Page 31 of Not a Friend (Crescent Light #1)

Two Years Ago, March

It’s amazing how someone can turn out to be scarily similar to the person they swore they’d never be like. The apple doesn’t fall far from the fucking tree. It’s me. I’m the apple.

T he Mountain had a grueling, three-week orientation where all the copy editors cycled through each primary department—Lifestyle, Cuisine, and Music.

The purpose was for employees to have a working knowledge of every branch of the business and build rapport with coworkers outside of their department.

After that, we spent another four weeks writing mock articles using various obscure prompts assigned by the department heads. Then editing, reviewing, and proverbially ripping them to shreds.

“There’s your way of doing things, then there’s The Mountain way,” Julienne said in that no-nonsense tone I’d already become accustomed to.

“You can’t be a good editor if you’re a shit writer, and your writing needs to feel like it’s coming from The Mountain .

Not some high school creative writing course. ”

By our ninety-day mark, we’d settled into our roles with a consistent flow of work .

Wren, Ha-Joon, and I shared a trio of desks separated by paper-thin dividers and worked on a rotating schedule of reviewing and editing articles for the Online Daily blog.

Despite our differing personalities, the three of us melded somehow, whether it be by trauma bonding through work stress or by sheer proximity.

We had something to prove and felt the same in our positions—challenged to keep up, happy to take on new responsibilities, and desperate to stand out amongst the talent that poured out of The Mountain ’s doors.

Boston was good for my soul. It gave me the separation I needed to tap into who I was outside of being a student and who I wanted to be in the future, with no distractions.

Pouring myself into work provided a sense of place and purpose.

Like I could move on, not only from Sumner U and Hartwood, but from the bad habits and immaturities that lingered inside me, too.

They seemed so obvious once I got distance from them.

The habit of comparing myself to Gemma, for example.

It was born from feeling inadequate compared to her, which she was in no way responsible for.

I couldn’t have been happier for her next chapter—both with and without Grant—and I felt so lucky to have her full support in my next chapter, too.

Living together, though, no matter how much I loved her, had run its course.

I’d also decided I was no longer okay with not knowing where I stood with people.

The ambiguity of Nate’s and my relationship—friendship, situationship, whatever—and how it ended had done a number on my mental health, more than I’d realized.

It struck a painful chord, yes, but it also taught me a lesson.

It was easier said than done, and I had no idea how long it would take me to get better at it, but I knew I needed more clarity from the people in my life .

If only it stopped me from thinking about him all the time.

Wren and I became fast friends. Well, she became fast friends with me . “I can’t do small talk forever, so we might as well get right into it,” she’d said on our second day at The Mountain .

She kept me from isolating myself by dragging me out of my apartment most weekends.

Sometimes, it was to go out for drinks, but more often than not, it was to go to local festivals or concerts.

Ha-Joon was the most introverted of the three of us, but we peer-pressured him into joining us often enough that we eventually got through his meek exterior.

It was refreshing being around people who knew and appreciated music as much as I did and who got the same high from watching live performances.

After six months of working at The Mountain , Julienne gave us work-from-home privileges that only required us to come into the office twice a week.

“You’ve been here long enough, I trust you to do your jobs and do them well.

I don’t care where you work or what hours,” she said, standing almost as tall as Ha-Joon in her power suit and heels.

“Work from four to midnight for all I care, just get your shit done, make your deadlines, and don’t miss meetings. Cool?”

We knew better than to take advantage of the relaxed schedule. A hundred other people were out there waiting to take our jobs if we fucked up, which meant I was on the hunt for a suitable remote location.

My apartment didn’t work. I got restless after a few hours, too distracted by the dishes in the sink and the laundry I’d left dumped on the couch.

I experimented with a few other options: alternating between my couch and kitchen table, working from a nearby park on a rare sunny day as the winter snow melted and the first hints of spring arrived.

I kept workshopping new locations until the weather permanently took a turn for the better, and funnily enough, it was a place I’d been before.

It wasn’t until I walked in that I realized it was the same cozy little cafe I’d been to with Nate a year and a half prior, the day we picked up Paige’s birthday gifts. I craned my neck back outside the door to see the sign overhead: Full Circle Coffee & Co .

It was only a few blocks from my apartment, charmingly tucked between an antique store and a bakery.

The wide bank of windows overlooking the park beyond let in natural light to warm up the space.

The cafe didn’t seem too busy, nor was it too slow.

There were at least three other patrons camped out at respective tables, working or reading.

