latte? latte.
.
the fosters au (brallie centric)
..
they meet at a cafe in paris. she loves cliches.
She sat at the small table, convincing herself that she didn't need coffee. She was already addicted, but the boy thought otherwise.
It was snowing in Paris, and she needed to work on her French, but decided against it. Thinking that she should focus on her experience there and write. Just write. Write chapters that were pages and paragraphs long, or chapter two pages long. Write for hours about anything.
One thing, she didn't have inspiration.
She was wearing glasses too big for her face (she always meant to go back to her optometrist back home, she just was always to 'busy'), a blazer with a sweater underneath that was yellow, and another layer of a nice button shirt that was white. She wore skinny jeans and converse, and her purse was petite (like her). She wore makeup, but only the basics. She had worn too much before, but her friend, Noelle, that she met at her six months here, frowned at her.
"How you say curse words that mean.. No in english?" She was the typical french woman. She was beautiful, she smoked a cigarette, a was very classy.
"Umm, I don't know.. You could say a curse word then no. Like-," Noelle cut her off.
"Women don't curse. Unclassy."
The girl of course didn't care. She had said curse words to her ex-boyfriends, her friends, her family. It was a bad habit.
"So? Why are you asking then?" The girl was annoyed.
"Just wondering. So, no makeup. Only some." Noelle took another drag of her cigarette. Noelle then informs her that she is a professional makeup artist.
Noelle then started applying makeup to her face. Light foundation, mascara, eyeliner, and something else that her friend gracefully applied. She had done something to her hair, telling her when to put different products in her hair, how to curl it.
She always put it in a messy bun, not obeying her friends sepecific orders. If not for a celebration or something fancy. Noelle would always fuss about it. Telling the girl she didn't listen to her.
Noelle told her what to wear, and what not to wear. Throwing most of her clothes out.
But this was her time. Hiding away from everyone, doing what she enjoyed. Contemplating whether or not to order a coffee.
Then the straight-forward boy walked up to the small table and started speaking French.
She turned her head nodding, pretending to know every precise thing he was saying. He was cute, until he stopped speaking French and started laughing. The girl's eyebrows were sewn together in an instant.
"I saw you writing in English." He smirked.
"What's your name?"
"Brandon Foster."
"Callie Jacobs."
"Where are you from?"
"California. Los Angeles to be exact. I was born in San Diego, though. My mom, she wanted to make her jounalism dream to come true, but she died right after I turned eighteen. Her boss wanted her legacy to become something or... I don't know. So, she sent me places to travel, to write about, and she takes really good care of my brother, Jude."
Callie was shocked at herself. She had told this stranger many things, personal things, in a record time. This was strange for her. She closed up and that was that.
"Do you want something to drink? I think we may be here for a while. The snow is coming down."
Then Callie took a deep breath. One latte would be fine (she had a series of lying to herself), "Sure. Latte."
The boy then told him about himself, stopping when she spoke, and asking Callie questions.
They played would you rather and other games that were childish and stupid, but they enjoyed eachother's company. They'd exchanged numbers, and had planned to meet eachother the next day.
They were the last ones to leave the cafe. It closed at 9:00 pm. It was a shame that they closed up at that time.
