Page 21 of Cold Front
It started as a casual thing—snapping random shots on my phone, mostly for fun. A cool shadow pattern on the pavement. The way the sky deepened to violet just before sunset. But lately, I’d been paying more attention. Thinking about angles. Framing. Light. I wasn’t calling myself a photographer or anything, but I could see myself getting more into it.
I lifted my phone, adjusting the focus as the late afternoon sun filtered through the trees, casting dappled light over the fountain’s rippling surface. A duck drifted lazily across the water, sending soft waves through the reflection of green and gold leaves. I hesitated, waiting for the right moment, then tapped the shutter button.
The click felt satisfying. Like pressing pause on a fleeting moment. I exhaled, only then realizing how tightly wound I’d been.
By the time I made it to the café, my mood had evened out. Mostly.
I stepped inside, the warmth and rich scent of coffee wrapping around me, and spotted Asher and Gigi already claiming a table.
By the time I reached the table, Gigi had settled beside Asher, her tote bag slung onto the table in typical Gigi fashion. She looked up at me and smirked. “You look like you realized you’re in love with your barista, but they spelled your name wrong and shattered the fantasy.” She paused, tilting her head. “No, wait, that’s me.”
A laugh slipped out. Trust Gigi to get one out of me even when I felt like crap.
I let out a breath, shaking my head. “It’s nothing.”
Asher raised an eyebrow. “That’s a lie.”
“Yeah, we don’t do lies here,” Gigi added, stirring sugar into her coffee like she was plotting something. “Spill.”
I hesitated, but the words slipped out before I could stop them. “It’s Niall.”
They exchanged a look—one of those silent conversations friends have when they already know exactly what’s coming.
“What’d the hockey god do now?” Asher asked, leaning forward like this was the highlight of his day.
“Nothing,” I muttered, tearing open a sugar packet just to give my hands something to do.
“Hmph! Nothing?” Gigi took a sip of her coffee.
“Okay, it’s not nothing,” I conceded. “The problem is one minute, he’s tolerating me. The next, he’s acting like I don’t exist.”
Asher snorted. “That sounds like a ‘him’ problem.”
Gigi hummed in agreement, tapping her nails against her cup. “Oh, definitely. Some people are just emotionally constipated. Maybe he needs, like, an emotional prune juice or something.”
I huffed out a laugh. “You’re both useless.”
“Hey, hey,” Asher held up his hands. “Useless? Or incredibly wise? Because what I’m hearing is: you moved across the country for a fresh start, and instead of embracing the new and exciting, you’re letting some six-foot-something hockey dude take up premium brain real estate.”
Gigi nodded sagely. “Tragic, really.”
I shot them both a glare, but they weren’t wrong. Niallwasn’tmy problem. I had school to focus on, new friends to make, and an entire life to build outside of whatever weird back-and-forth thing he had going on.
I had no intention of wasting my time on someone who clearly didn’t want me in his orbit. Like I’d told him, I didn’t need to be best friends, but I didn’t need whiplash, either.
Didn’t mean I wouldn’t notice when he was around, though.
By the time I got back to the apartment, the sky had darkened to a deep navy, the crisp evening air a stark contrast to the warmth inside. I peeled off my hoodie, toed off my sneakers by the door, and went straight for the shower. Hot water beat down on my shoulders, loosening the tension I hadn’t realized I was carrying. By the time I stepped out, wrapped in a towel and rubbing my hair dry, I felt marginally better. Not completely, but enough.
A quick search through the fridge led to a sad realization—grocery shopping was definitely in my future. I grabbed a protein bar and an apple. Not exactly a feast, but enough to hold me over. Then, flopping onto my bed, I cracked open one of my business textbooks, determined to be productive.
Five minutes later, I was staring at the same sentence, the words blurring together.
I sighed, flopping back against my pillows, phone in hand, before I could even think twice. A few taps later, Cheyenne’s face filled the screen.
“Wow,” she deadpanned, flipping her blonde curls over one shoulder. “Michigan has not been kind to you.”
I snorted. “Good to see you too, Chey.”
