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It rains that morning.
Keefe gazes out the huge glass windows with watchful eyes, straining to listen to the pitter-patter of droplets falling against the roof and onto the pavement beyond those windows, the distant vroom of cars speeding by on the slick roads and leaving water splashing in their rumbling wake. He drums his restless fingers against the marble counter, and listens. The rain is consistent and faint, like white noise in his ears.
Rainy days are good for the shop, is what Fitz always says. Rainy days bring customers seeking shelter from the storm who end up being tempted into ordering a drink, something warm, enticed by the scent of coffee and sugar that hangs in the air, and that always makes Fitz less grumpy than usual, so that’s a win in Keefe’s book.
But Fitz isn’t here today, having called in sick only an hour earlier, and Keefe supposes he likes the quiet that comes with being alone in the shop — even though it can get pretty lonely.
His mind is someplace else and already thinking of ways to pass the time when the bell above the front door chimes and someone steps in, followed by the sound of shoes squeaking against the doormat mixed with a sigh that seems to echo off of the walls.
Keefe jolts, straightening his posture and forcing his bleary eyes to focus on the girl walking into the shop. She keeps her head down as she makes her way to him, but he still makes sure to welcome her with one of his most charming grins — not too overkill, but carrying just the right balance of pleasant and flattering. He puffs out his chest, adjusting his dark blue apron so that the nametag pinned to it is visible.
When she raises her head and brushes a strand of soggy blond hair behind her ear, she doesn’t look very pleased or flattered by Keefe at all.
“I’ll just have hot chocolate,” she mutters before Keefe can even open his mouth to greet her. Her eyes don’t even so much as glance at the menu behind him, but she does look up to meet his stare for a quick moment, her cheeks flushed and pink from the cold.
She looks tired, but not quite exhausted, though she looks like she’s getting there. Keefe’s eyes dart to look at the downpour outside. She must be relieved to be out of the rain, he thinks. Maybe she’ll stay a while. He finds himself almost hoping so.
“You came to a coffee shop to order hot chocolate?” Keefe can’t help but tease. It’s actually not that uncommon of an order, especially in the winter, but it’s always hard for him to find a way to keep a conversation going when the girl standing in front of him is so captivating he wants to reach out and touch her to make sure she’s even real.
The girl raises her head again. She blinks at him, hesitating for a moment. Then she smiles, if the slight twitch of her lips means anything at all.
His heart soars at that. Keefe decides right then and there that she’s the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen.
“Well… yes.”
“Huh, alright. Would you like anything to go with that hot chocolate, miss?”
She sighs again and Keefe wants to poke her so she can stop looking so perfect and somehow so miserable all at the same time.
“I guess I’ll get a bagel too,” she says finally. Her fingers tremble as she reaches to tug out an eyelash, flicking it away when it comes free and shaking her head ever so slightly, as if trying to clear her thoughts. Or maybe just to avoid looking at him.
Keefe’s smirk grows wider. “Hot chocolate and a bagel it is, then. And what would your name be?”
“Sophie,” she says, then blurts out, “Foster.”
Her face blooms red. Keefe begins to wonder if she’s blushing because of him or because she just told him her last name while ordering coffee. Or hot chocolate, in her case.
He hopes it’s because of him. Keefe really, really hopes she’s blushing because of him.
While the girl — Sophie, Keefe practically swoons just thinking her name — slides over her payment in cash, he digs out a marker from his pocket and scribbles on the cup The Mysterious Miss F. in a hasty scrawl, adding a very thoughtful smiley face at the end.
Then, impulsively, and perhaps even a little nervously, Keefe writes his phone number right below her name.
Sophie picks up her drink and her bagel once it’s ready, and Keefe smirks at her as she does. She blinks at his note when she notices it, opens and closes her mouth a few times, then clears her throat, giving him one last look before scurrying out of the shop. The bell above the front door chimes again as it shuts behind her, and Keefe is left alone with his pounding heartbeat and the pitter-pattering rain.
Sophie Foster doesn’t call that morning, and she doesn’t call when Keefe gets home later that afternoon, either.
“I’m gonna date her,” Keefe declares, gazing out at the streets still drizzly with yesterday’s rain as he wipes down a table with the damp rag clutched in his hands.
Fitz doesn’t even look at him from his spot behind the register. “I take one day off and you’re already falling in love with people.”
“So? What’s the problem with that?”
“The problem is that she’s probably way out of your league. Plus, it’s unprofessional and bad for the business to flirt with customers.”
Keefe glares at him and makes his way over to the door, flipping the Closed sign to Open and switching on the sign’s neon lights. He peers out the door, and the cold air that rushes in feels prickly on his face. “How can you say that when you don’t even know what she looks like?”
Fitz rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest. “Don’t need to. Have you looked in the mirror lately?”
“Oh, trust me, I do all the time.” Keefe retorts, turning around. He runs a hand through his perfectly styled hair and bats his eyes at Fitz, as if to prove a point.
“Uh huh,” Fitz says, his brows lifting so high they almost disappear into the waves of his dark brown hair. Keefe does not appreciate his expression in the slightest.
Keefe makes a face. “Whatever, dude,” he mutters, and before he can really stop himself, “do you think she’ll come in today?”
“Oh, definitely not. You probably scared her away and she’s fleeing town as we speak.”
Keefe grumbles and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Ugh. You’ll see. But thanks for your input, anyway.”
Fitz clicks his tongue. “No problem. What are best friends for?”
Sophie doesn’t come in the next day either, to Keefe’s dismay.
“So where’s your mystery girl?” Fitz asks behind him as Keefe hands a group of girls their drinks, offering them a friendly smile that has them giggling and looking over their shoulders and whispering loudly amongst themselves when they go to sit down at a booth.
They all ordered coffee, he can’t help but notice, iced lattes and espressos and cappuchinos — but not one person so far that entire day or the day before had ordered hot chocolate. Maybe it just wasn’t as common of an order as he thought it was, or maybe his brain is just seriously messing with him.
Keefe ponders over that for a moment, then frowns. “I have no idea.”
“You gave her your number, didn’t you? Has she even called you yet?”
