Flat Tire

i; jamie

'If I'm in love with you / Should I give up / Or should I just keep chasing pavements? / Even if it leads nowhere.' - Adele 'Chasing Pavements'

"You ready?" Will asks, throwing his car keys into the air with his left hand then catching them in his right.

It's a simple, subtly elegant movement and it makes my chest contract. He smiles, a dimple appearing in one cheek.

"Yeah, just a second," I reply.

Quickly, I switch off any lights that are still on, then walk across the shop to where Will is waiting.

When I got the job at Flint's Books, I was informed that my late shifts were only temporary. Originally, I'd planned to change to a better schedule as soon as possible. But then I met Will. Will Flint, grandson of the founder of the little book/coffee shop, and the only member of staff (besides his parents) trusted to lock up.

"God, I am so glad that shift is over," he sighs as we walk side by side to his car.

"Yeah," I say, nodding. "Shift from hell."

Will scoffs and I know what he's about to say. In eighteen months of working alongside someone, they become pretty predictable. Or maybe that's just because I can't help but memorise every aspect of him.

"Are you seriously saying selling books is more difficult than making countless coffees?" There's a hint of disdain in his voice, but it's familiar, friendly. We have this debate most nights, as I man the till for book purchases while Will manages the coffeeshop corner.

I pause for a second while I clamber into the passenger seat of his car, then speak. "Tell me what the most complicated order you got today was and maybe I'll give you this one."

We're sat side by side now in the car but Will doesn't make any attempt to start driving. Instead he looks over at me, blue eyes piercing. The glow emitting from the streetlights outside makes him look golden.

"Large skinny soy pumpkin latte with extra caramel syrup, hold the cinammon powder on top," Will recites, face deadly serious.

"Okay maybe you had a slightly worse shift," I concede, unable to stop myself from smiling. "Let me guess, it was that redhead girl in the dungarees who ordered it right?"

Will laughs. "How did you know?"

"She bought a book on veganism and another on kale recipes," I explain. "There's a type."

"Don't be so judgemental, Bella would probably order the exact same drink," Will says. His voice is still light but I feel my stomach sink.

Bella. With Will, the conversation always winds up on her, his girlfriend. I've met her a handful of times in the six months or so that they've been together and she is undeniably lovely. Every time I've encountered Bella I've been taken aback by her bubbly, friendly persona and how effortlessly pretty she is. Beautiful, perhaps. Certainly in Will's eyes.

"How is she?" I ask, out of courtesy. Besides, Will still hasn't started driving and I don't want a pause in conversation to remind him of it.

He smiles as he tells me that she's great. Of course. A tiny voice in the back of my mind tells me that his smile is smaller, more forced than usual but I make myself ignore it. He's happy with her; that's what matters. Not me and my stupid, inconvenient feelings.