can tell he’s thinking hard. “We could get coffee?” It comes out like a question, like I might say no. “If you’d rather just go back to your place or whatever, I understand that too.” He looks nervous, like a rejection now would be a rejection always.
“Coffee shop sounds good. I could go for some hot cocoa and scones.”
“Deal,” he says, but then he’s wrinkling his forehead as he looks up at the sky.
“What’s wrong?”
“I know I skated by a Dunkin’ Donuts, but I can’t remember how to get there now.”
“Why do we need a Dunkin’ Donuts?”
“Your cocoa.” He shrugs. “We could get an Uber maybe. I mean, if you still want to—”
“Oh my god, Ridley,” I say, my eyes going wide. “There’s no way we’re going to Dunkin’ Donuts when Stacks exists.”
“Stacks?”
“It’s only the best coffee shop on the planet. They have the best cocoa in town—they’re, like, known for it. Well, I think technically they’re known for their espresso, but the cocoa! They import it from someplace, and it’s like a million dollars a cup.”
“A million dollars a cup, eh?” He laughs. “Wow.”
“My treat, by the way. I owe you for my skate lesson.”
“I can’t let you spend a million dollars on me,” he says in mock horror.
“Okay, fine, they’re four dollars, but when you think about it.”
“I mean, yeah, I get it. It’s so close, how could you not round up?”
I wait for him to pull on his backpack and readjust the board under his arm, and then I grab on to his hand again and drag him along behind me. “I don’t know how you’ve been here for weeks already and never heard of Stacks.”
“I literally know no one here except for you and your moms, so.”
“Wait for it, Ridley. I’m going to blow your mind today.”
We walk in silence for a few more beats, and then I hear him say it, so quietly I almost miss it. “You already have.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Ridley
PEAK TAKES A seat while I get in line. The place is nice, a typical hipster coffee shop, and very busy. I insist on paying and order at the counter—two hot cocoas with cinnamon, exactly as Peak directed—and then drop into the seat across from her. “They said it would be up soon.”
My knee is already bouncing. It was one thing when I had the skateboard to distract me, but it’s another entirely to have only nerves and cocoa to get by with.
dontmessthisupdontmessthisupdont
“You’re going to love it,” she says, but her enthusiasm has waned a little. Like some of what we had was lost the moment our fingers disconnected. I bite the inside of my cheek and let the silence settle over us. Just getting her here seemed so impossible twenty-four hours ago, and now that she is here, I don’t know what to do.
“Is this a place you hang out?” I ask, desperate to break the silence. She pulls her coat off, draping it over the back of her chair. Her giant chunky headband is still on, though, and it’s kind of weirdly hot.
“Are you asking me if I come here often?” she asks, dropping her voice a few octaves at the end.
“Something like that.”
She flicks a discarded straw wrapper back and forth between her fingers. “Pretty much. We’re friends with the family who owns this place.”
A waiter comes out of the kitchen and from behind the counter. Peak looks at him, her eyes going wide.
“Frankie!” she shouts, jumping up to pull the guy into a hug. He’s huge, taller than my dad, and built like a linebacker. He’s also carrying a tray with our hot cocoa on it, which he somehow has managed not to spill.
“JuJu!” he says, and he looks so happy I almost want to trip him. He’s staring at not-quite-my-girlfriend-but-also-not-not-my-girlfriend like she’s the best thing he’s ever seen. Who is this guy? And then I know.
This is the other shoe, and it’s ready to drop.