Keefe shakes his head no, feeling uncharacteristically sheepish. “But to be fair, it hasn’t even been that long. I’m just gonna give it time. That’s all.”
Fitz places a pitcher in the sink with a clatter and turns the faucet on, already preparing to whip up another order as he says, “I’m actually starting to feel bad for you.”
Keefe is starting to feel bad for himself, too.
It takes a week and two days for Sophie to come back.
Keefe almost thinks he’s hallucinating when he spots her stepping in, wiping her shoes on the doormat in the same careful, mindful way she had done before. He scrubs at his eyes and nearly faints when he realizes she’s still there, definitely not a hallucination, a bag slung over her shoulder and her hands twitchy as they hold onto the leather strap.
“That’s her!” Keefe whispers, reaching back to elbow Fitz as hard as he can. “I told you!”
Fitz turns around, squinting at Sophie as she shuffles towards the counter with her head down. His mouth forms a few different words before he settles on whispering, “I’ll let you handle this.”
He turns around again and Keefe decides to ignore the fact he’s even there as he gives Sophie the best smirk he can muster up.
Sophie regards him. She reaches up to pluck out an eyelash, and Keefe doesn’t ask why, even though he’s dying to. It’s kind of weird, but that’s okay. Keefe likes weird just fine.
“I didn’t realize you had a co-worker,” she says, in a soft-spoken sort of way that has Keefe growing nervous.
“Oh, don’t mind him,” he grins, jerking a thumb back to where Fitz is standing and pouring milk into a blender, “pretty much everyone agrees I’m way cuter than Fitzy, so no point in paying him any attention, right?”
Keefe hears Fitz mutter something under his breath, not sounding like he shares the same opinion. Sophie tilts her head to look behind Keefe, and he feels an almost painful twinge in his chest as he follows her curious gaze.
“Anyway,” he says, waving a hand in the air and trying to act casual, “I’m guessing you want hot chocolate again?”
Sophie looks back at him, surprise flickering across her features, and Keefe can tell she’s startled he remembers her order after so long. Keefe is pretty sure he’ll remember everything about her for the rest of his life as he stares right back into those warm brown eyes, flecked with slight hints of gold.
Then she nods, snapping Keefe out of his daze and handing him a few dollar bills as Fitz starts making the hot chocolate. Their fingers brush against each other in the process, if only for a moment, and her skin is cool to the touch. Keefe bites back a laugh at the way her eyes widen.
“Sorry,” Sophie mumbles and pulls her hand away, gripping the strap of her bag so tightly her knuckles turn pale. “It’s cold outside.”
It’s actually quite sunny outside, as far as Keefe can see, but he lets it slide.
He shrugs. “No worries,” then, without missing a beat, “I’d be happy to warm you up.”
Keefe winks, and Sophie flushes so much even her neck turns its own shade of red.
“Here you go,” Fitz interrupts. He glances significantly at Keefe, who scowls at him in return, as Sophie takes her drink with nothing written on the cup and coughs a thank you, looking tempted to tug out another eyelash. She glances at both of them, and Keefe hopes he isn’t imagining the way her gaze seems to linger a little longer on him. Then she walks away.
“Way to ruin my moment,” Keefe grumbles. He watches from a distance as Sophie finds a table in the corner to sit at. She faces away from them, digging a laptop out from her satchel, and Keefe is convinced his eyeballs will fall out if he stares any more intensely.
The distance between them is tragic.
Fitz nudges him, snickering. “What are best friends for?”
Sophie comes in the next morning with the same bag from yesterday slung over her shoulder and a camera in her hands.
Keefe spots her immediately. It’s hard not to — the filtered afternoon sunlight catches her hair perfectly, and today she’s wearing a striped blue sweater that compliments the dark chestnut color of her eyes.
“That is the face of a doomed man,” Fitz pokes Keefe in the side, interrupting his mental swooning session and dragging him back to reality.
“Dude, go away,” Keefe hisses, keeping his voice low and straightening his apron so he looks presentable. “I don’t need you ruining any more of my chances to get to know her.”
Fitz groans. “Okay, fine. Good luck, or whatever.”
“Nice camera,” Keefe points out casually as Sophie approaches the counter. He gestures at the camera held close to her heart and grins, tearing a hand through his hair to spike it higher.
“Thanks,” Sophie says, looking down at it. “It’s for… something.”
Fitz scoffs loudly from behind. Keefe keeps a straight face, not saying a word as he kicks Fitz’s leg with no particular gentleness, earning him a yelp, several concerned glances from other customers, and a puzzled, yet adorable , eyebrow scrunch from Sophie.
“Ignore him,” Keefe whispers before she can say anything, adding cheerfully, “so, are you a photographer or something?”
Sophie chews at her bottom lip. “Sort of.”
“Sort of?”
“It’s more I just like taking pictures,” she mutters, plucking out an eyelash and flicking it away, seeming to shrink under Keefe’s gaze. “I don’t do it professionally or anything.”
Keefe beams. “Do you know how cool that is? I’ve always wanted to get into photography. You’ve gotta show me sometime.”
Sophie blinks. “Maybe.”
He opens his mouth to ask her more about it, but Fitz clears his throat and appears beside him. Keefe kind of wants to punch him in the face for that.
“Sorry about my co-worker,” Fitz says, and Sophie tilts her head at him. “Can we get you anything today?”
“Oh — right, sorry,” she says, sounding thoughtful. “Just hot chocolate, please.”
“Name?” Fitz prompts, holding a Sharpie and hovering it over a paper cup, poised to write. Keefe’s eye twitches.
“Sophie.”
Fitz nods, writing her name down. He accepts the cash she offers to him and shoves it in the register, then turns away.
Keefe rolls his eyes. “He’s so annoying, right? I swear I go crazy when I have to be around him for more than five seconds.”
Sophie smiles as Fitz sighs. “Um… sure.”
“So what do you take pictures of?” Keefe asks to fill the awkward silence that passes briefly between them. He rests his elbow on the counter and leans his cheek on the palm of his hand, giving her his best I’m listening look.
Sophie shrugs. “Things I like, I guess.”
“And what would that be?”
She has the audacity to look shy, and Keefe runs the risk of collapsing on spot as he studies the way her lips slowly part to speak. “To be honest, I don’t really know. Most of the time it’s places or objects, but sometimes it’s people, too.”
