I fell in love with Simon Hopkins pretty much the moment I met him.

Even though the coffee shop was still decked out for Thanksgiving, I couldn’t ignore the pang of loneliness in me, knowing my friends had gone back to school already. I felt so left behind. Nothing about it felt right, like the world itself had been thrown off its axis.

Drumming my fingers while I waited for my drink, I thought about what my next step would be now. Mrs. Reynolds thought I should do community college, but I had just graduated high school and had no plans for...anything, really. I never really had that passion, or expectation on me, to go to college like my other friends.  I wanted to live my life, not sink more into debt. Besides, I can do that without going to college, anyways.

But I hoped everyone from high school missed me, because I sure as heck missed them all. Everyone, even freaking Harley with his weird, amazing, overwhelming space obsession and addiction to licorice.

I glanced down at my phone. The group chat, once a flurry of conversation of in-jokes and group meetups, has become quiet over the past few days, and I couldn't help but feel a little anxious about the silence. I messaged asking how everyone's doing adjusting to college life, stared at my phone as if hoping for a response to come in immediately, and put my phone away. They'd get back to me. They always would.

The coffee place in town was pretty quiet that night, though that was also because the tourist season was winding down. It was one of those cute cafes with a dive bar feel, and it was aggressively popular in summer because of their rotating “Drink of the Season”. Now that it was quiet, it felt so empty and cold. The corner where me and my friends used to sit is occupied by a girl on her laptop. It made my heart ache a little.

A drink came and went.

A few people I saw from time to time were there. I made up stories about them while I waited for my drink – of camaraderie and shared moments of vulnerability and things that forge friendships. Just enough for me to pass the time and help not miss my friends, only it makes me miss them more.

Another drink came and went, and then after a while, I realized one was standing by, drizzled in caramel and smelling delectably like chocolate.

“Is this the caramel one?” I asked Tiffany.

“Yeah.” She doesn't look at me. She's already helping the next person in line. She's generally more upbeat and we end up talking for a little while, but today she was on a roll.

I smiled and slipped a couple dollars into the tip jar. “Thank you, Tif!” I called over my shoulder, taking a long drink and then swallowing down the worst caramel cappuccino I've ever drank in my life. I glanced it over, wondering what had happened to it, and turned back to her. She was busy mixing the next drink, and I didn't want to interrupt her while she worked. It just felt so inconveniencing and, I know it's not what I ordered, but I still took it, and drank it, and what if –

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah?”

“Hi, uh, this isn't my hot chocolate?”

I turned back to the counter. I nearly dropped the drink.

The guy standing there was the prettiest freaking thing I've ever seen. There's nothing not perfect about him – his eyes, his nose, how his hair's longish, his hands. His hands. The way they moved, it made me so dizzy, yet the way they moved was familiar to me. Did he have freaking freckles? He kept talking to Tiffany, but I wasn't hearing any of it. His mouth moved, and I was so fixated on how his lips moved that, and I'd never seen something so perfect before in my entire life.

I had to talk to him.

I had to talk to him.

I turned away. Why would he – this literal freaking Adonis – want to talk to a frump-a-dump like me?

I glanced back towards him.

Tiffany's pointed to me. He looked at me, and it was in slow motion with terrible shoujo sparkles, and every love song I've ever heard in my entire freaking life suddenly made sense. I felt like I was floating. I – no, no love song I've ever heard did what was happening then justice. It was magical. It was fate or something, the kinds of things poets from the 1700's wrote about.

His eyes – I'm too far away but I think they're blue – stared directly into my freaking soul, and I wanted to confess every sin to him if he asked. I needed to know where the heck I knew him from, because I knew him from somewhere. I wanted to ask him where he had been all my life.

I heard angels sing.

I wanted to die. I'm frozen, and I couldn't, for the life of me, move.

He started walking over towards me.

Which made me start to panic. I stole his drink, and now he was coming to beat me up. Or kiss me. Oh my God. I opened my mouth to say something, anything, because he didn't look angry but that could be just because I'm distracted by how perfect his face is, but I wheezed. I wheezed, and it made me want to crawl into a hole. How can something so perfect even look at me?

“Uh...hi,” he said. He scratched his perfectly freckled neck, and even that made me lightheaded. His voice was so...I don't know. It's low and there's this kind of bass to it, and I wanted to listen to him just talk to me for the rest of eternity. Is there a word that describes “perfect”, “musical”, and “soothing” all at the same time?

