***Today, you meet Abigail.
Routine is what I am. It's what I do. Every morning, at the exact same time, I set myself up at the same Starbuck's. All the workers know me by name and drink: Abby, vente white chocolate mocha with an extra shot.
I need that extra shot. I'm not very good with sleeping through the night.
For the past couple of weeks, I've noticed I'm not the only one with a routine.
He walks in, relaxes on the sofa near my chair and the scent of ripe apples tickle my nose. There's a book, brown leather bound, that he holds tight to his chest. An ancient smell leaks out when he opens the pages. He always snaps his pen ready with a wince and scribbles word after word. I try to ignore him, but how can I? Sometimes his eyes leave the page and wander over to me. I steal a glance, caught in the midnight sky of his gaze, beautiful, almond shaped, piercing, situated beneath thick brows and lashes that fan the wind with a blink. He smiles.
I melt every time and just barely manage to turn my warmed cheeks from his sight.
Ridiculous. Me for acting like a twelve year old. No good when I'm all of seventeen years old. Him for being...him.***
Hmmm...I wonder what will happen next? Come on back to find out :-)