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Clary Fray wasn’t exactly an observant person.
Oh, she had an eye for colours and designs and patterns, finding beautiful things in the wild, even picking the perfect shade for her mother’s birthday cakes. But she also tended to cross the road on a red light, skipped questions on her quizzes, and could never tell Simon what he’d been wearing the day before.
Her mother called her detail-oriented, soothing Clary’s ego by telling her she was too busy focusing on the artistic aspects of life to give attention to anything else. Simon called her oblivious and tugged at her hair whenever Clary forgot his latest coffee order.
And really, that was where it all started: one day in early December, with a coffee in Simon’s hand and peppermint tea in Clary’s.
“Clare-bear, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Simon groaned as he sipped on his drink. “Gingerbread?”
“Yes?” Clary frowned, sniffing the drink Simon waved in front of her nose. “Oat milk gingerbread latte with a pump of vanilla. It smells great if you can ignore the coffee.”
“Yeah, lovely,” Simon rolled his eyes. “Except you know I hate gingerbread in my drinks. It’s the worst combination of spices known to man when you combine it with coffee. I like their eggnog flavouring.”
Vaguely, Clary remembered this. It had been a year since she’d had to order Simon’s holiday drink, but his rant about spices felt familiar in a way she knew should have prevented her from ordering the drink in the first place.
But Clary didn’t drink coffee, certainly didn’t drink holiday flavours, and generally tried to leave the drink-ordering to her best friend for this exact reason.
Thankfully, Simon was well aware of her flaws and only grumbled as they trudged into school. He held the drink at an arm’s length, scrunching his nose up in disgust every time Clary looked his way. She rolled her eyes at him but didn’t comment on his huffiness, knowing it would only come to bite her in the ass with a quip about her inability to memorise ‘simple’ things.
To appease him, they stopped by his locker first.
Not that Clary was complaining because, standing just two lockers down from his, bundled in a puffy white coat and wearing the most adorable pair of earmuffs, was Isabelle Lightwood.
Clary had never been particularly romantic. She liked portraying relationships in her art, loved sharing her creations with the people she cared about, and had spent most of her middle school years holding hands with Simon on the way to school. Beyond that, however, she hadn’t cared much for the idea of dating someone. She’d never even kissed anyone until Simon had kindly offered to lift that particular weight of her shoulders.
But that had all been before Isabelle had joined their school in the middle of their junior year, taking the science department by storm with her potential for innovation, her desire to learn, and her natural gift for chemistry. Her name had been on everyone’s lips when she’d won their state’s maths competition in June, and Clary had been mesmerised.
She’d met her brother first, Jace shining brighter and garnering more attention from their peers – especially Simon, who had hit it off with the school’s golden boy surprisingly fast. But Clary hadn’t thought much of Jace, appreciating his friendship about as much as she did anyone else’s, and she’d absent-mindedly dismissed his elusive sister in the same breath.
How foolish she’d been back then.
“Morning Si, morning Clary,” Isabelle smiled at them, the corners of her lips barely twitching. “Cutting it close today?”
“Morning Iz,” Simon grinned, walking over and pulling her into a quick hug. “The person in charge of drinks today decided to pick the busiest coffee shop in all of New York City, and then proceeded to get my order wrong anyway.”
“Ah, so you’re late and grumpy,” Isabelle chuckled, ignoring Simon’s put-upon look. “You gonna be alright to make it through Mr. Fell’s class?”
“Fuck off,” Simon grumbled. “Clary should attend in my stead as an apology for messing with my coffee.”
“You’re being dramatic,” Clary sighed. “And if you’re not going to drink that, at least give it to someone who’ll appreciate it.”
“What, because you’re going to drink this gingerbread monstrosity? Miss anti-caffeine?” Simon asked, rolling his eyes as he waved the drink in question in front of her face. “You might as well have thrown it away as soon as–”
“Did you say gingerbread?”
