Chapter 9: Coffee or Tea?

Abigail’s POV

“’Sup, Abby!” Elle nodded her head upward for a friendly greeting. She couldn’t wave or do finger guns at me this time. She had Tupperware in her hand, but I couldn’t tell what was inside.

Elle was here at my own house, and she was using my front door mat to scrape her boots. She wasn’t dusty this time, and her hair was down, although it wasn’t much longer down than the almost-a-pony-tail-but-not-quite she wore for work. Her jeans were free of sawdust but full of tears and holes around both knees. She wore a black t-shirt that was probably for some metal band, considering the skull and highly detailed flames around it, but I’d never heard of them.

“You look…” I bit my lip and stopped myself.

She laughed so hard she snorted. Loudly. I loved it, and I wanted to make her do it again.

“Nice? In this?” She couldn’t stop smiling. “Well, thanks. I guess it’s a step above my dusty work outfit.”

I had to stop staring at her. “Oh! Come in. Please.” She followed me through the front door.

Duchess greeted us as we walked into the living room the best she could during her beauty sleep: she peeked one eye open, studied us up and down for five seconds, then closed her eyes and curled back into a ball in her favorite spot on the back of the couch.

“Your cat is so cute!” Elle said.

“Aw, thanks! If you like Duchess, don’t worry, there’s more.”

“I want to pet her, but I have to put these down in the kitchen first.” Elle’s eyes pointed to the Tupperware in her hands.

“Sure thing.” Focus, Abigail. I should have shown her the kitchen first so she could put that container down and relax. But there was no time like the present. “Follow me!”

Elle placed the plastic container on the kitchen table and snapped the lid open. I smelled chocolate.

She brought a dozen chocolate chip cookies. They were thick, vaguely round but no two were the same and loaded with chocolate chips. They seemed homemade to me.

“Elle, do you bake?” I asked her.

She brushed her hair behind her ear and darted her eyes from looking directly at me. “A little bit,” she smiled gently. “My grandma used to bake with me sometimes. I don’t always have time, but today seemed special.”

Neither of us could meet each other’s gaze. We stood in my kitchen with an imaginary wall in between us. I knew we both wanted to knock it down, but we both were too afraid to.

Gus rubbed against my leg. His touch cleared the fog in the brain for a minute.

“Hey, Gus!” I picked him up. “This is Gus! He's the chubbiest cat of 'em all.” I held him out to Elle.

Elle held up Gus with two arms. She was strong, but Gus was as round and heavy as a prize-winning pumpkin. He put his front paws on her shoulder and leaned into her neck. “It’s nice to meet you!” She said to him. He always loved the attention.

I glanced at the cookies. “Do you want some coffee or tea with these?”

“Coffee sounds great, actually,” Elle said. She placed Gus on the floor. He probably was getting heavy by now.

I grabbed the nicer brand of coffee that I splurged on at the store; the kind that never went on sale.

Once I got the coffee pot brewing, I prepared the fixings for a great cup of coffee. I liked lots of cream and a bit of sugar. I opened the fridge.

“How do you like your coffee?” I called with my head in the fridge. I grabbed the cream.

“I usually take mine black,” Elle said.

I came up for air and Elle was standing closer than I remembered before I dunked my face into the cold. She smelled nice and faintly floral, but not like your grandmother's perfume. It was subtle and natural in the way the garden smelled the sweetest in mid-summer when the flowers soaked up most of the sun’s rays. I think it was lavender.

“Abby, you’re doing too much. Let me help.” She reached to take the cream, and her hand brushed mine before it tried to grip the carton.

Her touch was electric and somehow pressed the button that switched off my motor skills. Every thought in my head played follow the leader. One thought shouted, “She touched me!” and the rest echoed its chorus. I did not have time to react to me dropping the cream before Elle could hold it.

The carton of cream toppled to the floor, and it splattered like a Jackson Pollock painting on the kitchen floor.

Gus started cleaning the mess first. He skipped through the kitchen and his little pink tongue lapped up the cream.

My motherly urge to protect my cat from a tummy ache kicked in. “Gus, no!” I scooped him up. He gave me a glare for taking him from his snack.

I put Gus on the floor in the living room. “Elle, I am so, so sorry,” I scooted his rump toward the couch before turning back to the kitchen.

“Abby," She started.

“Please, go sit down. I’ll clean this. I—”

I arrived at the scene of the mess again. She was already kneeling on the ground next to the puddle. She had grabbed the paper towels from the counter. “Abby, it’s fine!” She chuckled with her last words.

“You’re not mad?” I asked.

“No?” She genuinely seemed confused and continued scrubbing in circular motions.

I kneeled on the floor next to her. “You shouldn’t be doing that! I’m sorry. This is my mess.” I grabbed a paper and started wiping the mess.

“Abby, you know what would help?” She smiled more gently, and her eyebrows relaxed.

“What?”

“If you relaxed.” She grabbed my hand, just gently enough to stop me from wiping.

“I came here because I wanted to. This was an accident,” She motioned to the floor. “Do you really think dealing with a little spill is the worst thing I’ve dealt with on a date?” She smirked.

I chuckled. “This one time, Gus barfed on a guy’s shoes when he came over.” I laughed, more fully now. “He was so pissed!”

Elle laughed so loud it made me jump a bit. “Hah! Good for Gus. He was looking out for you.”

“Yeah…” I trailed off. I felt my cheeks get warm now. Elle's were turning rosy too.

“So, um,” She slowly took her hand off mine, but I missed its warmth. “Why don’t you sit on the couch and relax? I can bring us the coffee.”

“Okay.” I wanted to reach for her hand again. “Thanks, Elle.”