chapter six
florence thompson
song: stay young - maisie peters

    When I was thirteen I was told by my moms fancy therapist that I had what is called anxiety. Now, looking back, my dog probably could've told me this information if he could speak English.

    Back then though, I was confused about the feeling that consumed my being any time I was put into a situation I deemed stressful. None of my friends talked about it and so I figured I was just different, and not in a good way.

    When I found out that feeling had a name, it was nice to finally know what it was and that it was actually relatively normal.

    But as I move towards the table that McDouble Douche and Vincent De Freaking Bellis are sat at, I'm not convinced that this feeling is anywhere near relatively normal.

    My heart was thudding rapidly against my rib cage, my palms sweating as they desperately gripped the small pink notebook.

    I have so many questions. Like how the hell do they know each other? Did Vincent tell him about me? Do they even know that they both know me? Are they friends? Is Elvis Presley still alive and faking his own death?

    "Florence!" Brandon's voice tore me out of my thoughts as I finally came to the end of their booth, notepad in hand and heart carefully lodged in my throat. "I didn't know you worked here."

    I nodded stiffly, a tight smile on my lips, very aware of Vincent's gaze on my reddening face but I definitely did not have the lady balls to look at him yet.

    That was precisely the moment when I realized that Vincent knew me as Mary Thompson.

    More panic ensues.

    "Yup, I do," I chuckled dryly. "What can I get you gentlemen today?" I cleared my throat, keeping my gaze steady on the blank paper in my hand.

     Don't look at him. Don't look at him.

     "I'll take..." Brandon's words trailed off as he clucked his tongue in thought.

     "I hear the donuts here are amazing," Vincent's voice nearly made me choke on air. It was deep and velvety, sending shivers down my spine. He had that voice that he could probably read the Webster dictionary and I'd be fanning myself.

     Don't look.

    Don't look.

    Don't look!

    I looked.

     Finally cracking, my gaze flitted nervously to Vincent. His dark brown, nearly black hair was gelled back neatly, stubble casted across the lower part of his face, sharpening is features even more.

     His mismatched eyes were even more intoxicating in person, especially as they slid over my features and drank me in so slowly.

     "Just sweet enough, but not too sweet," his voice slid from his parted lips which I was too busy staring at to realize right away what he'd said.

     When I did recollect what he said, my face flushed further when I realized there was a definite double meaning to his words but I couldn't quite pin down what exactly it was.

    I mean, not to be a donut shamer or anything, but he didn't exactly look like the type of dude to consume so many carbs.

    But who am I to profile someone for eating donuts.

    "I'll take an everything bagel, nothing on it," Brandon's voice finally cracked whatever was going on between the two of us and I swung my gaze back over to him where he was handing me his closed menu. "Add a coffee, too. Three sugars, two creamers."

    I grabbed it, slipping it under my arm and quickly jotting down his order on my pink notepad, my handwriting less uniform than usual thanks to the nerves dancing around my gut as I felt Vincent's gaze resting on my flushed face again.

    When I looked over to ask him for his order, my words got stuck in my throat when I saw his eyes analyzing the small white name tag pinned to the left side of my dress.

    He nodded slightly, something I probably wouldn't have caught had I not been so mesmerized with him.

    "I will take a coffee, black," he spoke, not bothering to look at his menu and instead began handing it back to me. "No food, I've already eaten."

    I nodded, gripping the menu from his hands and placing it under my arm with the other menu. I quickly jotted down 1 black coffee before glancing back to the boys who were now both staring at me.

    "Will that be all for you two?" I asked, my heart still thudding loudly in my chest as I did my best to keep my professional tone.

    "It will be. Thank you, Florence," Vincent was the one to speak up, and the emphasis he put on my name made me squirm. He didn't sound angry or annoyed, but his tone was maybe a little tense.

    "My pleasure." I shot him a tight-lipped smile, glancing back to Brandon who was busy on his phone. "Rico will be right out with that."

    Vincent nodded curtly.

    "Thanks, Flo," Brandon spoke as I turned on my heel and I released a long, hard sigh.

    My walk back to the counter was insufferable. The amount of thoughts that raced through my mind in the short distance was nearly alarming. I couldn't for the life of me just shove the thoughts aside altogether like I wished, and instead I was swimming in flustered thoughts that were probably going to drive me crazy.

    "Flo, are you okay?" Ben's voice brought me back to reality where I was just stood next to the coffee machine, coffee cup in hand but making no effort to fill it.

    He took the cup from my hand wearily before slipping it into the machine. He glanced back at me, raising an inquisitive brow as his hand hovered over the controls.

    "Black. One black coffee," My voice was quiet as it tried its best to escape from my dry throat.

    "Are you okay?" Ben asked again as the cup filled with dark liquid, enunciating his words slower. His gaze was worried as it danced over my face, a hand lazily on his hip.

