Young Pilgrims by ineedyoursway.pdf

Young Pilgrims by ineedyoursway

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/6562584/1/

grande chai tea latte

one half whole milk

one half chai concentrate

steam to 145

half an inch of foam

Edward Cullen walked into my life without a care in the world

(I assumed.)

He was wealthy

(I assumed.)

Talented

(I assumed.)

Beautiful

(I knew.)

Because I could tell by the way that he moved

Pure, aching tenderness

Pure, aching charisma

Eat your heart out

He comes here every Sunday

I mean, so do I, but it's different

Hell, I work here.

I'm here every god damn mother fucking second of my life

(Except Tuesday and Thursday)

(Except my sporadic classes at South Seattle CC)

Got a problem?

He comes at the same time, too

It's a common time

It's not strange or anything

He comes at noon

People are lazy on Sundays

They get up late, come in late, need espresso to make it through the afternoon

Like Sandra

She has two kids, Sandra. And a dog.

Sometimes she leaves her dog outside, tied up to the bike racks

I don't know

Her kids are always crazy I mean, they pull at her hair, her earrings

They're the type that hang people's legs

I mean, the type that accidentally change to the legs of a stranger while still

thinking they're on Sandra's

I feel bad for the stranger

It's always the same reaction

There's a strange kid on my leg.

Fucking now what?

Nothing. You have to deal. Sucks.

Sandra comes in right before Edward

I don't even see Sandra anymore I just hear the alarm

Edward's next, Edward's next, Edward's next

I'm getting ahead of myself, though

I mean, I didn't know his name when I first met him

I mean, he didn't even introduce himself to me

I mean, I overheard his name being called out by one of his friends

Anyway

He comes in like the beautiful people do

Smiling, little crease dimples

Lips slightly chapped

Biting cold

He shivers and it's still beautiful

Takes off his jacket

Takes off his athletic bag (It's slung over his shoulder when he walks in. It's

always slung over his shoulder when he walks in)

Today there's an umbrella

He shakes off the rain, creating a mini puddle by the door

I'll be cleaning that later

Bastard

"Hello," he says

And like a moth to a flame

I'm dead.

I smile

It's fake

I'm still dead

"What can I get for you?"

"Grande chai tea latte?"

I don't know if he's insecure or whatever, but everything he orders sounds like a

question

Now, normally, that would put me off

Make up your damn mind

It's your damn order

Right?

But instead I just smile and nod

"Of course."

And I take his credit card

And bam, bam, bam

Just like that

It's over

I stand by the espresso machine

The douche is playing on the radio

Sorry, I mean John Mayer is playing on the radio

I've memorized the words

I only hear it every day

And I'm free, free fallin'

I'm not free

Or falling

Thanks anyway

I hand him his drink

I don't know his name (at this point, anyway)

Right now he's just red

Red lips

Red hair

Red eyes

Red ears

Red cheeks

Just red

He nods a thanks

I mean, he ducks his head just a bit.

He does the same when walking out the door

He doesn't make eye contact with most people

He doesn't make eye contact with me

I mean, it's not like I'm anything special

It's not like he saw me one day and had an epiphany

It's not like he was all,

"Oh, Bella Swan, you're so beautiful, you're so lovely, you're so clumsy (err,

scratch that last part), you're so innocent, you have such small hands. I love you.

Marry me?"

Because, three things

I dub this the Bella Swan triad:

One

I am undoubtedly average

Two

I live my life unnoticed

Three

I don't have small hands

Small hands are weird

You can't, like, hold things

Plik z chomika:

Inne pliki z tego folderu:

Inne foldery tego chomika: