselves trying to be discreet, but failed miserably.

It was enough to make my stomach churn.

Back in LA, I was always on the spotlight. I grew up with paparazzi constantly shoving their cameras unto my face, bodyguards accompanying me everywhere I go, and always having to think twice about everything I do. And the worst part about it is that I have to endure it, because I can’t escape what I was born into. One wrong move, and everything’s ruined.

Ignoring the whispers and stares, I move forward as the line moves.

About 30 minutes had passed, and I still didn’t get to order anything. It was torture. It takes about 10-15 minutes for someone to get their order. I had to double check when I caught a glimpse of the time in my watch.

Frick! There is only 15 minutes left till class starts!

Well this wouldn’t really be the first time that I was late for class. Professor Dobson never really cared when students were late, but ever since her husband divorced her everything is enough to make smoke come out of her ears. Last week, I accidentally spilled some small drops of water on the hallway and she said and I quote, “Miss Nicholls, maybe you should practice drinking water properly than practicing poses for the media. You think that just because your family’s famous, it means you can do whatever you want. If someone slips because of this mess you made, you wouldn’t care because your family can get you out of trouble with money. Clean this mess up right now, or else you’re suspended. You spoiled entitled brat!”

She is crazy!

The line moved and the guy in front of me—a tall guy with a hood covering his head and face—began to order. I checked the time in my watch and I mentally screamed.

5 minutes left!

I fiddle with the golden butterfly pendant on my necklace and I tapped my right foot anxiously as I watched the barista make the guy’s coffee. I am definitely about to receive another screaming from Professor Dobson and she will possibly suspend me if I wait any longer.

Then a light bulb dinged in my head.

Is it a good plan? Not really. Is it risky? Very. Will it end up with me getting coffee? If the plan works. Will it end up with me being late to class? Maybe. Are there possible consequences? HECK YEAH!

Well this would be the dumbest and most embarrassing thing that ever happens to me. It could even top the airport incident.

I took a look at the barista and saw that he was done putting on the cap and had just placed the coffee on the counter.

Well here goes nothing.

Before the guy in front of me could even touch his coffee, I quickly snatched it and speed walked to the door, lightly pushing away the people who got in the way of my escape.

But before I could get outside, a rough hand caught my arm causing me to stop in my tracks. I mentally swore and started shaking. I never wanted trouble, I just wanted some coffee.

“Turn around,” the gravelly voice belonging to the man behind me demanded.

Reluctantly, I turned around and faced the man who still currently has a firm grip on my arm. As soon as I saw his face, I immediately wanted to bury myself into the ground.

Six feet tall and olive skinned, his dark brown hair was messy with some knots and looked like it was already that way when he woke up. I didn’t miss the way his lips went from an annoyed frown to a little smirk.

He finally released my arm and I gave it a little shake, still not over his firm grip.

His next moves got me speechless and flustered.

He lifted his arms and wrapped them around my neck. His hands were now under my chestnut hair, causing me to take a slight step back from shock.

“Don’t move,” he whispered, which brought shivers to my whole body.

As much as I tried to hold it, I let out a shaky breath as I could feel him fiddle with something cold in my nape. I can even feel his tense and serious gaze on me, as I try to avert my gaze and look at anywhere else than him.

Suddenly, the fiddling stopped and he retrieved his arms, stuffing them in his pocket.

“Your necklace fell off when you were trying to get away from me.” With one more smile, he walked back and fell in line once again.

I was paralyzed.

Holy cow!

Did that really just happen?

Why did I think it was so hot?

I then realized that the coffee was still in my hand. I took a sip and let out a breath.

Latte

A vibration in my pocket broke me off from my paralyzed state. I took my phone out of my pocket and looked at the caller ID.

It was Emmie.

“Where are you?” she demanded, in lieu of a greeting.

“Latte,” I unconsciously said.