Little Lies
The snow falls gently, though it's brutally cold outside. I rush inside the coffee shop, sighing in relief at the immediate warmth.
It's finals week at my university, and the stress has gotten the best of me. So, I decide to relax a little with a cup of coffee while I study.
"I'll have a mocha latte."
"Alright, that will be four pounds."
I fumble with the foreign money, still not quite familiar with the new currency. I've been living in London for a few months now, and I'm constantly reminded why I miss home.
The lady waits patiently as I hand her the money. As I'm heading back to my table, someone who is clearly in a rush runs into me, spilling my coffee all over my hands and clothes.
"Ow-"
"Oh god, I'm sorry-"
He grabs a handful of napkins, handing them to me. While I dry myself off, I sneak a glance at him.
Snow is scattered lightly over his dirty blonde hair. His cheeks are flushed, possibly from the chilly weather or embarrassment.
He smiles weakly. "I'm sorry, honest."
"It's okay." I wince as I see my hands. They're bright pink from the burn of the hot drink.
"Um, do you want me to get you another coffee?" He asks awkwardly. "I won't spill it this time."
I laugh. "Sure."
When he smiles again, my heart races a little.
He orders two mocha lattes. His accent isn't very British at all, but all I want to do is listen to him talk more.
We go back to my table, where a tall stack of books sits.
"A bit of light reading, I see," He says, nodding towards the books.
"Oh, yeah. I'm studying for finals."
"Interesting. Where are you studying?" He asks.
"Oxford."
His eyebrows raise, and my heart jumps a little. "A scholar! Impressive. What are you studying?"
"Music."
He smiles. "Good answer."
I don't know what else to say; chatting up cute foreign boys isn't my specialty.
"Where are you from?" He asks. "Your accent isn't very British."
"I'm from New York," I reply. "What about you? You don't sound like you're from around here."
"I hail from Ireland!" He says in an even stronger Irish accent.
"So what's a fellow like you doing in London?" I ask.
He becomes particulary interested in his hands. "Uh, just visiting."
"I really should be studying," I blurt out, though I don't really want to leave.
"Right, right," He mutters. "Do you need a ride back? It's pretty cold out."
"It's a short walk, really."
"I'll walk you."
I don't object, and together we walk the streets of London. The lights cast a pretty glow against the snow. I don't say much; however, he goes on and on about the best places to go in London.
I stop. "Isn't it weird that you know quite a lot about me, but I don't know your name?"
He laughs. "I guess that does come first. Well...my name is Kyle. And your name?"
"Emma."
"Emma," He repeats. The way he says my name so simply makes my heart melt.
We've only been walking for a few minutes, and I'm absolutely freezing. The campus isn't really that far, but right now, it seems like it's a million miles away.
"Cold?" He asks.
I can't lie. "I feel like a popsicle."
He unravels his scarf and wraps it around me. A soft scent of colonge lingers on it. It's a good thing it covers my mouth, because I'm smiling like an idiot.
After what is an eternity, we make it back. Kyle stands at the door.
"Thanks for the coffee," I say.
He waves his hand. "Forget about it. It was nice meeting you."
"As it was meeting you."
I'm about to go inside, but there's this fleeting feeling inside, hoping that he'll stop me or something.
"Wait."
He stares at his feet. "Uh...do you want to go out again sometime?"
A smile creeps up on my lips. "Yes, I would."
"Is Saturday, maybe around the same time good?" He asks. "Same place?"
"Sounds good."
"I'll call you?"
"I-I don't have your number."
He sighs. "I'm crap at pickup lines...but can I have your number?"
This really gets a laugh out of me. "Charming."
I write down my number and hand it to him.
He grins. "Alright. Well, goodnight."
"Goodnight."
Once I'm inside, I realize something.
He's forgotten his scarf.