Chapter 7

"So tell me something about yourself." I ask once we settle into our booth. I pick up my second black coffee of the day and take a sip.

I just couldn't say no to those doe eyes.

She finishes her second donut and takes a sip of coffee, her gaze flicking toward the mother and the crying, fat kid from earlier. They're still glaring at her. I can't help but laugh under my breath. How does she manage to have beef with an 8-year-old?

It's oddly endearing.

"There's nothing really interesting about me," she says, leaning back like she doesn't have a care in the world. "Except, of course, that I'm rich, hot," touché "and have a pet duck." Her tone is so casual it takes a second to process.

"Do you really?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. I've learned not to take anything that comes out of her mouth at face value the first time.

She shakes her head. "No, I don't . But I could have one. I'm just not allowed yet. I think Kia's almost convinced." She leans forward conspiratorially. "Like last night, I sent her this adorable duck reel, and she liked it. That's progress."

"Why are you not allowed?"

"Not just that,I'm not allowed to make most of the domesticated decisions. Something about me being too spontaneous and going overboard. You'd think Kia would know me better by now, but no, she keeps on falsely accusing." She says, rolling her eyes.

I don't know her well yet but I think Kia is doing the right thing.

Just then, a waitress approached our table, notepad in hand, wearing a dress that was undeniably short and a blouse that clung a little too tight.

Now, I'm not one to judge women on their clothing choices, my momma always taught me to see the beauty in everyone but she was standing a bit too close for my comfort.

Her smile was overly suggestive and seductive, and as she leaned in, her cleavage was practically in my face making it very difficult to see the beautiful girl infront of me.

"Hello, I'm Claire, and I'll be your server today," she says, her voice dripping with sugar as she locks her gaze on me, practically willing me to make eye contact. She leans in even closer, her notepad held loosely in one hand, like she has all the time in the world to focus on me. "What can I get for you... besides my number?"

Is she for real?

I glance over at Iliana, who's munching on her last donut, watching the scene unfold with an amused, slightly curious expression. She raises an eyebrow at me, clearly enjoying the show.

Meanwhile, Clarice flips her hair over her shoulder, tilting her head as if she's posing for a magazine cover but failing miserably. "You know," she says, her tone full of forced charm, "we have a special on hot chocolate today, but I think you're already bringing enough heat to the table."

Iliana snorts, the sound loud and completely unfiltered, but she quickly tries to cover it up by singing "Baby Shark."

Calma snaps her head towards her and her  flirty smile falters for a second as she glares at Iliana like she is just now realising her presence.

Deciding I've had enough of this ridiculousness, I finally speak up. "We don't want anything. Just leave, Chase."

"My name isn't Chase. It's Claire," she shoots back, clearly annoyed.

I fold my arms and give her an unimpressed look. "Do I look like I care, Casey?"

The waitress's face flushes a deep crimson, the kind of red that screams both embarrassment and frustration. Without another word, she spins on her heel and stomps back toward the counter, her steps so heavy it's like she's trying to do tap dance?

"Wow, can you do that again? I didn't get it on camera." Her brows furrow like she's genuinely upset.

"No, I cannot, doll. What?" I say, narrowing my eyes at her dramatic reaction.

"Worth a shot." She shrugs, completely unbothered.

I shake my head and try to steer us back to the conversation we were having before we were rudely interrupted. "So, you and your sister seem pretty close."

A soft smile spreads across her face. "We're not related by blood, she is my best friend but I love her more than anyone I share blood with. Kia's more than family. We've been friends forever now."

"Really? How? You two are so... different."

She chuckles, her expression growing nostalgic. "Kia has always been a grump. Even in play school, she didn't like sitting with anyone. She had no friends, and this one girl used to tease her about it all the time. One day, that girl went too far, she said something nasty about Kia's family, and it made her cry. Seeing her like that... I just lost it. I stormed over and yanked that bully's pigtails so hard, I swear I might've pulled some hair out."

I can't help but grin, sounds like her.

she continues, laughing a little at the memory herself. "The girl started bawling and tried to pull my hair back, but I wasn't having it. I sat on her and started rubbing my fist on her nose like crazy. It was the closest thing to a punch I knew at the time. Dont!" she exclaims, pointing at me when she notices I'm holding back a laugh.

"To make it even better or worse, depending on how you look at it, I was wearing a penguin onesie."

I burst out laughing. "You got into a full-on play-school wrestling ... in a penguin onesie?"

She nods,"Yup. But the best part? Kia started laughing. She couldn't stop, and seeing her laugh made me laugh too. That's how it all started. We've been inseparable ever since."

"That's a really sweet story," I say, smiling.

She dismisses it like it's no big deal. "Yeah, well, enough about me. Tell me something about yourself."

I pause, considering what to share. "Let's see... I'm a chef by profession, I own a few restaurants here and there in London, and—" I add the last part with a completely straight face, "—I hate ducks."

Her reaction is immediate, and exactly what I was hoping for. She gasps, clutching her chest like I've just announced I eat her puppies for breakfast. "You hate ducks? How dare you! After I confessed my love for them to you. Ducks are angels in feathered form!" I almost see her eyes water. "They are my spirit animal."

I raise an eyebrow. "Angels? You're kidding, right? You can't possibly be serious."

"I am serious," she shoots back, narrowing her eyes in offence. "Ducks are noble creatures. One even saved my life once!"

Now, that catches me off guard. "Oh, this I have to hear," I say, leaning forward.

"It's true!" she insists, her tone filled with terror and nostalgia as she recounts the tale. "I was seven, enjoying my day in the park, when out of nowhere, this gigantic pigeon, no, a huge pigeon, almost as the size of the crying fat child from earlier, decided it hated me. It chased me halfway across the park. Wings flapping, beady little eyes full of rage, it was horrifying!" She closes her eyes and breathes as if to forget about the scene.

I stifle a laugh, but she presses on, her expression deadly serious. "I thought I was done for. My short life was flashing before my eyes. I hadn't even tasted skittles yet. And then... like a hero out of a storybook, this duck waddles out of the pond. It quacks once—just once—and the pigeon stops. Just like that. The duck stared that pigeon down until it flew away. It was epic."

"That's what started my love for ducks and my lifelong fear of pigeons," she finishes with a far along look on her face.

I blink at her, trying to process. "Wait—you're scared of pigeons?"

"Did you not just hear the story?" she asks, staring at me incredulously.

I bite back a grin. "I mean, yeah, I heard it. But it's a pigeon. How scary can they be?"

She leans forward, pointing a finger at me as if delivering a grave warning. "Don't underestimate them. They're calculating. They've got those creepy, unblinking eyes, and they coo like they're plotting something. And if you ever see one puffing its chest out? Run. It's a sign of aggression."

"You've clearly spent way too much time analyzing pigeon behavior."

"Of course I have!" she exclaims, crossing her arms. "You don't survive a traumatic bird encounter without learning their tactics. It's survival 101." She shivers before continuing. "You have no idea what toll a bird attack can take on your emotional well being."

I shake my head, laughing. "So, let me get this straight. You're afraid of pigeons but ready to start a fan club for ducks?"

"Exactly," she says, deadpan. "Ducks are loyal allies. Pigeons are like psychopaths. Ducks are more of a girls girl. Pigeons would be like a pedophiles' pedophile or a pervert at least."

For a moment, I realize this is the most I've smiled in a year.