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Description
There's really nothing like that hour around twilight after a rainy day.
It's like, the clouds are still covering the sky, but instead of being dark and dreary, they're a million shades of iron blue, with maybe just a tiny patch of pale yellow where the sun used to be. You want to stop and just stare at the sky, memorize the myriad of shades as they stand against one another, but then you realize that it's getting cold and you're over ten minutes late for a meeting, so you run the rest of the way until you get to the little corner coffee house. Then you stand outside for ten seconds catching your breath so you don't come in looking like an idiot, panting and wheezing.

That's where I found her. She was sitting at table for two by the window, sipping chamomile tea and doodling in a notebook. I sauntered in and tossed my coat across the chair opposite her, then went to order my latte in what I thought was a very suave manner. But, she didn't look up once. I checked. As I waited for the barista to scoot the hot drink across the counter and finish counting out change, I glanced over my shoulder. She seemed struck with a sudden idea and was scribbling words very fast across a clean page. Her eyes... they glowed with anticipation, and a smile turned her fair, freckled cheeks a delicate shade of pink.

"Your change, sir?" tittered the barista. I tore my eyes away from her and gathered the assorted coins before me.
"Thanks," I heard myself mutter as I made my way back to the little table. I sat, leaned back with a sigh, gingerly tasted the beverage, and set down the paper cup with a clack. Only then did she look up.
"I hear traffic's a bitch." She gave me a wry smile, her eyes boring into me.
"That's what you get for listening to rumors," I said, feigning innocence.
That was enough to win her over. She laughed and clunked me on the head with her notebook.
"Ha! Whatever. You're such a spazoid." She grinned. "Why didn't you tell me you were going to be half an hour late? If I'd known I would have spent some extra time listening to that hobo playing the guitar. Then--"
"Half an hour late?!" I exploded. Much to my dismay, she laughed again.
"Yes," she said, "because you said eight, and I naturally assumed you'd be fifteen minutes early like usual, so I showed up at a quarter till. And here it is eight-twenty."
I slumped, hiding a smile. It was so like her.
"Anyway, if I'd stayed to listen to that hobo I'd probably have given him a dollar instead of three dimes and a quarter, and now he has to starve, all because of you." She was still grinning as widely as ever, though I assumed she was trying to give some kind of reproach.
I rolled my eyes at her and looked out the window. It was almost completely dark outside now, and little drops of rain were making a pattern on the sidewalk. I let my thoughts wander for a moment. Glancing away from the window, I watched her blow steam from her cup and sip, close her eyes and sigh. She suddenly looked very, very tired. Her brow furrowed as she put down her cup and leaned her cheek into her hand, tilting it as if tipping sad thoughts out of her head. I pretended not to notice.
"What's in the notebook, Bree?" I asked casually.
"What? Oh..." Her head snapped up, then she looked down at the page half-filled with hasty writing. "Just more thoughts, you know. I have a new idea for a story, too. It's going to be a good one."
"Is that so?" I said, pretending to be doubtful. Her ideas for books rarely got past the third chapter.
"Yep," she said, undaunted. "It's about a boy who makes enough money by selling lemonade to travel to India. But he doesn't have enough to get back, so he has to sell more lemonade. Then he falls in love with a beautiful belly dancer who hates lemonade."
"Ooh, sucks to be him." I shook my head. "Having to choose between one's moneymaker and one's moneymaker-shaker. Tisk, tisk."
She huffed indignantly. "It's going to be a fantastic story. New York Times bestseller. Just watch."
"Yeah, I'll keep my fingers crossed for you." I took a swig of coffee, then grimaced. It was still burning hot.