Keefe grins sincerely. “Aw, now I’m dying to see! I bet you’re amazing.”
Sophie flushes, opening her mouth to speak just as Fitz shoves past Keefe and holds out the drink for her to take. Keefe resists the urge to kick him again as Fitz looks at him smugly.
Her fingers curl around the cup and she takes it, her face reddening. “Thanks. Um. I’ll see you later,” Sophie says to Keefe, turning and making her way to the door.
“I hate you,” Keefe mutters when she’s out of hearing range.
Fitz huffs. “Actually, I’d say you made progress with her today. She actually, like, told you something about herself. Shouldn’t you be jumping for joy?”
And… yeah, Keefe can’t really argue with that.
“Anyway, I’m going on break.” Fitz says, already pulling his phone out of his pocket and stalking away, “be back soon.”
Keefe gives him a thumbs-up in acknowledgement. Then he watches curiously through the windows as Sophie stands out on the sidewalk, raising the camera to her face to snap a picture of the coffee shop’s front.
Two days later, Keefe sees her again. She orders coffee.
She isn’t carrying anything with her this time, Keefe notices, thinking of the camera from before and the worn leather of the bag she had slung over her left shoulder.
But the glasses are new. She also looks more tired than usual.
Keefe dips his head at her as he slides over the steaming cup of espresso she’d ordered. He smirks. “Since when did you decide to be normal and get coffee like everyone else?”
Sophie smiles wryly. “Since five minutes ago.”
“Long morning?”
Her sigh is a miserable sound. “Yeah. I haven’t been able to sleep.”
Keefe can tell. There are bags under her eyes and he wants to reach out and brush over them with the tips of his fingers to make it alright, but he shoves his hands into his pockets and nods knowingly instead. “Well, then the coffee’s on me today.”
Sophie’s eyes widen. “Oh — no, you shouldn’t — it’s really okay.”
Before she can reach for her wallet, Keefe nudges the cup closer and shakes his head, huffing a laugh. “Just take it. Come on, it’s free coffee. Made by a cute barista, too!”
Sophie peers up at him. She hides a smile behind her hair as she does, indeed, take the coffee. “Thank you.”
Their eyes lock, and Keefe’s heart nearly stops.
She pauses, seeming to gather up courage before muttering, “can I ask you something?”
“Anything,” Keefe agrees, suddenly breathless. “Shoot.”
“Okay,” Sophie swallows, then she takes a deep breath and swallows again. Keefe stares. “I was just wondering…”
Her voice trails off. She tugs an eyelash out and Keefe feels himself leaning in closer to watch, to listen. “You were wondering?” he presses, trying very hard to be patient and failing terribly.
Sophie meets his eyes. “I was just wondering if… you’re free tonight.”
The words spill out in a jumble, and she rocks back and forth on her feet, looking just about ready to turn and flee as she pushes her glasses up nervously.
Keefe blinks. And then he laughs, hard, genuine.
“You’re asking me out?”
Another eyelash pull. “Can you make this any more embarrassing?”
“Oh, I definitely can,” he smirks, “but if your face gets any more red I think you’ll explode, so I’ll hold off for now.”
Sophie heaves a sigh. “Just say —”
“Yes,” Keefe cuts her off. “Yes, I’ll go out with you.”
Sophie’s head snaps up, and she’s practically beaming. This girl is so bad for his heart, Keefe thinks. “Really?”
“Uh, obviously I’d say yes. I don’t know if you’ve noticed my —”
Sophie waves her hand frantically in the air to interrupt, fighting back her smile. “I have. That’s why I asked.”
Keefe snickers. “Oh, good. I was starting to think you were even more oblivious than I thought,” he ruffles his hair, grinning at the way Sophie watches him intently. “So, where are we going?”
Sophie flushes. “I didn’t really plan that part out yet.”
“Are you serious?”
She grimaces. “It was a last-minute thing.”
Keefe shakes his head, feigning disappointment but smiling still. “Not gonna lie, I imagined this moment to be a lot more romantic. But very cute of you, I’ll give you that.”
The corners of her eyes crinkle at that. “How about a movie?” Sophie suggests, ignoring his playful jab, glancing down at her cup of coffee and fiddling with the lid. “You could come over to my place.”
Keefe’s brows lift, and his smirk turns pleased. “Wow, that was quick.”
Sophie looks up to scowl at him, and he laughs again, before adding quickly, “That sounds good. I’ll come over around eight. Deal?”
Keefe waits for her to nod before taking his Sharpie out of his pocket and uncapping it. He holds it out to her, along with his forearm, and smirks at the confusion that crosses her face. “Your address,” he tells her, “just in case.”
“Oh.” Sophie’s expression softens, and she takes the marker from him sheepishly, setting her coffee on the counter. “Good idea.”
This time her fingers are warm when they touch his skin and any snarky remark he could’ve ever come up with in that moment vanishes from his mind in an instant. Keefe tenses as she scribbles her address on his arm, sucking in a breath and releasing it slowly when she pulls away.
“There,” Sophie mumbles, rubbing at her eyes sleepily and handing him back his Sharpie. “I’ll see you tonight, then?”
Keefe jumps. “Oh — yeah, okay. See you!” he calls after her, and grins at her all the way out.
“You’re kidding,” Fitz says to him, incredulous.
“Fortunately, I am not,” Keefe replies. He doesn’t bother to hide the giddiness that leaks into his tone.
“Are you making this up?”
“Nope.”
“ She asked you to come over to her place? ”
“Yep. Awesome, isn’t it?”
“What the hell,” Fitz whispers.
Sophie keeps a vase of flowers on a wooden table right inside the doorway of her fourth-floor apartment. Tulips, as pink as the flush of her cheeks when she was feeling bashful about something he’d say about her, and sunflowers, as golden as the flecks in her honey-brown eyes or the color of her hair when it shone in the sun.
Keefe would come to love those colors more than anything.
“You have a nice apartment,” he tells her, still staring at the vase of flowers as he toes off his sneakers and steps further inside. The petals are soft and fresh on his fingertips when he brushes gently over them, and Sophie tilts her head.
