For The Next Thirty Seconds ✓

a talk with a stranger

L A N E

I look up from my book, perplexed. Then, I glance around. Is he talking to me? There must be someone else. But, the coffee shop is just as empty as when I arrived, save for the new, black-haired boy who was now sitting across from me with an amused look on his face.

"Are you talking to me?"

He rolled his eyes. "No, sorry, my imaginary friend is just sitting right on top of you," then he gestured around the restaurant. "I'm not talking to Patty, that's for damn sure."

He sends a frown in the direction of the woman with the laptop, who's now glaring at the screen. I frown at him, instead.

"Do you know her?" I ask, finding myself more curious about why he said what he did. I know, I shouldn't talk to strangers in coffee shops, but something about this situation is amusing, and I just have to see how it plays out.

"Well... no, not really," he admits, looking back at me sheepishly, but there's a glint in his eye. "I mean, sort of. She's in here all the time, I'm in here all the time, our paths have crossed. But, I tried to talk to her once and she literally dumped her coffee on me. Like, right on me."

My mouth forms an 'o,' and my eyebrows raise, and he reads the look on my face and chuckles.

"No, seriously. Apparently, she's working on the next big novel over there, so she'll kill you if you distract her."

"Huh," I say, my eyes trailing back over to the woman, Patty, allowing myself to wonder what she's writing about; if she's so passionate about it that she'll dump her coffee on someone who tries to interrupt her, it must be good.

The boy across from me clears his throat, startling me, and I glance quickly back in his direction.

"Sorry, what-oh, right, you wanted to ask me a question," I realize. "Shoot, stranger."

"I've never seen you here before."

"That's not a question," I point out, and he rolls his eyes, something he's done quite a bit in the small amount of time we've been speaking.

"I just mean... you're not from New York, are you?"

My brows shoot up, and he shoots me a crooked grin.

"New York City, no," I admit, confusion still written on my face. "New York state, yes... am I that obvious?"

He shrugs, still wearing that stupid grin. "You just don't really have a New Yorker vibe about you."

"I assume you are a New Yorker, then?"

He smiles proudly, in an ironic way. "Born and bred!" Then, he mumbles something under his breath that I can't quite catch.

"And, this is the best coffee house in the city?"

"Without a doubt," he grins again. "How'd you end up here, anyway, stranger?"

"Well," I glance outside. "It's February. And it's cold. And the streets are packed with people. So, uh, here I am I guess. This place looked nice, inviting. Different from the harsh vibes the rest of the city gives off. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah," he says, in a soft, almost thoughtful voice. "It really does."

Then, his food comes, and it looks incredible, and I'm suddenly regretting that I only decided to get a hot chocolate. I try not to show it, though, and instead I take a sip of my drink, which is still incredible.

He must sense it, though, because, before I can blink, he's off the couch and back again, holding two plastic forks in his hand.

"You wanna share?"

I eye him, trying my best to look reproachful and ignoring my stomach's automatic 'yes.' "I don't know..." I scrunch my nose. "Isn't it kind of weird for you to share food with a stranger? One who you know nothing about?"

"On the contrary," he responds, slipping onto the cushion across from me. "I know why you came to Sue's. And, that you... like books?"

I laugh as he gestures to my favorite book, still spread on my lap.

"It might be weird," he continues, and I raise one brow, curious to see where this is going, "if you'd had Sue's incredible mocha cake before. But, you haven't, and I'd just be doing an injustice if I didn't let you try it. Think of it like... saving a kitten from a burning building. It's the humane thing to do."

He's got me. I giggle and nod. "Fine," I say. "But, I'm only doing this because you want me to. Not because I want to."

"Got it," he nods, totally serious as he hands me a fork, and I almost laugh again. "You should definitely have the first bite, then."

I push the prongs of my fork through a side of the small cake, and pull out a piece of something that looked incredible,

The outside of the cake has a light brown frosting covering its entirety, which I assume is coffee-flavored. The inside, however, has a myriad of different layers, at least four: one dark brown cake, one light brown cake, the frosting that's on the outside, and a yellow cake, with white icing between all the layers. It was a small cake, too, a little bit bigger than a mug in diameter, and probably shorter than one.

"How'd they... do that?" I ask, staring at the slice of cake on my fork. The stranger across from me chuckles.

"Wait until you taste it," he says, so I do.

Needless to say, it's gone five minutes after we got it.

"I... want to eat this for the rest of my life," I say as I split the last piece in half, longways, so we can both have some.

"I am," the boy says simply, and doesn't elaborate. I'm not sure what he means, but I don't ask.

"So, stranger," he says, leaning back as I fumble with my piece. "You just ate at least half of my cake, and I still don't know your name."

"I did not eat more than half! No need to add the 'at least'! And, I don't know your name, either, stranger," I point out, then deftly shove my cake into my mouth.

He rolls his eyes. "It's Jack," he says finally, then stares at me, waiting for my response.

I hold up a finger and try to chew my bite faster. Then, I take a big swig of my hot chocolate, prolonging this moment for him. I finally swallow, one last, big gulp, before I answer.

"Lane," I say. "My name's Lane."