We walked together down the street toward her car, which was still parked at her office two blocks away. The streetlights spread a casual glow through the night, making the wet pavement glitter. She'd taken my hand in that shy but determined way that I'd always found so endearing. But… something was wrong. She didn’t show it, or at least, she tried not to. She kept up our casual banter, letting me tell my somewhat frivolous stories about my day. Her tone of voice was just as cheery and pleasant as ever, but her hand was strangely hot. It seemed so fragile in my grasp. I shivered.
“Well, and that’s about it,” I mumbled, finishing a rather pointless story. “What about you? I haven’t seen you in a week, seems like. “
“Yeah… I’ve been busy… You know how it is.” She smiled, but I noticed this time it seemed pasted on, as though she’d been practicing in a mirror to ward off concerned inquiries. It reminded me of the smile she’d worn at her mother’s funeral two months ago.
“Yeah? What’s your day been like?”
“Sleepy,” she said facetiously, leaning her head on my shoulder. Heat from her cheeks seeped through my coat.
There was a pause. The moon filtered through a thin patch in the clouds, like a silvery puddle. A light, chilly breeze sprang up out of the darkness, blowing tendrils of her fine, auburn hair across her face. She brushed them away and sighed deeply. She was so beautiful.
“So… Brielle.” I scrambled for a segue into what I was going to say next.
“So… Camden.” She giggled. Teasing me again. How long had she been doing that?
“Well, we’ve known each other for, say, how long?” Oh, what a great way to start a subtle conversation, I thought with bitter sarcasm.
She shrugged. “Fourth grade plus middle school and college makes about… ten years?”
“Ten years.” I whistled. “Wow… a whole decade.”
“Yeah.”
It was suddenly very quiet. Everything was silent. Awkward. We finally reached her car, which she immediately unlocked and then turned to face me.
“It really has been a long time, hasn’t it?” she almost whispered. Her face looked very serious. The breeze sprang up and blew wisps of her hair across her eyes again.
At that moment I knew that all I would have to do to explain my thoughts was brush those few strands of her hair aside. Brush them aside, I thought, and then kiss her.
My heart picked up, beating faster as I reached up and swept her hair out of the way. Then I stopped, surprised.
“Holy cow Brielle!”
“What?”
I laid my palm against her forehead. “You’re burning up! What’re you doing out like this?”
“I’m fine, Cam.” She seemed defensive, almost angry. She probably would have said something else were it not for the sudden shiver that wound down her body, making her shake until she had to lean against the car for support.
“Yeah, fine. Sure. You’d better get home, get some rest. Maybe stay home for a few days.”
“Oh come on! It’s not that big of a deal, I get sick all the time!”
“Who’s the med student here?” I demanded. My mind flashed through all the worst case scenarios, one by one. Pneumonia. Tetanus. Meningitis. Malaria—Wait, malaria? Maybe I was overreacting. Still, I shook my head and said in my most commanding voice, “Get home, take two ibuprofen, get to bed, and stay there. You hear me?”
She rolled her eyes. “Fine.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Alright.”
“At your house.”
“And if I don’t answer?” She smirked at me.
“Then I’m going to your office and carrying you back home over my shoulder.” I grinned wickedly. She knew I would do it.
“Oh, fine. I’ll use up one of my precious sick days just so you won’t freak out over a little bug,” she grumbled, turning around to open the car door.
“That means a lot to me,” I said softly.
She sat and looked up at me. “You’ll be a good doctor and come visit me, won’t you?” Only half-joking.
“Sure.”

Description
There's really nothing like that hour around twilight after a rainy day.
It's like, the clouds are still covering the sky, but instead of being dark and dreary, they're a million shades of iron blue, with maybe just a tiny patch of pale yellow where the sun used to be. You want to stop and just stare at the sky, memorize the myriad of shades as they stand against one another, but then you realize that it's getting cold and you're over ten minutes late for a meeting, so you run the rest of the way until you get to the little corner coffee house. Then you stand outside for ten seconds catching your breath so you don't come in looking like an idiot, panting and wheezing.

That's where I found her. She was sitting at table for two by the window, sipping chamomile tea and doodling in a notebook. I sauntered in and tossed my coat across the chair opposite her, then went to order my latte in what I thought was a very suave manner. But, she didn't look up once. I checked. As I waited for the barista to scoot the hot drink across the counter and finish counting out change, I glanced over my shoulder. She seemed struck with a sudden idea and was scribbling words very fast across a clean page. Her eyes... they glowed with anticipation, and a smile turned her fair, freckled cheeks a delicate shade of pink.

"Your change, sir?" tittered the barista. I tore my eyes away from her and gathered the assorted coins before me.
"Thanks," I heard myself mutter as I made my way back to the little table. I sat, leaned back with a sigh, gingerly tasted the beverage, and set down the paper cup with a clack. Only then did she look up.
"I hear traffic's a bitch." She gave me a wry smile, her eyes boring into me.
"That's what you get for listening to rumors," I said, feigning innocence.
That was enough to win her over. She laughed and clunked me on the head with her notebook.
"Ha! Whatever. You're such a spazoid." She grinned. "Why didn't you tell me you were going to be half an hour late? If I'd known I would have spent some extra time listening to that hobo playing the guitar. Then--"
"Half an hour late?!" I exploded. Much to my dismay, she laughed again.
"Yes," she said, "because you said eight, and I naturally assumed you'd be fifteen minutes early like usual, so I showed up at a quarter till. And here it is eight-twenty."
I slumped, hiding a smile. It was so like her.
"Anyway, if I'd stayed to listen to that hobo I'd probably have given him a dollar instead of three dimes and a quarter, and now he has to starve, all because of you." She was still grinning as widely as ever, though I assumed she was trying to give some kind of reproach.
I rolled my eyes at her and looked out the window. It was almost completely dark outside now, and little drops of rain were making a pattern on the sidewalk. I let my thoughts wander for a moment. Glancing away from the window, I watched her blow steam from her cup and sip, close her eyes and sigh. She suddenly looked very, very tired. Her brow furrowed as she put down her cup and leaned her cheek into her hand, tilting it as if tipping sad thoughts out of her head. I pretended not to notice.
"What's in the notebook, Bree?" I asked casually.
"What? Oh..." Her head snapped up, then she looked down at the page half-filled with hasty writing. "Just more thoughts, you know. I have a new idea for a story, too. It's going to be a good one."
"Is that so?" I said, pretending to be doubtful. Her ideas for books rarely got past the third chapter.
"Yep," she said, undaunted. "It's about a boy who makes enough money by selling lemonade to travel to India. But he doesn't have enough to get back, so he has to sell more lemonade. Then he falls in love with a beautiful belly dancer who hates lemonade."
"Ooh, sucks to be him." I shook my head. "Having to choose between one's moneymaker and one's moneymaker-shaker. Tisk, tisk."
She huffed indignantly. "It's going to be a fantastic story. New York Times bestseller. Just watch."
"Yeah, I'll keep my fingers crossed for you." I took a swig of coffee, then grimaced. It was still burning hot.