“You really think so?” she asks, and smiles when Keefe nods. “I was thinking of changing them out. I’ve had these ones for a while now, but maybe I’ll keep them for a little longer.”
“You should change it up,” Keefe says, shaking his head. “I want to see what you pick.”
The comfort her home brought to him would, too, become another thing Keefe would come to love most about Sophie.
Keefe decides — later that evening, when they’re nestled together side by side on her couch with their legs and hips and arms touching and a bowl of popcorn placed precariously on Keefe’s lap — that he’s going to buy her flowers.
“How do you feel about roses?” Sophie asks, faint and sudden. She rests her head gently on his shoulder as she says this, and Keefe can feel the rise and fall of her body in his own as she takes in a breath and lets it go.
He burns up inside.
“That would look nice,” Keefe says several moments later, his voice low, hoarse. His hand twitches towards hers but he never reaches for it. He’s too busy thinking about the scent of her coconut shampoo to pay attention to the spy movie playing on the television screen.
Sophie hums. She ends up falling asleep like that, after a while, leaning on Keefe with her head on his shoulder and her breathing soft, restful. Keefe makes sure to move slowly as he slips away, propping one of the couch’s pillow underneath her head, and he’s careful to keep quiet as he takes off his jacket and drapes it over her, pulling it up to her chin to keep her warm.
It’s on his way to the front door that he spots the camera on Sophie’s bookshelf.
Keefe gets a call that wakes him up early the next morning. He fumbles clumsily for his phone, squinting at the sunlight slanting through his blinds, and picks up on the third ring.
“Hello?” he mumbles, tugging his covers further over his head and burrowing himself deeper into the mess of pillows and blankets, half expecting to hear Fitz yelling at him for not showing up to work or something.
“Hi,” Sophie’s voice greets him instead, and Keefe nearly crashes into the headboard of his bed as he jolts up. He tears a hand through his hair, letting the strands fall back into messy place.
“Oh, you,” he replies, trying to keep the sleepiness out of his voice. He was always a bit off his game in the mornings. “Took you long enough to call me, didn’t it?”
There’s rustling on the other end. Then Sophie laughs, softly. “Yeah. Sorry.”
“Apology accepted,” Keefe hums, “so, why’d you call?”
“I feel bad for falling asleep on you last night,” Sophie mumbles, and there’s more rustling before she adds, “remember how I told you I couldn’t sleep? I guess having you there helped, but… I’m still really sorry.”
“Huh,” Keefe says, fighting back the grin that begins to make its way onto his lips, “apology considered.”
“Seriously?”
“No, I’m just kidding,” he snickers. “It’s alright, I swear. Did you at least sleep well?”
“I did,” Sophie says, her tone warm and earnest. “Thank you.”
Keefe’s pleased. “Then should I come over again?”
Sophie hesitates. “Tonight, if you can,” she says after a few seconds, “I want to make it up to you. And give you your jacket back. It’s a nice jacket.”
“Hmmm.”
“Don’t give me that,” Sophie huffs, “you’re the one who asked.”
“Okay, okay,” Keefe laughs, stumbling out of bed to get ready. “Don’t get all feisty on me, Foster. I’ll come over after I get off at twelve.”
“Okay,” Sophie repeats slowly, then, “did you just call me by my last name?”
Keefe hangs up.
When he walks into the coffee shop an hour later, smirking and twirling his keys around in his hand, Fitz is already standing behind the register and pinning him with a look.
“You seem happy,” Fitz points out, glancing over his shoulder as Keefe appears from the back, pulling his apron over his head and tousling his hair in the process. “I’m assuming last night went well?”
“Yeah,” Keefe tells him. “It did.”
Keefe does, in fact, come over after he gets off at twelve later that day. He buys roses from the flower shop across the street when his shift is over, and as he’s ducking into the driver’s seat of his car and shoving the key in the ignition, the first drops of rain begin to splatter his windshield.
“You’re wet,” Sophie notes when she opens the door for him. The rain had gotten worse by then. Her eyes widen when she spots the flowers in his hands. “Oh.”
“For you,” Keefe says proudly through chattering teeth, handing her the roses. She takes them, startled. “Now let me in. It’s freezing out here.”
Sophie laughs at that. She steps aside, and as Keefe stumbles past her, careful to not drag mud onto her wooden floors, their bodies bump against each other in the narrow space of the foyer. He relishes in the rush of warmth, and tries not to stare as Sophie sets the roses down on the table, right beside the vase of tulips and sunflowers which look in desperate need of water.
“I’ll put them in later,” she says, their eyes meeting. Her gaze is warm, affectionate. “Thank you, Keefe.”
Keefe runs a hand through his soggy hair, trying inconspicuously to pat the clinging drops of rain away. He smirks. “Ah, so you do know my name.”
“Of course I do. You’ve got a nametag,” Sophie replies, sounding wry.
“I know. I’m just honored you remember it. You are the Queen of Mysterious, after all.”
Her lips fight a smile. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nevermind,” Keefe grins as Sophie’s eyebrows raise. She doesn’t say anything after that, though, and as Sophie motions for him to follow her into the living room, he kicks off his sneakers hurriedly and shuffles after her.
“Wait,” Sophie says when he moves to plop down on the couch. She places a gentle hand on his chest and Keefe feels his heart leap into his throat at the contact. “I’ll get you a towel. You’ll catch a cold if you don’t dry off.”
Keefe blinks. “Oh,” he says dumbly, at a loss for words, “you’re right.”
Sophie tips her chin and disappears into another room. Keefe stares after her, wondering absently what just happened, and before he can even process anything she appears again, carrying a towel in her arms and tossing it to him. Keefe reaches to catch it. He pats his still-damp hair with the cloth until the mess on top of his head is somewhat dry, the strands and deliberate waves sticking up in chaos from the friction.
“Better?” he asks, flashing her a smirk as Sophie takes the towel back from him. He doesn’t miss the way she looks up at him, through half-lidded, curious eyes.
“Better,” she repeats, then disappears into the same room once again. Keefe runs a hand through his hair and glances sidelong at the camera resting on her bookshelf. He smiles.
