Chapter Six: The Coffee Situation

Maya ambushed her at lunch.

"Okay," she said, sliding into the seat across from Nora with the energy of someone who had been physically restraining herself all morning. "We need to talk about this morning."

"There's nothing to talk about."

"Derek showed up, Cole defended your honor, and then you two had a moment in the hallway that I could feel from my locker thirty feet away."

Nora stabbed a grape with her fork. "We did not have a moment."

"Nora. I watched you walk to first period. You were doing that thing."

"What thing?"

"The thing where you're hyper-aware of exactly how close he is to you and you're pretending you're not." Maya leaned forward. "Which means something changed."

Something had changed. Nora just wasn't ready to examine what, exactly, or when.

"We're fake dating," she said. "We're supposed to look convincing."

"That," Maya said, pointing at her, "was not fake-dating energy. That was 'I'm having a crisis about my feelings' energy."

Before Nora could respond, Cole dropped into the seat next to her.

"Jensen," he said, like he always did. Then, to Maya: "Chen."

"Whitaker," Maya said, with a knowing look that made Nora want to sink through the floor. "I was just leaving."

"You just got here," Nora said.

"And now I'm leaving." She stood, grabbed her bag, and gave Nora one last significant look before disappearing into the cafeteria crowd.

Cole unwrapped his sandwich. "She's subtle."

"She's the least subtle person alive."

"Fair." He took a bite, chewed, swallowed. "So. This morning."

Nora's grip tightened on her fork. "What about it?"

"Derek's an ass."

"I'm aware."

"And I probably should've asked before I—" He gestured vaguely. "Did the whole protective thing. I know you can handle yourself."

She looked at him. He was staring at his sandwich like it contained the answers to complex mathematical equations.

"It was fine," she said. "Actually, it was—" She stopped. Tried again. "Thank you. For stepping in."

He glanced at her, something uncertain in his expression. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

They ate in silence for a minute. It should have been awkward. Somehow it wasn't.

"My mom texted me this morning," Cole said. "She wants to know when you're coming over for dinner again."

"I was just there two weeks ago."

"Yeah, well, you made an impression." He smiled slightly. "Grandma asked about you too. She never asks about anyone."

Something warm moved through Nora's chest. "What did you tell them?"

"That you're busy with college apps and academic decathlon and seventeen other things, because you're you." He paused. "But that I'd ask."

"Are you asking?"

"I'm asking."

She should say no. She should maintain some distance, remind herself that this had an expiration date, that getting too involved with his family was a strategic error.

"When?" she said instead.

His smile widened. "Saturday?"

"I'll check my calendar."

"You already know your Saturday is open. You color-code your planner."

"How do you know that?"

"I pay attention." He said it simply, like it was obvious, like of course he'd noticed.

Nora looked at him — at Cole Whitaker, who she'd spent three years carefully not noticing, who apparently had been noticing her right back.

"Saturday works," she said quietly.

"Cool." He went back to his sandwich, but the corner of his mouth was still curved up. "It's a date."

"It's a family dinner."

"Same thing."

"It's absolutely not the same thing."

"Agree to disagree," he said, and stole one of her grapes before she could stop him.

---

Wednesday morning, there was a coffee cup waiting at her locker.

Oat milk latte, still warm, with her name written on the side in Cole's unmistakable handwriting.

She picked it up, turned it over. There was a note on the back:

*For dealing with Derek. And for being you. — CW*

She stood there holding a coffee cup in the middle of the hallway, and something in her chest did something dangerous.

Maya appeared at her shoulder. "Is that from—"

"Don't," Nora said.

"I wasn't going to say anything."

"You were absolutely going to say something."

"Okay, I was going to say something." Maya looked at the cup, then at Nora. "He remembered your order."

"So?"

"So." Maya said it like it explained everything. "When's the last time someone remembered your coffee order without you telling them multiple times?"

Never, Nora thought. The answer was never.

She took a sip. It was perfect.

Cole found her after third period.

"You got the coffee," he said.

"I got the coffee." She fell into step beside him. "You didn't have to do that."

"I know."

"So why did you?"

He shrugged. "Wanted to."

They walked in silence for a few steps. The hallway was crowded, people pushing past them in both directions, but Nora was acutely aware of the space between them — or the lack of it. Their shoulders kept brushing. Neither of them moved away.

"Cole," she started.

"Don't," he said quietly.

"Don't what?"

"Don't overthink it. It's just coffee."

But they both knew it wasn't just coffee. It was coffee he didn't have to buy, for a girl who was supposed to be fake but was starting to feel increasingly real, in a situation that had very clear boundaries that were getting blurrier by the day.

"Okay," she said.

"Okay," he echoed.

They reached her classroom. He stopped in the doorway, hands in his pockets, looking at her with an expression she couldn't quite read.

"See you at lunch?" he asked.

"See you at lunch."

He left. She went to her desk. She tried to focus on the lesson.

She thought about coffee cups and careful handwriting and the way he'd said *wanted to* like it was the simplest thing in the world.

By Friday, the coffee had become a thing.

Not a planned thing. Not a discussed thing. Just a thing that happened — Cole showing up at her locker between second and third period with an oat milk latte, staying just long enough to make sure she got it, then disappearing to his own class.

"This is getting out of hand," Nora told Maya Friday afternoon.

"What is?"

"The coffee situation."

"The coffee situation," Maya repeated slowly. "You mean the situation where the guy you're fake dating brings you coffee every day because he pays attention to what you like and wants to make you happy?"

"Yes. That situation."

"Nora." Maya set down her phone. "That's not a situation. That's called dating."

"We're not actually—"

"Babe." Maya's voice was gentle. "When are you going to admit that this stopped being fake about two weeks ago?"

Nora didn't answer. She couldn't, because Maya was right, and admitting Maya was right meant admitting that she'd lost control of this thing she'd been so sure she could manage.

Her phone buzzed.

*Cole: you coming to the game tonight?*

She hadn't planned to. Friday night games weren't part of the deal. But her fingers were typing before her brain caught up.

*Nora: what time?*

*Cole: 7*

*Cole: you don't have to*

*Cole: but I'd like it if you did*

She stared at that last message. *I'd like it if you did.* Not for appearances. Not because people would expect it. Just because he wanted her there.

*Nora: I'll be there*

*Cole: yeah?*

*Nora: yeah*

Three dots appeared and disappeared twice before:

*Cole: see you there Jensen*

She locked her phone and looked at Maya, who was watching her with an expression that said *I told you so* without saying anything at all.

"Don't," Nora said.

"I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking it very loudly."

"Can't help what I think." Maya smiled. "So. What are you wearing to the game?"

Nora groaned and put her head down on the table.

But she went home and changed into something nicer than sweatpants, and she showed up at the arena fifteen minutes early, and when Cole skated past during warm-ups and spotted her in the stands, the grin that split his face was worth every single complicated feeling currently threatening to overwhelm her completely organized life.

She was in so much trouble.

She waved.

He waved back.

Maya, sitting next to her, said nothing.

She didn't have to.