It was somehow the perfect fit for my creativity, productivity, and wandering brain. I pushed off the memory of Nate leaning against the counter and the knowledge that NovelB’s bookshop was only a short walk away.

For the next few weeks, I unconsciously created a new routine for my days out of the office: wake up, get dressed, go to Full Circle, and order a steaming cup of Earl Grey.

Then, I’d sit at the same table every morning, which practically became my property after a week, and work until around two in the afternoon.

Then, I’d pack my things, trudge around the block back to my apartment, do a few chores, make an early dinner, and settle back down for another hour or two of work at the kitchen table.

I did this over and over again, three times a week for months, letting the pattern wash over me like a steady, cleansing wave.

Before I knew it, I’d been in Boston for a year.

One simple joy of this routine was getting to observe other people’s patterns as well. I interacted with the same handful of shop employees, getting to know each of them little by little .

Jade, a barista around my age with short, split-dyed hair, was a fast favorite who worked all the time.

I could count on one hand how many times I’d shown up to the cafe to find Jade wasn’t already there.

Then there was Nolan, a heavily tattooed father of twin toddlers who was also a photographer on the side and made a killer chai latte.

I picked up on the other regular shop patrons, too, and observed them between meetings and edits.

My little table sat in the corner along the same wall as the front door, against a window with a perfect view for people watching, conveniently next to a set of power outlets to keep my computer charged.

There was a college-aged girl who speed-walked in every morning with a swinging ponytail of thin braids. There was a florally perfumed older lady who always complained the coffee wasn’t hot enough.

But the one who caught my attention a little more than the others was the tall, muscular man with short blond hair and a wide, bright smile. On the days he wore navy medical scrubs, he would dash in and out with his coffee to-go. But other days, he dressed casually and worked from the cafe like me.

He had the vibe of someone who knew they were ridiculously hot, walking into the cafe with a straight back, coiffed hair, and enough self-assurance to fill the room.

But he always greeted the baristas with a warm smile and asked, How are you?

before ordering, something that seemed like common courtesy but was actually pretty rare. I thought it was sweet.

On one occasion, a few months into my favorite new routine, he came in with his scrubs on and caught me looking as he turned to leave with his to-go cup.

He did a double take when he caught my eye and flashed a bright smile before rushing through the open door.

I smiled back in the awkward way strangers do when they pass each other in a grocery store and ducked my head back to my laptop, embarrassed to have been caught staring.

But from that day on, each time he came in, he would smile or give a boyish upward nod in addition to his friendly interactions with the baristas.

My schoolgirl crush on Scrubs Guy was fed on the rare days he would come in with a laptop, wearing athletic clothes that hugged his broad, muscular frame in all the right places.

Eventually, our interactions became so regular that Scrubs Guy added me to his regular, How are you? list. Months passed, smiles and nods and How are you’s performed like a ritual thrice a week, like a little dance for us regulars at Full Circle Coffee & Co.

“How long are you going to make us fantasize about you two falling in love?” Jade asked one morning. The half of their hair that had once been turquoise was now a soft pink.

“What are you talking about?” I scoffed, genuinely confused, as I spooned honey into my tea at the counter.

“You and Kieran. If we have to watch you make eyes at each other one more day, I might have to force you together Parent Trap style.”

“Who?”

They leveled a stare at me. “You know. Tall, blond? Usually wears scrubs? Honestly, I wish you would talk already.”

Nolan rounded the corner from the back room, his tattooed arms full of cartons of milk to refill the mini fridge behind the counter.

“We have an ongoing bet.” Jade folded their arms and scooted closer, leaning in. “We’re trying to see how many more days it’ll take for one of you to make a move. ”

“Are we talking about Olive and that doctor guy?” Nolan’s head perked up from his crouched position under the counter, suddenly invested.

Jade jutted a thumb at Nolan, eyes wide as if to say, See?

“I’ve never even talked to him,” I said, not denying my crush. “What did you say his name was?”

“Kieran.” Jade slid my warmed-up blueberry muffin across the counter. “And you two are in love. I don’t make the rules.”

“I think he does physical therapy?” Nolan rose to full height. “Or sports therapy, or something. I asked him about it once. Seems like a nice guy.”

Jade huffed. “I can’t be subjected to you ogling at each other one more second before I start playing matchmaker.”

“Please don’t,” I begged, a blush creeping up my cheeks.

The two of them gave me a pointed look, glanced at each other conspiratorially, and went back to work.