“I lied,” Sophie mumbles into the fabric of his sweater an hour or so later, her voice muffled. They sit on the couch with the cushions sinking underneath their weight and a blanket from Sophie’s bedroom drawn over them to keep them close together, to keep them warm, while the television hums with laughter and chatter.
“Yeah?” Keefe questions, nudging her shoulder gently with his own and snickering at the way she glares at him. Outside, the rain continues to fall steadily, and the pitter-pattering of it is loud in his ears. “About what?”
Sophie casts a look to the camera on her bookshelf and tugs out an eyelash. “When I told you I don’t do photography professionally, I lied,” she turns away from him sheepishly, the tips of her ears burning red, “I’m taking it as a college course.”
Keefe’s eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Sophie says, looking like she wants to tug out another eyelash. “I bet you think I’m such a dork now, huh?”
“Not at all,” Keefe assures in response, and he means it. “I think it’s great.”
Sophie stares at him skeptically and Keefe can’t help but laugh. “I think you ’ re great,” he adds, nudging her again. “You still haven’t shown me, though.”
“Someday,” Sophie promises. She leans on him, relaxed and nonchalant, her soft hair tickling his neck. Keefe falls into the same rhythm of her breathing without even realizing it. “Are you studying anything?”
Keefe huffs. Now it’s his turn to be embarrassed. His eyes dart away, and he suddenly becomes very interested in the coasters on the coffee table in front of them. “You’ll laugh.”
Sophie straightens, suddenly interested. “No, I won’t,” she says, and when Keefe returns her skeptical expression from earlier, she pokes him in the arm with her index finger. “It’s only fair that you tell me.”
Keefe pokes her back, rolling his eyes playfully. “Why should I? What if I wanna be all mysterious like you and keep you wondering, Foster?”
Sophie scowls. “Don’t do that,” she says, “and if you don’t tell me, I’m gonna give you a hard time about it until you do.”
Keefe holds out his hands in surrender. “Okay, fine,” he gives in, sighing dramatically but grinning all the while, “If you must know, I’m taking art history. Illustration, to be specific.”
“Art…” Sophie says, thoughtful, “so you draw?”
“More like I try to draw,” Keefe shrugs, the tension in his body loosening. “I know, it’s dumb. People tell me that a lot.”
“It isn’t dumb,” Sophie says. It sounds like a promise. She draws in a slow breath and regards him. “We aren’t so different.”
Keefe turns his head back to the television as Sophie’s head falls back onto his shoulder. “I guess so,” he whispers, quietly.
They watch The Notebook that day. Sophie tells him it’s her favorite movie half-way through and Keefe says it’s his, too.
He has to leave once the movie is, regretfully, over. The worst of the rain has stopped, mostly, leaving behind only a faint drizzle, but the air is still cold and when Keefe exhales it comes out as a thin puff of fog that drifts up and away into the cloudy, sleepy afternoon.
“I’ve gotta work on a project,” Sophie announces as he stands outside of her apartment, trying not to sulk. She leans on the doorway, tucking a strand of hair carefully behind her right ear and blinking up at him with pity.
“Photography project,” Keefe says, wiggling his eyebrows and giving her his best smirk, “Do you need a model by any chance? ‘Cause you know where to find me.”
“I’ll let you know if I do,” Sophie says wryly, offering him a smile. “Goodbye, Keefe. I’ll see you soon.”
She leans up and grabs the collar of his sweater with gentle fingers that pull him dangerously closer, pressing a hesitant kiss to the corner of his mouth. Then Sophie shuts the door and Keefe is left there, stunned and breathless with his eyes blown wide.
On his way home, he’s struck with the realization that he forgot to ask for his jacket back.
“She kissed me,” Keefe says again for perhaps the fiftieth time the next morning.
“So you’ve said,” Fitz replies, sounding exasperated. He pops a lid onto a cup of coffee and hands it to the only customer currently in the store, some tech-y looking guy with strawberry blond hair and periwinkle eyes who’s obviously been eavesdropping on their conversation for the past five minutes.
Keefe stops cleaning the espresso machine for a moment to fling a loose coffee bean at Fitz’s head, which totally flies right past him and lands somewhere on the floor.
Fitz glares at him as the guy walks away with his latte, clearly ruffled by the scene. “And you better stop throwing things at me, because she’s coming in right now.”
He points discreetly to the door and Keefe whips around to see Sophie shuffling in. She’s wearing a simple t-shirt and zip-up jacket that has Keefe fighting the urge to swoon and collapse and run away all at the same time. Fitz disappears quickly into the back, probably in an effort to avoid getting anything else thrown at him.
“Hey Foster,” Keefe greets as she approaches, fussing with his hair several times to get it right and trying to steel his nerves. “How’s your project going?”
“It’s good,” Sophie says, fidgeting with the zipper on her jacket. “I had to stay up late, but I’m almost done.”
Keefe grins. “Well, I’m always free if you need me. You know, for modeling purposes.”
That draws a laugh from her. “Actually, I was thinking of using you as the subject for one of the prompts last night. Only if you want, of course.”
“Oh?” he asks, curious. “What prompt?”
“It’s a secret,” she says, “for now.”
Keefe sighs, deflating a little. “You really are the Mysterious Girl Extraordinaire.”
Sophie smiles. “I’ll get hot chocolate, please.”
Keefe draws a cat carrying a camera on the cup and writes, in his messy scrawl, Most Mysterious Girl Ever beside it.
The first time they hold hands, it’s at a park.
“I need to take some pictures for my project,” Sophie had told him over the phone the same morning, “You should come with me.”
“Are you asking me out again?” Keefe had teased, but before she could even respond with a witty remark, he had already been slipping on his shoes and fumbling for the key to lock the front door behind him.
It’s painfully clear that Sophie’s tired when he meets up with her at the park — the bags under her eyes are worse, more dark than usual, and her hair is messy and she sways on her feet as she walks with him to sit down at a bench overlooking one of the park’s ponds. It’s also painfully cute, how she moves in a sleepy, drawn-out kind of way, but worry still sinks into Keefe’s stomach, and he makes sure to sit close to her so she can rest on his shoulder if she needs to.
“It’s a personal collage project of my favorite things, or things that mean something to me,” she explains, adjusting the lens of her camera absentmindedly, and Keefe nods along. “Today’s prompt is my favorite animal.”
