It was Sunday afternoon, Jonah had just finished his shift at the diner.
I was reading some magazine that Nat had left on the counter, making sure that Daisy, who was sat inside the baby stroller next to my chair, wouldn't start crying again. She had cried around twenty minutes ago, when the diner was most packed with people who were coming in for lunch, and I had nearly flipped my shit out of embarrassment and mortification. I'd caught Jonah glancing worriedly at the fact that Daisy's bawling wouldn't stop, but both of his hands were full as there was a long line of middle school girls who were spending their weekend ordering caffeinated drinks as an excuse to flirt with the hot barista. As per usual.
I tried singing all the songs Jonah had told me he would sing to Daisy to get her to stop crying, but she was still crying out loud. I finally resorted to singing random songs to her, and she only did stop crying a couple of minutes ago after I sang "Pocketful of Sunshine".
I was sweaty, breathless, and my throat felt hoarse and dry from singing so much. Plus, I still got weird looks from people around me. Whatever.
A few minutes and about twenty pages of Teen Vogue later, Jonah finally sat down in front of me, sliding two steaming mugs across the table toward me.
It was like a game whenever he brought me a drink after his shift ended. He wouldn't tell what it was, and then he would me taste it and take a guess. There were only so many variations of drinks he could make, though, so he often remade drinks he'd already made for me and still made me guess, just to test my memory.
"Matcha latte again?" I asked when I saw that the drink was green colored. It had a sloppy, yet funny drawing of a pair lips (and what the hell was this supposed to mean?) and I didn't even want to know how he had drawn this.
But he shrugged at me, sipping at his own drink. It was probably some double shot black coffee or something.
I finally took a sip and smiled. "With peppermint syrup," I said. "It's different. Nice. A bit too sweet, though."
He smiled at me, and then it was silence. I twirled my finger around my blonde hairâsince my red hair dye was slowly growing out, my white-blonde roots had started to appear, so yesterday, I got it dyed back to blonde. Only this time, it was a slightly darker color than my hair's natural color, the shade falling into a more golden-ish blonde. I had also gotten a haircut, and for the first time since middle school, I actually had straight bangs again, slightly tickling the skin right just above my eyebrows.
I was actually, cough cough, waiting for Jonah to comment on it. You know, just to see if he liked it. Or if he even noticed at all. Sadly, he apparently had nothing to say about it. I tried not to pout as I sipped my drink.
After a few minutes of silence as we both enjoyed our drinks, he finally spoke up. "Are you free this Wednesday?"
I glanced up and shrugged. "I basically have no life so, yeah, I think so. Why?"
He shifted in his seat. "I know you're suspicious about my sister's existence."
I raised my eyebrows at him in amusement. "And?"
"Well... she does exist, and she's having a piano recital this Wednesday," he said shyly. "She's got three tickets; for me and my parents, but my dad is currently out of town and we really don't want to waste the ticket..."
My heart leaped in anticipation, and I took another sip of my drink to hide my smile.
"So my mom asked me to invite you," he finished. "Then we can have dinner afterwards."
I bit my lip and looked down at my lap, still trying not to smile.
"Besides, she's been asking to meet you, and... well... yeah," he stammered, a pink blush staining both of his cheeks. "I know it's a school night, but..." he trailed off, shrugging at me lightly.
So I said, "Okay."
He looked up in surprise. "Okay?"
"Mm-hm," I hummed, nodding at him. "Is there a dress code?"
"It's a semi-formal event, so I think something like a simple dress would be nice," he said, his face bright in relief, but then his face fell as if he'd just realized something. He groaned. "Daisy."
I glanced at the fake baby, snuggled inside her baby stroller innocently. I thought for a while, and then, "My mom can take care of her for one night," I told him. "It's fine. Don't worry about it. There's no way I'd risk her crying in the middle of the recital."
"You sure?" he asked, and I nodded at him. "Okay, then."
We had lunch afterwards, since it was already two in the afternoon and both our stomachs were growling in protest. We ate and played twenty questions game like usual, but we eventually ran out of questions soon after we were done with lunch.
So instead, this was what Jonah and I ended up doing: arm wrestling.
It was his twenty third win already. Go figure.
"Come on!" I exclaimed in frustration, rubbing my burning wrist for a while. "What the hell are you made of? Stone?"
He shrugged at me, a smirk on his face. "Your arm's just too weak."
The competitive side of me growled. "Let's do it again," I said, propping my elbow back on the table.
Jonah grabbed my arm and pulled it down. "Nah. You're gonna end up losing again."
I flicked him in the forehead and he glared at me.
"I just don't wanna break your wrist," he told me, glancing at my reddened skin. "Why don't we just find some other games that you can win?"
"That's insulting. But fine," I huffed, crossing my arms in front of my chest, only to end up hissing when my wrist throbbed in pain from the motion.
"See what I meant?" Jonah said, in an almost reprimanding tone. He took my wrist gently and brushed his thumb across the skin. "One more round of arm wrestling and I probably would be accused of assault on you."
I scoffed. "My wrist's fine."
"It's not," he challenged. "Don't move your right hand too much. It'll probably get better within a few hours though."
I didn't say anything to that, my eyes focused on his fingers that slowly trailed down the skin on my wrist. He held my hand gently and carefully, despite his flippant tone when he spoke about my nearly bruised wrist, and by the look on his face, I knew he felt at least just a liiittle bit guilty since he was the one who suggested that we did arm wrestling (don't even ask me the kind of conversation that led up to that suggestion). I didn't mind, though, since I had had at least half an hour of holding his hand.
Heh.
He slowly massaged my wrist. "Does it hurt when I do this?"
I shook my head. "No."
"Okay."
After a while, he wrapped both of his hands around my hand, enveloping my skin with warmth.
He patted my hand gently, and looked up at me. "Alright?" he asked. I nodded. Slowly, he turned my hand around, checking if it still hurt, and letting it go once I gave him a nod.
"It's getting late," I said when I saw that it was almost five o'clock. "I think we should take Daisy home before she starts crying again."
Jonah nodded, and we both stood up from our chairs simultaneously. I moved to push the stroller, but Jonah beat me to it. "Don't strain your wrist," he told me. "I got this."
The car ride to my house was not that eventful, but as usual, it wasn't strained. A comfortable silence just simple fell between us, and before I knew it, we were already right there in front of my house.
I carefully unbuckled my seatbelt, turning to smile to him. "Thanks for the ride," I said, like I usually did whenever he drove me home. I moved to open the door, but his voice stopped me.
"Hannah," he said. I turned to him, catching the warm shade of red on his cheeks. "I... uh, I lied to you a long time ago."
By "a long time ago", I was guessing that he was talking about those dark days when he would growl at the sight at me. Honestly, it felt like 5 years had passed since then. "What do you mean?"
He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in a nervous, slightly awkward gesture, and then said, "Red actually looks good on you."
My eyebrows rose, and my hands spontaneously reached out to touch my blonde hair, my heart falling a little. Alright, then. I was so dyeing it back red. "Okay?"
"But," he continued before I could leave the car. His lips pulled into a shy smile, and then he said, "I think I prefer blondes."
Alright. I was so not dyeing it back red.