Page 6 of Drippy

"Face to face," he clarified. "Just coffee. A public place."

"Okay," I found myself saying, the word slipping out before fear could catch it.

"Saturday?" he pressed.

I fidgeted with the hem of my shirt, a nervous habit. Silence stretched between us. He was waiting for an answer. He deserved one. It was my fault I was in this mess, anyway.

"Angel?" Adonis' voice was quiet.

"Sorry." My laugh was a hiccup. "Just... it's a lot, right? Meeting."

"Scary," he admitted, a soft exhale on the line.

"Terrifying," I said. "I'm not always Angel, you know. By day, more Clark Kent than Superman."

"Clark Kent is underrated." A smile in his voice.

"Still," I said, "you might be disappointed. I trip over air, spill coffee on strangers..."

"Sounds endearing." He chuckled, and I imagined him running a hand through sandy hair.

"Endearing?" I echoed, skepticism lacing the word.

"Absolutely." Firm, confident. "I want to see all sides of you, Angel. The clumsy, the dorky, the real you."

"Even if she's a mess?" My heart somersaulted.

"Especially if she's a mess." His words felt like a warm blanket.

"Okay." I clutched the phone tighter. "No capes, no masks." God, I was such a dork. He would have a conniption when he met me and saw who I was. The voice did NOT match the sack of skin my soul made a home in.

I tapped my foot against the plush rug, a storm of butterflies wreaking havoc in my stomach. The phone's cold plastic pressed against my ear, and I waited for his next words.

"Alright, sweet Angel. How about we meet at Java Jive? Cozy place, great coffee."

"Java Jive," I repeated, twirling a strand of hair around my finger. The name sounded like a haven for hipsters with ironic t-shirts and obscure music tastes. It's my kind of scene, minus the awkward meet-cute part. My friend worked there, but I'd never actually been.

"Saturday morning, what time?" he asked, his tone hopeful, maybe a little unsure.

"Ten works." I bit my lower lip, picturing the crowded cafe, the hum of voices, and the smell of roasted beans. And him, waiting.

"Ten it is." His words held a smile, I could tell. A real one, not just for Angel, but for me—Agatha. Not that he knew my real name. Not yet, anyway.

"Looking forward to it." My voice wavered, excitement laced with a hundred 'what ifs.' What if we clicked like puzzle pieces? What if we didn't?

"Me too, Angel." He paused, and I sensed him reaching across the divide. "See you soon."

"See you soon, Adonis." I hung up, my heart pounding a rhythm against my ribs. Agatha Sinclair was going on a date. With Adonis. Oh shit, I never told him what I'd be wearing. How the hell is he going to know who I am?

I flopped back onto my couch, the cushions swallowing me whole. Saturday couldn't come soon enough.

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