not missin' you at all

Life had been quiet and calm lately. Thanks to his little vacation in Aruba, Lawrence felt more refreshed and relaxed than he had in years. It was as if a massive weight had been lifted from his shoulders the moment he stepped onto those pristine white beaches. One swim in the crystal-clear sea, and all his problems seemed to dissolve, leaving him feeling lighter, freer. It was a kind of peace he hadn’t realised he’d been craving until he found it. Now, he had vowed to Phoebe that they has to go on a beach vacation every single year.

Phoebe, however, didn’t jump at the idea like he thought she would. There was something off about her lately, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. For weeks, she’d been peppering him with questions about his love life, subtly trying to push him toward girls at the club. It was almost as if she wanted him to get a girlfriend. But a relationship was the last thing on Lawrence’s mind right now. He had too much to figure out in his own life to worry about adding someone else into the mix.

On his way back to Teddy’s apartment, he paused outside a small coffee shop. Something about it caught his attention, an urge pulling him inside despite the fact he’d never set foot in there before. The place felt oddly familiar, like he’d been there countless times before—or maybe it was just the generic, cosy vibe shared by coffee shops all over America. Either way, he pushed the door open and stepped inside, ordering a large Americano from the barista behind the counter.

While waiting for his drink, Lawrence lingered at the end of the counter, his eyes scanning the menu on the wall. Who the hell actually drank caramel frappuccinos? It wasn’t until he felt a light touch on his arm that he realised someone was standing beside him. Startled, he turned to find a blonde woman looking at him with a warm familiarity that made him uneasy. Her voice carried an odd familiarity as she spoke though, as if she knew him. “Um.” He blinked, caught off guard, his brain scrambling to place her. “I... wanted an Americano?” he finally said, his voice tinged with confusion. He wanted to pull his arm away, but it felt rude to do so, even though she was clearly a stranger.

Eventually, he managed to slip his arm free, glancing at her more closely. “I’m sorry, do we know each other?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. Her face struck a chord of recognition somewhere deep in his memory, but he couldn’t pinpoint why. “You look familiar, but I can’t figure out if we’ve met before.” A wave of dread crept up his spine as another thought crossed his mind. Oh God—was she one of the girls Phoebe had shoved in his direction at the club? One of the countless faces blurred by too many drinks and loud music? If so, this was about to get real awkward.

PENNY BARTLETT