Simon and Clary’s heads turned in unison, both of their gazes falling upon Isabelle, whose entire demeanour had lit up. Her hands were closed in fists at her side, as though she was physically restraining herself from snatching the cup out of Simon’s grip.
“No way,” Simon said, his nose wrinkling. “You like this aberration? You would willingly take a sip out of what must be the devil’s attempt at ruining Christmas for everyone?”
“It’s Jace and I’s favourite,” Isabelle shrugged, her voice soft. “We used to get it all the time when… Well, before. But we haven’t found a shop that sells this particular flavour near our new place. It’s been one of his biggest complaints with the holiday season getting closer.”
“You’re in luck then, because Java Jones has just about everything,” Clary grinned.
“Even more luck today, since there’s no way I’m drinking this,” Simon sighed, handing over his coffee to Isabelle. “Now, we’ve got to get going, and I need you to convince me that drinking this doesn’t make you a psychopath. I appreciate our friendship, Iz, but there are some things I simply can’t accept.”
They walked off then, leaving Clary to get ready for her AP Art class, and that was the end of that.
And really, it should have been the end.
When Isabelle showed up to school the next day with no coffee in tow, Clary assumed she simply didn’t like to stop by the shop before classes. She wasn’t sure where the other girl lived, exactly, but they couldn’t all be lucky enough to have Java Jones practically on their doorstep.
When Simon asked Isabelle about it a week later, she shrugged and told them she hadn’t even thought about it since their last conversation.
Clary wouldn’t have even questioned the entire situation if it wasn’t for one golden boy with his obnoxious presence and his innate ability to be the center of the world even when he wasn’t there to witness it.
“I just think he’s objectively hot.”
It was Maia – of course – who brought him up.
“Of course he’s hot,” Simon huffed, earning himself a sharp glance from his boyfriend. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, we all know it.”
“He’s objectively uninteresting,” Raphael drawled. “Blond boy whose main hobby is sports? How utterly boring.”
“Jealousy is such a cute look on you,” Maia teased, cackling when Raphael tried – and failed – to toss an apple her way. “C’mon Raphy, we all know Simon’s obsessed with you. Besides, even I wouldn’t go for Jace like that. He’s a great friend, but I’ve heard loyalty isn’t exactly in his vocabulary.”
“Runs in the family, doesn’t it?” Raphael scoffed, though he immediately grimaced at his callous comment. “Sorry.”
The Lightwood siblings didn’t talk about the reason for their sudden move, but Jace had once confided in Simon that after their parents’ messy divorce, he and his siblings had been pushed to the side and neglected until CPS had gotten involved. Their eldest brother, Alec, had barely been an adult himself when he’d won custody of them and moved them all to Brooklyn.
“Low blow, Raphael,” Clary frowned.
“I said I was sorry,” Raphael grumbled. “I just– Ugh, it doesn’t matter.”
“Clearly it does,” Simon said, clearly holding back a sigh. “Let’s head out to your locker and have a chat, huh? Leave the girls to their gossiping.”
“How considerate of you,” Maia said, blowing Simon a kiss as he stood and dragged Raphael away from their lunch table, linking their hands together as they went. “What an absolute idiot. As if Simon would ever even consider cheating on him.”
“Boys are dumb,” Clary pointed out, shaking her head in amusement as the pair vanished from sight. “Now, what were you saying about Jace?”
“Nothing that matters,” Maia waved her hand dismissively. “I just ran into him this morning near Java Jones and remembered that laying eyes on him is a great way to start the day.”
“Oh, really?” Clary asked. “I saw Isabelle this morning and I don’t think she had any coffee with her.”
“Now that’s an obsession I’d love to hear more about,” Maia smirked. “But I could have sworn Isabelle was there too. Not that she would have talked to me either way; she’s still pissed about the time Ms. Loss paired us together for a project.”
“I think she was more pissed about your lack of punctuality,” Clary muttered. “You could have at least– Hey!”
She winced as Maia’s elbow dug into her ribs.
