Page 14 of Heartbeats and Hashtags
“I did them myself actually. I’m starting a little nail business at my school...”
As she chatters happily, Cole clears his throat behind me. The girl stiffens and begins fumbling around on the cash register, spewing apologies to Cole.
I wave reassuringly, not turning back to look. “Don’t mind Mr. Serious back there.” I make a face, and her shoulders loosen as she smiles shyly.
“Iced americano, splash of coconut milk?”
I freeze as it hits me — she knows myexactusual order. I’ve posted this mindless detail online countless times. An uneasy feeling wells up... This friendly stranger, and who knows how many others, know the little things about me, like how I make my coffee. And it's all because I choose to share this online.
My stomach twists the idea, souring. The words catch in my mouth, and I feel as thoughI can’t breathe.I never considered how my content allows anyone and everyone this sort of access to me. I didn’t have a reason to care before it turned wrong.
Cole steps closer. Not quite touching me, but he’s so close now I can feel the heat radiating off him. My breath returns marginally.
How much of myself have I given away for likes and follows? Snippets from the mosaic of myentireidentity is out there, available to all. It didn’t matter so much when I had five hundred followers and posted my workout routines. But now it feels likeanyone could be watching. I shiver despite the warmth in the cafe. Maybe Cole is right, and I need to be more careful about what I post.
“I – uh – no, actually, I’ll have a flat white,” I decide then quickly add, “with oat milk.” Even though I want to be more unpredictable, thevery predictableeffects of my lactose intolerance arenotwhat I want right now.
Forcing a smile, I leave a big tip. I wait at the end of the counter for my order, lost in thought listening to the clanging and whirring noises around me. Maybe time off camera would be wise. But it’s myjob. And also there is my whole community that follows my workout program like the Bible. I was once sick for three days and didn’t record—I hadn’t yet figured out the benefit of recording in advance—and I found thousands of people complaining that I hadn’t posted the workouts.
My nails dig half moons into my palms as I bring myself back to earth. Random creepy messages are unpleasant, and it’s kinda weird that a stranger knows my coffee order, but nothing concrete has happened. I'm just being paranoid and letting this weirdo, EvBear, get into my head.
Everything is going to be fine.
My eyes snap reflexively to Cole, who I know has been watching me. I meet his gaze and hold my chin up, his lip curls upward for a moment before he turns to order.
I listen in, no chitchat, no small talk, simply black coffee and water. I roll my eyes, unsurprised by order. But then he pauses a moment after she asks, “Is that all…sir?” The poor girl looks terrified of him.
“And one chocolate-sprinkled doughnut, please.”
I smother a snicker.
We collect our drinks and head outside. I'd normally record a short video for fans, wishing them a good morning. But filming feels oddly vulnerable with Cole's eyes on me. Instead, I opt to post a sunrise snap and make a mental note to record my morning greeting later in private.
I sip my coffee slowly, hyper-aware that I’m being pinned down in Cole’s unflinching line of sight.
“Stop...staring at me,” I mutter.
“It’s part of my job to keep an eye on you,” he responds coolly.Sarcastic asshole.
“Yeah, well...” I fumble for a retort and gesture wildly around us instead. “Look for stalkers or something instead.”
He raises an eyebrow, unconvinced by the peaceful morning around us. At that moment, a cute dog runs over to its owner as if proving his point.
“That dog looks...kind of scary,” I try joking.
“As you wish,Little Rose.” He plays along, peering at the husky now chasing a bird. “I’ll monitor the clearhighthreat over here…”
I huff at the nickname he’s given me, ignoring the warmth spreading through me when he says it.
“Lets just walk back.”
Cole nods.
“So what got you into this whole bodyguard thing?” I probe.
“It’s personal security,” he corrects, “and it made sense after the SEALs.” He rubs his neck, muscular arm flexing.The man is shredded.Ex-military explains his clipped sentences and humorlessness. “So what did you post?”
I note his topic change. Cole doesn’t like to talk about himself.Got it.