Keefe scans their surroundings curiously, wondering if she chose this specific spot for a reason. The only animals around, as far as he can tell, are a bunch of ducks floating on the pond’s surface, a few swans here and there in the mix, and someone’s dog in the distance, barking.
“So… is your favorite animal a duck?” he asks, hopeful that it is.
Sophie laughs. “No, look,” she sets her camera down on the bench and points at one of the swans gliding gracefully across the water, “that’s my favorite animal.”
Keefe shakes his head, grinning. “Your favorite animal is a swan? Ducks are way cooler, just so you know, Foster.”
“You’re the most ridiculous person I’ve ever met,” Sophie scoffs, but her lips pull taut with the hints of a smile.
“But that’s why you keep me around, right? That, and my rugged good looks.”
Keefe puffs out his chest and Sophie coughs to hide a snort. Then she picks up her camera, clutching it expertly as she holds it to her face, her eyes squinting to focus and her fingers reaching to adjust the lens again. Keefe watches as she snaps a few pictures of the meandering swans at different angles, and once she’s done she looks down, clicking through all of the options and probably deciding on which one is best before putting her camera away and turning to him.
“What?” Sophie asks, and Keefe realizes with a start that he’s been staring.
“Sorry, it’s nothing,” he says airily, rubbing the back of his neck and trying to play it cool. “I was just… admiring the view.”
Thankfully, Sophie doesn’t press him any further. She doesn’t say anything at all as she moves to slide her hand slowly over his, her skin as warm and as smooth as ever, and Keefe twines their fingers together, squeezing gently, just once.
It would be the first of many times.
Keefe calls her two days later. He’s restless and laying in bed and his fingers shake only slightly as he presses on her contact.
“It seems you’re a little obsessed with me,” Sophie mumbles into the phone when she picks up on the fourth ring, teasing. Keefe can’t help but smile at the sweetness and sincerity of her voice.
And so what, he almost says.
“Did I wake you?” he asks instead, staring up at his ceiling through the darkness of his room, “I’m sorry. I haven’t been able to sleep, and I figured you’d be up like the night owl you are.”
“No, you didn’t wake me,” Sophie assures him, “I’m making dinner.”
Keefe holds his phone closer to his ear and rolls onto his side. “What’re you making?”
“Ramen. There’s not much else,” Sophie answers shyly, and there’s a short pause before she says, “do you want to come over?”
“Yes,” Keefe tells her immediately. He would never refuse.
When Keefe shows up at her doorstep thirty minutes later, she’s in her pajamas with the same glasses from before sliding half-way down the bridge of her nose. Sophie pushes them up with her finger, her middle, as she glances up at him.
“Come on,” Sophie says, soft and quiet and loving, “I missed you.”
Keefe glances at the vase of roses on the table inside of the foyer. He smiles, and follows her inside.
They end up eating their steaming cups of instant ramen side by side in her bed, with the covers drawn around them and their sides touching, so close that the warmth, the contact between them has Keefe’s palms sweating and his heart pounding against his ribcage. But if Sophie notices, she doesn’t show it, her brows furrowing in the dim light as she stares down at the laptop resting in her lap. She pushes up her glasses some more and Keefe watches her from the corner of his eye.
Keefe slurps up the last of his noodles and reaches over her to place the empty cup on the nightstand beside her bed. “Woah,” he says under his breath as he peers over, and Sophie jumps a little, turning to look at him. “That’s your project?”
There’s so many pictures on her screen that it takes a moment for Keefe’s eyes to even register all of them as he leans even closer for a better look — he spots the photo she must have taken of the coffee shop’s front that one day towards the top of her screen, and the photo of the swans at the park she had only taken a few days before, which he had been there for, towards the bottom. But there are several others in between too, all vibrant colors and beautiful skies and streets he doesn’t recognize. He nudges her gently, momentarily forgetting how close they are.
Sophie studies him, her expression soft, fond. “Yeah,” she tells him, shutting off her laptop and placing her glasses on the nightstand. “I’m picking out the photos I like the most to submit for each prompt.”
Keefe exhales, awed. “That’s amazing, Foster. I can’t believe you hid all of this from me for so long.”
She tugs out an eyelash and buries herself further under the covers. “I was embarrassed.”
Keefe scoffs playfully, slinking down alongside her and pulling the blanket over their heads to block out the light. “Don’t be,” he whispers. “I knew you were amazing.”
Sophie’s nose scrunches and she kisses him then, her fingers finding their gentle, cautious way to his messy hair, the back of his head. She cards her fingers through the tufts and waves, letting out a sigh so soft Keefe is sure he imagined it, and he grins slightly against her lips, his hands lingering on her waist, holding her impossibly closer.
“You should stay the night,” Sophie says when she pulls away first, her face more than a little flushed and her head tilted curiously towards him.
“I’ve got work in the morning,” Keefe hums, propping an elbow on the mattress. He leans on his palm, smirking. “You wouldn’t want me to miss work, would you?”
Sophie’s gaze flickers down to his lips. “Well,” she says, “what if I do?”
“I don’t have a toothbrush, either,” Keefe mutters, his voice sleepy and warm. He presses a kiss to her temple and brushes a strand of hair away from her eyes. Pressure builds in his chest as she stares up at him.
The truth is, he thinks, is that he doesn’t want to go. Not really. Not ever.
“I have a spare,” Sophie tells him, and when she kisses him again on the corner of his mouth, his head spins faster than ever. “you can have that one.”
“So does that mean this is going to be a regular occurrence?” Keefe asks coyly.
“Sure,” is all Sophie says, and then she’s rolling out of bed and padding away to the bathroom.
Keefe stares after her. Sophie returns almost a minute later with a brand new toothbrush in hand. It’s blue. She mumbles something about her dentist office giving it to her a month ago after an appointment and Keefe is mindful to thank her.
And when he goes to brush his teeth in her bathroom, it’s there that he spots the bottle of coconut scented shampoo in the shower.
“Keefe,” He’s shaken gently awake. “ Keefe. ”
He grumbles and stirs and runs a hand down his face, blinking at the sunlight that streams through the open blinds, burning his eyelids. He swallows. “Yes?”