We walked together down the street toward her car, which was still parked at her office two blocks away. The streetlights spread a casual glow through the night, making the wet pavement glitter. She'd taken my hand in that shy but determined way that I'd always found so endearing. But… something was wrong. She didn’t show it, or at least, she tried not to. She kept up our casual banter, letting me tell my somewhat frivolous stories about my day. Her tone of voice was just as cheery and pleasant as ever, but her hand was strangely hot. It seemed so fragile in my grasp. I shivered.
“Well, and that’s about it,” I mumbled, finishing a rather pointless story. “What about you? I haven’t seen you in a week, seems like. “
“Yeah… I’ve been busy… You know how it is.” She smiled, but I noticed this time it seemed pasted on, as though she’d been practicing in a mirror to ward off concerned inquiries. It reminded me of the smile she’d worn at her mother’s funeral two months ago.
“Yeah? What’s your day been like?”
“Sleepy,” she said facetiously, leaning her head on my shoulder. Heat from her cheeks seeped through my coat.
There was a pause. The moon filtered through a thin patch in the clouds, like a silvery puddle. A light, chilly breeze sprang up out of the darkness, blowing tendrils of her fine, auburn hair across her face. She brushed them away and sighed deeply. She was so beautiful.
“So… Brielle.” I scrambled for a segue into what I was going to say next.
“So… Camden.” She giggled. Teasing me again. How long had she been doing that?
“Well, we’ve known each other for, say, how long?” Oh, what a great way to start a subtle conversation, I thought with bitter sarcasm.
She shrugged. “Fourth grade plus middle school and college makes about… ten years?”
“Ten years.” I whistled. “Wow… a whole decade.”
“Yeah.”
It was suddenly very quiet. Everything was silent. Awkward. We finally reached her car, which she immediately unlocked and then turned to face me.
“It really has been a long time, hasn’t it?” she almost whispered. Her face looked very serious. The breeze sprang up and blew wisps of her hair across her eyes again.
At that moment I knew that all I would have to do to explain my thoughts was brush those few strands of her hair aside. Brush them aside, I thought, and then kiss her.
My heart picked up, beating faster as I reached up and swept her hair out of the way. Then I stopped, surprised.
“Holy cow Brielle!”
“What?”
I laid my palm against her forehead. “You’re burning up! What’re you doing out like this?”
“I’m fine, Cam.” She seemed defensive, almost angry. She probably would have said something else were it not for the sudden shiver that wound down her body, making her shake until she had to lean against the car for support.
“Yeah, fine. Sure. You’d better get home, get some rest. Maybe stay home for a few days.”
“Oh come on! It’s not that big of a deal, I get sick all the time!”
“Who’s the med student here?” I demanded. My mind flashed through all the worst case scenarios, one by one. Pneumonia. Tetanus. Meningitis. Malaria—Wait, malaria? Maybe I was overreacting. Still, I shook my head and said in my most commanding voice, “Get home, take two ibuprofen, get to bed, and stay there. You hear me?”
She rolled her eyes. “Fine.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Alright.”
“At your house.”
“And if I don’t answer?” She smirked at me.
“Then I’m going to your office and carrying you back home over my shoulder.” I grinned wickedly. She knew I would do it.
“Oh, fine. I’ll use up one of my precious sick days just so you won’t freak out over a little bug,” she grumbled, turning around to open the car door.
“That means a lot to me,” I said softly.
She sat and looked up at me. “You’ll be a good doctor and come visit me, won’t you?” Only half-joking.
“Sure.”