I giggled. I turned bright red. The blood was rushing in my ears. “Hi.”

“Do you, uh...”

I held my breath.

“...want a napkin?”

“Wha?”

“You, uh...” He pointed to my hand.

It's only then I realize that I've crushed the cup, the top popped off, and his drink's dribbling down my sleeve and pooling in my jacket. I yelp, and threw his hot chocolate on the floor, where it exploded like a bomb. It splattered all over my shoes and his, and starts spreading out through the grooves in the tile floor. I threw off my jacket and shook out whatever hot chocolate dribbled into my sleeve. The elbow of my sweater's stained dark brown, and it was so freaking embarrassing and awful and I can't believe I stole –

He snorted. He covered his mouth, and his eyes sparkled a little. “Sorry, sorry,” he said. “I – do you need some help? Cleaning up?”

And I melted. “I...” I started, trying to smile. “Oh, God, I'm so sorry for – ”

“It's okay,” he laughs.

My smile fell. “L-let me get you another one.”

“It's okay,” he said. “Maybe it was a blessing in disguise.”

I held my breath again. I was already lightheaded just because he was talking to me.

He glanced down at the drink. “I...didn't really deserve it.”

That made me angry. It just stoked this rage in me, that this perfect, handsome, freckly man, who was willingly talking to me, was denying himself chocolate. “You didn't deserve it?” I said back to him. “Of course you did! I didn't deserve my caramel cappuccino, and I didn't deserve to meet you, and – ” I snapped my mouth shut. “W-why aren't you able to treat yourself every now and then?” I leaned forward and threw my jacket on an empty tabletop. “What'd you get? A hot chocolate? How many pumps of caramel do you want? 4? 7? I'll spring for 7. Just ask. I'll do it. I swear to God.”

He chuckled again, masking it with a cough. “It's okay. Honest.”

“No it isn't. It's the least I can do.”

“You don't owe me.”

“I do.” I grumbled, and stared at him.

He took in a breath and glanced away.

It hurt to see that from him. I didn't even know his name, and it hurt to see that. I wiped my hand on my pants and asked, “Can I...can I buy you a drink?”

He looked at me again. “What?”

“Can I buy you a drink?” I asked again. “A-a replacement drink?” My throat was parched. “I...” I scoffed. “What's your name?”

He raised a brow, not saying anything for freaking years before he offered his hand. “I'm Simon,” he said.

Simon.

Simon.

Oh my God, I'm already in love.

I took his hand, and it's soft and cool and the kind of hand you want to hold for the rest of human history. I held it, and it just felt like a perfect hand to hold. “I-I'm Micah.”

Simon took his hand back, and I didn't know if it was because he was uncomfortable or because I had touched him with the hand that crushed his hot chocolate. “Uh...if...if you do...get a drink, I mean,” he said, “I...recommend the hot chocolate with whipped cream. Caramel drizzle on top.”

I giggle again. “Okay.”

“But...but only if it's not a problem,” he said. His freckles were super cute.

“I – no, it's no trouble. None at all. I did destroy your drink by accident.”

Simon let out a breath. “Uh, y-your drinks – did you order a cappuccino?”

I nodded.

“Yeah, yours is over there,” he said, pointing back to the counter. “I...didn't take it or anything. I only really smelled it and it smelled too much like espresso, and I – ”

A part of me was mad that he didn't drink from it. There could've been an accidental indirect kiss and I would've swallowed that stuff whole if I could. But I laughed and said, “That's okay. Thank you for bringing it back.”

Simon rubbed his arm. He glanced away, and I swear I saw him smirk.

I sighed again and just stared at him for a little longer.

“Are you...”

“Huh?”

Simon pointed back to the counter. “Hot chocolate?”

“Hot choc – oh! Yes!” I could feel my face growing red. Redder. I wasn't sure how I hadn't passed out yet. “Yes, I-I'll order it and then I – I'll ask Tiffany if I could mop that up for her, because that is mostly my mess, and I don't want – ”

“Dude, just go.” He chuckled again. “I'll be here if you come back.”

I was hurt all over again. “I will come back! Wh-why wouldn't I?”

He looked at me, brows raised. Simon scratched the back of his neck again and chuckled.

“I-I should go.”

Simon snorted again. “You're cute.”

If there ever was a sound for a horse/pig/pterydactyl baby, I made it in that moment. I fumbled getting my wallet out and shouted, “I'll be back.” and walked off.

And glancing back, I had never felt better feeling like a fool in my entire freaking life.