Where Do Broken Hearts Go?

16. The Concoction

My best friend rarely drinks coffee. So, I'm surprised when she hops out of the car once I pull up for my morning jumpstart.

I don't advise anyone to run off with a stranger, but the thrill of it all is exciting. I feel adventurous. I feel edgy. Adventurous and edgy? You couldn't associate those words with me last week.

Out of habit, my eyes drift to a specific corner of the restaurant. Deep in thought, I locate Marcel on his laptop, the side of his face against the knuckles of his idly closed hand. His ring-clad fingers brushing the trackpad as his direct eyes are centered on the screen. I don't realize my eyes had fallen until I see Marcel extend one of his long legs.

Biting the inside of my cheek, I stop the content grin from slipping across my face before Ella finds it. Marcel must have felt my eyes on him, because when he spies me across the room, the corner of his mouth drags upwards. Oh boy.

"I could use a Mocha Latte." I hear Ella make a selection. 

Breaking my gaze from Marcel, my eyes widen as if I've been interested in her beverage choice. Lifting my eyes from her, I look up to the menu already knowing what I'm about to order.

"I'm going to get the French Vanilla and Toffee."

"Ooooo." Ella nudges me. "That sounds so good. I'm going to get both." She says as we take a step forward.

"How good would it be to mix it?" I rub my hands together as I propose an idea; imagining the burst of heavenly flavor. My taste buds are ready!

"I've never had it like that." I hear an accent that sends chills. My heart would have leaped from my throat if I weren't holding my breath. Ella is right here. I should have got her out of here when I had the chance, but no, we needed damn coffee. "Hey, Angel." Marcel greets as our eyes meet. His tone is comfortable as if he knows me. Shhh. Yes, I know, but Ella doesn't.

"Hi, Marcel. How are you?" I send a friendly, yet nerve-wrecked smile.

"I'm well. How are you?"

"I'm empty without my morning sip." 

I admire his curl-slipping bun and black V-neck, revealing hints of his tattoos. I love anything that makes my mind wander. I'm tempted to pinch the shirt and get a peek of the hiding ink. Out of the blue, Ella nudges me. I was getting to you. Relax. 

"Marcel, this is Ella. Ella, Marcel." I introduce the two. 

Marcel holds out a hospitable hand to her. My best friend graciously takes it to shake.

"Nice to meet you, Marcel. I've heard a few things about you." An overexaggerated beam lights up her face. 

Girl, don't be out here embarrassing me. A few? I don't speak his name often. Shut up. Her childish smile shifts to me, left brow arched, revealing how pleased she is to finally be in the same room as him.

"Damn," Containing his natural urge to be petty, Marcel bites the corner of his mouth – fading the pink of his rosy lips. It's only one corner though. He hasn't completely concealed himself. He could still apply pressure on the situation. I take a breath, bracing myself from both directions. He pauses for a second as he looks back to Ella. Don't do it. "Should I run?" ...Marcel.

"As long as you don't have coffee in hand."

"Not today." He portrays disappointment with a pink pout. I bite the inside of my lip to hide my laugh, but it slips into a soft chuckle. "It's sitting [unspilled] over there." He points to his table then to me. "I wanted to show you something." Marcel hints towards the photos.