"Sorry I'm late."
"No, I understand."
"It's just, that meeting-"
"I get it."
His eyes fell on hers, and she didn't seem upset, but there was a terseness to her tone, a subtle but fierce flicker in her face. "I really am sorry."
"It's okay – work is busy – no big deal. I'm only your girlfriend. Don't worry about me."
"Rose. You're making me feel worse."
Light laughter. "I know. Now sit down and stop apologizing. I get it, I really do."
Chair legs rattled against pavement. He sat awkwardly, mouthing one last 'sorry' and putting on his best I-am-thoroughly-ashamed face.
"Did you already-"
"Yes."
"So I should-"
"No, I ordered you something, too – coffee and a short stack of pancakes. Extra bacon."
"You're the best girlfriend ever."
"And you're the worst boyfriend ever."
A defeated groan passed his lips. "I know."
Late morning sunlight flared through her hair and glinted on the gold chain around her neck. She gave him a soft smile and he couldn't help but return it, regardless out how awful a boyfriend he was or how bad he felt.
"Don't worry though, your coffee isn't cold yet, so I guess you're not that late." She picked up her white mug and took a sip of coffee, staining the brim with a blood red imprint of her lips.
"You know, you are the embodiment of absolute perfection."
A small, choked hiccup bubbled around the rim of her cup as coffee caught in her throat. "I think I preferred the apologies." Lipstick smeared onto her napkin as she dabbed liquid from her mouth.
"Listen, Rose. I was going to wait until after we ate to tell you-"
"Tell me what?"
"Well…you know that business trip I'm going on?"
"The one during my birthday?" Her voice was nearly as bitter as her coffee, and his tie suddenly seemed too tight, his shirt too close fitting.
He gave his best attempt at a smile, all nervous energy and excitement and expectation. Without a word, he reached into the pocket of his suit coat and produced an envelope, crisp and white. He held it out to her and she considered him for a moment, noticing the self satisfied way his smile sat on his face. She snatched the envelope from his grasp.
"This better not be another spa pa-"
"It's not."
"Good." Her nail ripped a clean laceration across the top of the envelope. "I hate spas."
"I know."
Her eyes flitted to his as she retrieved the envelope's content, then back down, the green of her irises flashing. "Wait…Is this…?"
"Yes."
"For?"
"You."
The plane ticket fluttered to the table as she smothered a grin in her hands. "You're taking me to New York?" His reply was a slight smile, a small shrug. Her eyes grew wide, understanding flooding her face. "You're taking me to New York." His smile widened, her eyes danced. "You're taking me to New York!" His smile erupted into a shower of laughter as she ran her fingers through her hair, scattering sunlight. Suddenly her voice grew very small, as though she suddenly comprehended the enormity of the small slip of paper. "You're taking me to New York."
"I'm sorry. Could you repeat that? I don't think I quite heard you. Where am I taking you?"
"Bus Boy!"
Bus Boy.
The nickname sent a warmth up the length of his spine, sparking a fire on his heartstrings.
His mind reeled through time and settled on his first job, a quaint café: the smell of coffee and melting chocolate; a young, green eyed girl with ambitions even the universe couldn't contain.
"Come on, Bus Boy! Bus those tables."
"I have a name you know."
"I know." A wicked smile as she tossed a bus bin at him. "Now get to work."
"Why don't you get to work?"
A politely patronizing pat on the head. "You're my favorite bus boy."
"And you're my least favorite waitress."
And then laughter, sweet and unoffended, falling like champagne snowflakes.
"I know."
Lurching back to the present, the scent of daylight and warm morning air and coffee. Green eyes, light freckles, caramel hair. That same wicked smile.
The chime of a cell phone.
"Oh you've got to be shitting me."
A small amused cough. "Language." He opened his mouth to apologize, for both the phone call and the outburst, but she held up her hand and shook her head. "Take it, it might be important."
He gazed at her in a state of semi-despair as he pulled the phone from his pocket and she took another sip of coffee, gazing at some point on the horizon beyond him.
"Hello." The contempt couldn't be kept from his voice and she gave an imperceptible smile. "Yes, I'm busy." A pause. "Yes, it's important!" His brows knitted together as irritation mounted in the back of his throat. "No, listen, I – can't someone else come in? What about Ben? Or Abe?" An exasperated sigh as he ran a hand across his forehead. "Fine. No, whatever, don't apologize. I'll be there in ten. Or fifteen. Or whenever the hell I get there, okay?" He hung up as she considered him over her coffee up. There was silence as he wrestled with his disappointment and she tried not to show her amusement.
"So, I take it you're not going to eat your pancakes?"
"Shit. Rose, I'm so sorry."
"What is it with you and apologizing? It's like you think I don't understand or something." He looked across the table at her and felt a surge of irrepressible affection. "No go to your meeting or whatever, we can have pancakes tonight. And talk about New York."
He stood, giving her a look that he hoped showed his appreciation. "I'll…see you tonight then?"
"If you don't get called into another meeting, I'll be at your place at seven. Or eight. Or whenever the hell I get there."
And they shared one final smile before he turned away.
Okay.
So I know that Issac Marion already published a prequel to Warm Bodies, but I've kind of been obsessing over the idea of writing one ever since I read the book and I've been working on this story for about a month now, so yeah.
This is just my take on what happened before the story. Cause I need to practice writing and I just wanna contribute to the fandom, dammit!