    "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, super okay. I'm great, really," my words rushed out of my lips as I waved him away, grabbing the cup from the machine and placing it onto the counter before reaching under the counter to grab another cup from the cupboards.

    "Uh huh, and I'm supposed to believe that?" He asked, his tone teasing as he looking down at me. I glanced up at him to find a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

    "Yes, yes you are!" I spoke, slipping the cup into the machine again and filling it up. "I am perfectly okay. Why wouldn't I be okay? I'm super good, thanks for ask–,"

    "Where are your roller skates?" He interrupted, his brows furrowing together as he glanced down to my white converse.

    I clucked my tongue, glancing down to his feet which were clad in sneakers.

    "Where are your roller skates, huh?" I asked, raising my brows before grabbing the cup and pulling it out, ripping open three sugars and pouring them in before stirring them around.

    "You know Glenn doesn't let me wear rollerblades. He said, and I quote, it's like watching a giraffe on stilts, a recipe for hilarious disaster," his lips quirked up, recalling Glenn's oh so sweet words.

    I did know that Glenn didn't allow Ben to wear roller skates since the one time that he wiped out and smacked his forehead off of the counter. He was a good sport about it when he came back from the hospital, sporting butterfly stitches, and a grin.

    It was mostly just a distraction so I didn't have to answer his question.

    Oh, you know, Rico made me take them off so I didn't embarrass myself in front of my potential sugar daddy. But, like, I'm not actually going to ever have a sugar daddy because of morals and I'm too innocent, even you said it.

    Yeah, that's definitely not what you say to the guy you crushed on for years and have to see every day at work.

    "Where did Rico go?" I asked, glancing around the diner as I stirred the sugar and creamer into Brandon's coffee.

    Of course, the twerp is nowhere to be found.

    "I don't know, he said something about a phone call and took off," Ben shrugged, glancing down to my notepad before moving towards the kitchen. "I'll go grab the bagel, I'll look for him."

    I nodded wordlessly, still stirring the coffee that was very clearly already mixed.

    Ben came back a few minutes later with a separated and toasted everything bagel on a plate, shoving it towards me when he got within arm's length.

    "Thank you," I mumbled, glancing up to his face. "Is he back there?"

    "Yes, he is," he nodded, resting both of his hands on his hips. "He said, and I quote-" he jutted a hip out dramatically, pursing his lips sassily in what I came to realize was an impersonation of Rico, "Hazlo tú mismo."

    My lips parted in a shocked expression.

    That shit!

    I don't know much Spanish, admittedly, but I do know bits and pieces all thanks to Rico. This sentence he favored when it came time to wash dishes and he was busy flipping through People's magazine, waving us away with a shake of his hand.

    "I'm going to go show that little shi-"

    I almost got past Ben before he wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me back before I could go through the kitchen door and give Rico a piece of my mind. I grumbled a few choice words under my breath when my back hit a muscular chest, Ben tilting his head up towards the ceiling in annoyance.

    "Flo, you know you're never going to be able to convince stubborn Rico to go, so you mind as well just go serve the customers since they've already been waiting longer than they should be," he sighed, his strong arm still wrapped around my middle as his cologne filled my senses.

    "Fine, fine. Whatever," I seethed quietly, yanking myself out of his now loosened grip and grabbing the two coffees as Ben grabbed the bagel to help me.

    We made our way over to the two men, my anxiety bubbling right back to the surface and nearly drowning me. I attempted to even my breaths as we neared the table, afraid that if I didn't I might die of heart failure right here and now. Honestly, while life isn't anything too exciting lately, I don't exactly want to die at 20. It just seems like an inconvenient time to die.

    I felt Ben nudge me as we neared the booth, both of the men's attention was on us. I cleared my throat on instinct, placing the coffees down in front of them.

    "There you go, gentlemen," I spoke, stepping back so Ben could place the bagel down and take off towards the customer who had just walked through the door. "Is there anything else you need?" I asked, placing my hands in the pockets of my apron, waiting to bolt.

    Before either of them could respond, Brandon's phone went off in his jacket pocket and he groaned aloud before pulling it out, glancing at the caller I.D. He clucked his tongue, pushing himself out of the booth and barely giving me enough time to move out of the way for him.

    "Aria. I should go take this," he spoke, answering the call and mumbling sugary greeting as he walked towards the front door.

    The feeling I'd felt before that I called anxiety seems like child's play now in comparison to the feeling that is consuming my whole body and causing my breaths to come out ragged.

    Just as I'd expected, Vincent De Bellis' gaze was locked on my face, an amused gleam in his mismatched eyes.

*
I'm so sorry if the Spanish is incorrect. I'm trying to learn (I think Spanish is SUCH a beautiful language) and I really wanted to incorporate it in a story.

Please feel free to correct me!!

Don't forget to vote & comment since it helps more people find this story and I appreciate it beyond words!! :-)

q: what languages do you speak?