You Make Rainbows Look Boring

The bell above the door jingled like it had something to prove. Heather didn’t look up. She didn’t need to. It was 8:02 a.m., which meant "he" was here. Again. “I brought you coffee,” came the voice—bright, hopeful, aggressively cheerful. Heather exhaled slowly through her nose. “You’re late.” Sonny—yes, that’s really his name—slid into the seat across from her at the corner table she very clearly did not offer to share. He set down an iced caramel latte beside her already-full black coffee. There was also a croissant. Of course there was a croissant. “I was two minutes late because the florist wasn’t open yet,” he said, like that explained everything. “But I got you these.” He placed a small bouquet of bluebells in a recycled jam jar next to her laptop. Heather stared at the flowers like they’d personally insulted her. “You know that’s bordering on harassment, right?” He grinned. “They mean humility and everlasting love.” She blinked. “Okay. Now it’s full-on harassment.” But she didn’t push the jar away. She didn’t touch it, either. Sonny leaned back in the chair, completely undeterred by her dagger-like tone. His hoodie was too big, his hair was a mess of soft curls, and his entire being radiated "I’m the human version of a tail wag." Heather wanted to kick him under the table. Or kiss him. Maybe both. Mostly kick. “This table’s taken,” she said, deadpan. “By you.” He sipped his drink. “Which is why I brought backup coffee. A peace offering.” “I don’t need peace.” “No,” he said, eyes dancing, “but I think you need sugar.” Heather narrowed her eyes, then looked down at the latte. She didn’t move to drink it. But she also didn’t throw it away. Yet. This was how it always went. Sonny Reyes: sunshine in human form, practically vibrating with optimism, had decided two weeks ago that Heather—emotionally unavailable, sarcasm-slinging, emotionally scorched-earth Heather—was worth the effort. She had no idea why. She gave him nothing. She was cold, distant, and, at best, tolerantly mean. She wasn’t the kind of girl guys brought flowers to. She was the kind of girl you dated right before you found someone softer. She knew this. She was fine with this. Mostly. “You’re wasting your time,” she said, glancing back at her laptop screen. “I know,” he said easily. She glanced up. He was smiling again. Not his usual bubbly grin, but something smaller. Softer. “I just like seeing your face when I say nice things. You try so hard not to smile, it's become my favorite sport.” Heather’s face flushed with heat. She hated that. Hated "him" a little for it. “I don’t smile.” “Sure you do,” he said, eyes crinkling. “Just not where people can see.” Her stomach twisted. Sonny’s phone buzzed. He glanced at it, stood up, and left the croissant in front of her. “I gotta head to work. Don’t throw that away,” he added, motioning to the bluebells. “They’re sensitive.” She rolled her eyes. “They’re "plants", Sonny.” “They’re hope,” he said with a wink. “And I think yours is starting to grow back.” And then he was gone, just like that. Off into the world with his lattes and lyrics and that annoying habit of "meaning well." Heather stared at the flowers. She didn’t smile. But she didn’t throw them out either. --- End of Chapter One.