Through the haze of sleep, Keefe can distantly feel another body against his. A hand tapping his shoulder. He dares to peek one eye open, and sighs a little in relief when he sees Sophie, in all of her bed-headed beauty, sitting up beside him and holding a neatly folded jacket in her arms. His jacket, he realizes, when he catches sight of the worn fabric and broken zipper he had grown so familiar with. The jacket he had left with her that one night and kept forgetting to ask for back.
“You should probably go home and get ready,” Sophie says wryly. She nudges him again. “You’ll be late to work.”
“Will I?” Keefe groans, moving to pull the covers back over his head. Then he sits up suddenly, nearly crashing into her in the process. “Wait — will I?”
He is, in fact, ten minutes late to work that morning.
“I should take her someplace nice,” Keefe huffs wistfully. Fitz hands him a drink — an iced latte with a neat Olivia written on the cup — and Keefe dutifully places it on the counter for pick-up among several other drinks.
“Like where?”
Keefe shrugs. “No idea.”
“Oh, what a lover boy you are,” Fitz laughs heartily. “Find a restaurant or something, then. Or some romantic date spot around here, I dunno.”
“That’s so unoriginal,” Keefe whines, tearing a hand through his hair in stress and huffing again, “and plus, she’s like, not even my girlfriend yet. I have to really make it special if I want to ask her to be.”
“She might as well be, at this point,” Fitz says with his signature eye-roll. “You guys literally shared a bed. Her bed. Are we gonna address that, by the way?”
Keefe doesn’t respond for a moment. “What’s there to address?” he says at last, puzzled.
Fitz gawks at him.
“Wow, okay, no need to look so surprised. You’re not the only one who gets girls, you know.”
Fitz shakes his head so hard it tosses his dark hair. “Unbelievable.”
“Holy crap, she is my girlfriend,” Keefe whispers under his breath, staring down at one of the sketchbooks he had spent the past thirty minutes doodling in. Sophie’s face stares right back at him, all graphite marks and smooth edges and dark shading done with the tip of his pencil.
“So, are we like, dating?” Keefe asks the next time she comes in, which happens to be three days after he had spent the night at her place. “Because my co-worker over there totally thinks we are and I was just making sure.”
He can almost see the heat radiating off her cheeks as Sophie blushes, glancing at Fitz as he continues making drinks with his back turned to them. She tugs out two eyelashes and Keefe can tell she’s tempted to go for a third, but, miraculously, she doesn’t. “I guess,” Sophie mumbles, fidgeting with the cup of hot chocolate in her hands before she adds, quietly, “I’d like that.”
“I’d like that, too,” Keefe says, not even bothering to fight the boyish grin that makes its way onto his face.
Fitz cheers, and Keefe sends him a look.
“Let’s go somewhere,” Sophie says finally, adjusting the familiar leather bag on her shoulder and looking down at her phone before shoving it in her pocket again, blinking up at him. “It’s almost twelve.”
The local library is where they go.
They walk there, once his shift is over — it’s not far from the coffee shop, and Keefe is familiar enough with it to recognize the name when Sophie brings it up. She’s got work to do and Keefe doesn’t mind tagging along, despite her asking several times if he’d rather go somewhere else. He doesn’t have much planned for the rest of the day, anyway, other than some sketches to complete for his class (which, sadly, don’t involve the most beautiful girl ever) and some grocery shopping to do (he’s running low on milk).
He chooses to ignore the plain, simple fact that he’d go anywhere with her, for her, do anything she’d ask of him.
And Keefe sits across from her now, inhaling the typical library smell of old pages and dusty books on even dustier shelves as Sophie works at her laptop, probably tweaking her photos for the project accordingly, making the adjustments needed.
So mysterious.
She looks so absorbed it’s honestly kind of adorable. It’s adorable the way her eyes narrow and focus on one spot like a camera’s lens, as if she’s picking apart every pixel and detail and making changes in her mind before actually acting on them — Sophie is a very good photographer, after all, and Keefe figures no one does it better than her.
“I liked kissing you,” Keefe says, breaking the comfortable silence they’ve both settled into, and he’s careful to keep his voice hushed even though they’re sitting at a table in a far-away corner of the library and there’s only a few people around other than them to occupy the vast space. “You’re a great kisser.”
Sophie lifts her head slowly. She looks startled, but pleased and sheepish all at the same time. “Are you really doing this right now?”
“Doing what right now?”
Sophie rolls her eyes at his growing smirk. “You’re a great kisser too, Keefe.”
Keefe grins in triumph. “Well, thank you, Miss Foster,” he says proudly, then points to her laptop. “Are you almost done with whatever you’re doing? I’m getting kinda bored over here.”
“Patience,” Sophie mutters, the concentration in her eyes returning as her gaze flicks back down to her screen, “and yes, I’m almost done.”
“You owe me lots of kisses for this snooze fest,” Keefe teases. “Since we’re dating now and all that.”
Sophie nods, once, still looking down and staying silent. But he doesn’t miss the slight smile that spreads across her lips, and when he decides to be even bolder and reach for her hand from across the table, she doesn’t hesitate to take it.
“I can’t believe it,” Sophie says. The library doors swing shut behind them, the creaking sound hardly audible over the storm currently pelting the streets with a downpour of unexpected rain. The dark, unyielding clouds above seem to taunt them with the threat of even more deluge to come, and the thunder that rumbles distantly definitely does not help their morale.
“Me neither,” Keefe says, his jaw actually falling slack a little in shock. “It’s raining a lot this month, isn’t it?”
Sophie turns to him, worry creasing her brows together. “How are we gonna get back, Keefe?”
Keefe zips his jacket up to his chin. He takes her hand confidently and twines their fingers together, clinging onto the warmth her skin spreads to his. “We can… run?” he suggests.
“No way,” Sophie shakes her head adamantly. “I’m not doing that.”
“I don’t suppose you have an umbrella in that bag of yours?” Keefe asks, raising his voice so he can be heard over the roll of rain. He glances up at the entrance overhanging that’s sheltering them and squeezes her hand a little tighter for reassurance.
Sophie sighs. “Should we go back inside until it lets up?”
