Page 8 of Sunrises & Salvation
ADAM
D amnit. Why did I do this to myself? As soon as I saw him walking into the café, I should have turned around and gone right back to my room. It’s not bad enough that I picture him every time I close my eyes, but now I’ve resorted to following him?
Granted, I’ve been coming here since before I started college.
Angie’s fucking cool, and her son is an amazing cook.
I was first drawn in by the riddles on the door, written in paint marker, washed off, and replaced every day with something new.
I made my driver stop by every day after school, hellbent on getting the riddle right.
Day after day, I would drop my piece of paper in the drop box and wait for the lock to click.
It never happened, and months went by with the same schedule.
I thought, surely, if people are taking the time to do this, then they’re inside. They just don’t want me in there.
I continually got pissed, my patience wearing thin, until one day I threatened that I would have my father buy the building so they would have to let me in there.
Childish, sure. But I heard the lock click, after all that time.
The lady inside scowled at me, her gray hair pulled back into a tight bun at the nape of her neck.
“Go cry to your daddy, then,” she snapped, slamming the door in my face. Feeling victorious, because now I know there was someone in there. I kept coming back.
Finally, the riddle on the door made sense to me.
The 22nd and 24th presidents of the United States of America had the same parents but were not brothers. How can this be possible?
Grover fucking Cleveland.
I scribbled the answer quickly, my excitement getting the best of me, and I spelled Cleveland wrong, so I scratched it out and fixed it before dropping it in the box. Hearing the light ding, I waited impatiently for the woman to open the door.
She did, and when she stepped aside to let me into the café, I came to a realization. Sometimes we build things up in our mind, and when we see them for ourselves, it’s a letdown.
“How does this place even stay open?” I asked, turning my nose up slightly at the cracked vinyl seats, with not one paying customer in sight. The cook was tossing pizza dough like they do in the videos, nearly touching the ceiling.
The lady sniffed, annoyed. “Why does it matter to you?”
“Because I’m curious.” And curious I was, because I lacked the understanding for why they wouldn’t let me in for months, when there was no one else in here. Isn’t some business better than none?
I learned along the way that Angie and her son didn’t care if they ever got customers. They did it to keep the memory of her husband and his father alive. A former professor at the university who tragically passed away.
He loved riddles, and every morning he left them on the refrigerator for his wife and son to figure out. They bought the small café, remodeled it, and are making payments on it every month with his life insurance money.
I’ve wanted time and time again to convince Angie to let me pay it off for her, I wouldn’t bat an eye at the missing amount.
But she refuses. So instead, I come in here and spend hours working on riddles and showing her my latest projects over fresh food.
And when I leave, I slide enough money in the drop box to pay for their rent.
It’s not as much as I want to do, but she lets me get away with it.
But now I have a dilemma, because he’s here. He’s found my secret spot and even cracked the riddle to be let in. I glance at Angie, and she’s smiling as she walks toward the booth that Hunter is occupying. The booth I’ve been sitting in and have claimed as my own.
“Move over, Collins,” I say, coming to a stop at the edge of the table. Brown eyes lift to meet mine, and my world shifts on its axis.
“I’m sorry?” he says, tilting his head slightly to the side with a confused look on his face. That should not be as attractive as it is. I will not be thinking of the cute head tilt. I will not.
“Either scoot over or sit beside Angie. That’s my seat.” Angie swats me on the upper arm with the back of her hand.
“Adam! Be nice, or I’ll make the next riddle so hard you won’t come back for a month,” she hisses, and I turn to stare at her in shock. She wouldn’t, but the gleam in her eyes tells me that yes, she absolutely would.
“Fine,” I mumble. I go to sit beside her, but Hunter quickly shifts.
“Sorry, I didn’t realize this was your spot. I need to head back to my dorm anyway.” He goes to stand up, and I panic. I can’t let him go, not now. Probably not ever with the way I feel possessive over him. It’s not normal, but damned if I can stop it.
I sit down beside him, almost on his lap, and he moves out of my way and farther back into the booth.
“I’m just giving you a hard time, Collins, lighten up.” Collins, I can call him Collins, and that’s not weird, right? I know it’s typically a jock thing, but I need to keep a degree of separation between us because at the rate I’m going, I’m on a downhill spiral to disaster.
“Oh, okay.” He awkwardly chuckles but smiles at me anyway, the pink in his cheeks dull in the dim lighting. I need to sweet-talk Angie into investing in better lighting in here.
“What were you two talking about?” I ask, propping my elbows on the table and resting my head in my hands.
“None of your business,” Angie says, at the same time Hunter says, “Just school stuff.”
“Oh, problems with your first week?” My interest is piqued because from the sounds last night, he isn’t having any problems in the bedroom. A jealous feeling bubbles up inside me, and I have to push it down. He’s not mine. He can’t ever be mine. I don’t want him to be mine.
I’m straight. Just… intrigued by him.
“No, nothing too bad. Adjusting has been a challenge, but it’ll be fine in no time.”
“What classes are you taking?” I turn my head to look at him and see his eyes narrow in concentration. A slight dimple forms in his cheek when he bites his lip, and I have to hold back a groan because what the fuck is that?
“English, Calc One, Physical Science, American History, and Intro to Drawing.”
“Why are you in Calc One?” I ask in shock. That’s a class I have to take next semester because I put it off this semester. It sounded absolutely awful.
Hunter shrugs. “Math isn’t bad, numbers always stay the same.” That’s true, but then they start throwing random numbers and symbols into it and it turns into a clusterfuck.
“Well, when I take it next semester, I’m going to borrow your notes.” Why? Why? Why did I say that? I wish I could go back in time and snatch those words right out of the air and put them back into my mouth.
“Oh, I can do that! I’m in Richards’ class, and he’s supposed to be the best.” He is supposed to be the best, and I’m impressed by Hunter taking college seriously enough to want to be with the best professors, even when they aren’t the easiest.
“And if you need help with English, I had Whittacker, but I think all the curriculum is the same.”
“I would like that, thanks.” His pink cheeks are my focus, and I want to cover them, not sharing the pretty pink color with anyone else. Not even Angie.
Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Don’t fucking say it.
“If you wanna come over to my room later, I can give you my old notes.”
Well, if it all goes to hell, I can chalk it up to my brain not being on the same wavelength as the rest of me.