Keefe sniffles. “I think running for our lives the entire way back would be a lot more fun, but I also don’t want to get sick, so yeah, let’s wait.”
And they do. They wait nearly an hour at their table in the corner (Keefe spends most of the time complimenting Sophie’s photos and pestering her about them while she shoulders him away playfully and warns him not to be too loud) until the rain resorts to a more bearable light drizzle. The walk back to the shop is wet, but not miserable, drenching their sneakers and the bottom of their jeans as Keefe kicks up water from the puddles on the sidewalk, splashing Sophie in the process and earning him breathless giggles and even more kicked-up droplets of water on his clothes in return.
“Will you let me choose where we go next time?” Keefe asks when they finally reach the coffee shop’s parking lot. He digs his keys out of his pocket but doesn’t move away to his car quite yet — for some reason it seems too early to leave her, and from the way Sophie’s looking at him, a distant part of him hopes that she’ll invite him back to her place and let him stay over again.
“As long as it's not anywhere expensive, then yes,” Sophie shrugs. “I’m fine with whatever you want.”
“I’ll take you up on that,” Keefe smirks. “And don’t think I forgot about the kisses you owe me, either.”
Sophie raises a brow. “I didn’t forget,” she says, and then she’s leaning forward and pecking his cheek gently, delicately, her lips bringing a new color of warmth to his cold skin. “There. Happy?”
“Extremely,” Keefe laughs softly, reaching out to brush aside a strand of her golden hair.
Smitten. He’s absolutely smitten for her.
True to her word, Sophie lets him pick out their next date spot. He chooses a café near her apartment, and asks her out to lunch over the phone. It was the first idea that had come to mind.
“This coffee is terrible,” Keefe grumbles. He sets his cup down on the table and glares at it. “No amount of sugar can fix that. ”
Sophie hides a laugh with a cough and kicks his leg gently from underneath the table. “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”
Keefe shrugs. “No, it is. How’s your hot chocolate?”
“Fine,” Sophie replies. She takes a bite from her crossiant and swallows before speaking again. “Not as good as the ones you make, though.”
“Correct answer,” Keefe smirks proudly and brushes sandwich crumbs off his shirt. “You flatter me, Foster.”
Sophie leans back in her chair, smiling. It reaches her eyes. She’s wearing the same sweater she wore the day they met. “Why do you always call me by my last name?”
“It’s a cute name,” Keefe shrugs. It’s reason enough, to him.
“I think you just like saying it.”
“Got me there, Foster.”
The next time they’re together, it’s at Keefe’s place. He’s invited her over because missing Sophie is possibly the hardest thing in the world, and when she asks if she can spend the night, sounding as sleepy as usual and a little shy, he says yes. He would always say yes.
“I like that,” Sophie says, her body snug and relaxed, falling and rising gently with every breath, against his. She points to the ceramic figure of a fox on his desk. “Where’d you get it?”
“Birthday gift,” Keefe answers, “Fitz gave it to me. It’s pretty adorable, huh?”
Sophie turns to face him. The covers around them shift with her movement, and her eyes go soft, they go half-lidded in the way they always do when she looks at him. Keefe’s never wanted to kiss her more.
“Yeah,” Sophie says, then, “your bed smells like you.”
“Oh, I wonder why.”
Sophie laughs. Her shoulders shake with it. “It’s a good smell, don’t worry. I like it.”
“You seem to like a lot of things about me,” Keefe teases. He kisses the tip of her nose and she blushes.
“There’s a lot of things to love about you,” Sophie mumbles quietly. She tugs out an eyelash, and Keefe wonders how long it’s been since he last saw her do that before kissing the center of her forehead. She shudders.
“So you love me, is what you’re saying.”
“I guess I am.”
“Aww, I love you too, Foster,” Keefe grins. Then, gentler, more sincere, “I don’t think I’ve told you that yet.”
“No, you haven’t,” Sophie hums. Keefe thinks of rain and the press of her lips against his and how loving Sophie is, quite possibly, the easiest thing in the world as she runs her fingers through his freshly washed hair, holding his head in her hands tenderly, and so very carefully.
“Don’t you have work?” Sophie asks. She’s sitting on top of the kitchen counter, his kitchen counter, and the bags under her eyes are pretty much gone, Keefe notices. She seems awake, bubbly, even. Her gaze flickers to the bag of pancake mix in his hands.
Keefe shakes his head. “I’ll stay home today.”
Sophie swings her feet thoughtfully. Her eyes glint in the sun’s glow. “Not feeling well?”
“Just wanted to spend time with you,” he admits.
Sophie laughs, and Keefe loves.
Loving Sophie is the easiest thing in the world because she makes it so. She smiles at Keefe’s jokes and listens when he talks and shares almost everything with him. He collects things he knows about her like photographs — her favorite flowers are lilies (Keefe wishes he found that out a little earlier), the eyelash tugging is a nervous habit (it took him a while to ask that question), and she really likes hot chocolate (he figured).
“My project is due tomorrow,” Sophie says to him one morning, after she’s placed her order for her usual and the rest of the rush hour crowd has slowly trickled out the door, “I only need one more picture.”
“Oh?” Keefe asks, his head perking up curiously. He scribbles a quick Foster on a cup with his Sharpie that’s nearly out of ink. “What’s the prompt?”
She fidgets with her camera in the way she always does. No bag today, just the camera. “It’s a secret,” she says wryly, “but I need to take a picture of you for it.”
“Okay,” Keefe blinks, surprised. “Okay, I’ll bite. What should I do?”
“Just hold still,” Sophie mutters, softly. She raises the camera to her face with those pale, delicate fingers and before Keefe knows it, his photo is being taken with a click and a shutter. She studies the picture pensively, and nods after a few moments. “This is a good one.”
“Alright,” Keefe says, crossing his arms over his chest and grinning, “now you have to tell me what the prompt is.”
Sophie looks up. She licks her lips and smiles. “My favorite person,” she tells him.
(She shows it to him later on. He’s smirking wide and his hair is in his eyes and he looks like he’s about to sneeze and there’s a sort of dark tint to the photo that makes it look kind of blurry in the background, but Keefe adores it anyway because he adores her.)