“You’re supposed to take my side. I’m younger than her and also not nearly as smart. I should be given a bit of leeway when it comes to these things.”
“I don’t think age really affects one’s ability to be on time,” Clary said, sticking her tongue out at her friend. “Besides, you’d do well to get over your habit of being late before senior year. Ms. Loss won’t be as lenient then. As for Isabelle, this could have been a great opportunity for the two of you to make up.”
“Why would I care what Isabelle Lightwood thinks of me?”
“Because it would be easier for me to–”
“To…?” Maia repeated, elongating her sounds and grinning when Clary’s cheeks heated up. “How adorable. But believe me, I don’t think you need Isabelle and I to get along in order for the two of you to hit it off. She seemed more than happy to ignore me at your art exhibition last month.”
“Well, that’s because she was there to appreciate everyone’s art. If she’d been there specifically for me, the two of you would have had to at least pretend to like each other.”
“Good thing I’m an expert actress, then,” Maia smirked. “Seriously though, don’t worry about me. You’ve got my blessing to go after Isabelle even if I think she shouldn’t have been such a bi– so stuck-up about the project.”
“How kind of you,” Clary rolled her eyes, then paused as she thought about her morning again. “But you’re sure it was Jace you ran into? I swear she wasn’t holding anything when we saw her at the lockers.”
“Definitely him,” Maia nodded. “Boy’s too obnoxious to be mistaken for anyone else.”
She was right, of course, but it didn’t explain why Isabelle wouldn’t have treated herself to a coffee as well.
It didn’t matter, not in the grand scheme of things, and it wasn’t like Clary was responsible for Isabelle’s morning routine or decisions when it came to getting herself coffee, and yet something about it didn’t sit right with her.
She’d seen the glimmer in Isabelle’s eyes when she’d heard about Simon’s gingerbread coffee, and she’d be damned if she didn’t get to see it again before the end of the holiday season.
It turned out, when one had a ridiculous crush on someone else, it was suddenly second-nature to be the world’s most observant person.
A week and a half into December, Clary had noticed two things: one, that Jace Lightwood showed up to school every day with a damned grin on his face and a hot gingerbread latte in his hand. Two, that Isabelle seemed more tired by the day, and that she never carried even a whiff of leftover gingerbread scent on her.
Obviously, Clary’s first instinct was to blame Jace.
“He’s clearly going to Java Jones without her,” she whispered to Simon one morning during their shared World History class. “They have a little brother, don’t they? Maybe Isabelle has to take him to school and Jace is enjoying the extra time to stop by the coffee shop and get himself a drink.”
“Counterargument,” Simon murmured back. “Jace adores Isabelle. If he did stop by Java Jones every morning without her, he’d be buying something for her and hand-delivering it.”
“Counter-counterargument,” Clary hissed. “He’s a boy and never considered that Isabelle might appreciate a drink.”
“Counter-coun– Oh, you get the gist,” Simon huffed. “You’re a girl and can’t remember my coffee order. Maybe Jace’s gender has nothing to do with this situation. Seriously Clary, I know you’re not his biggest fan, but he’s a good friend and an even better brother.”
“Fine,” Clary pouted. “But if he’s not going behind her back to get his drink, why doesn’t she have a matching one?”
“I don’t know,” Simon shrugged. “We could always ask her.”
“No! Then she’ll know I’m watching her. It’s creepy,” Clary whisper-yelled, conscious that Ms. Grey wouldn’t hesitate to call them out on their chatting if she caught them slacking off again .
“Then we’ll ask Jace,” Simon suggested with a sigh.
“Absolutely not,” Clary scoffed. “Then he’ll tell Isabelle and she’ll know I’m watching her and think I’m creepy.”
“Maybe it would help if you didn’t think you were creepy?” Simon pointed out. “I mean, you have a crush on her. Maybe she’ll find it flattering. Actually, knowing her, she definitely will. She obviously likes you already, so this could be a great way for the two of you to connect a little further, if you know what I mean.”
“I know that you’re being purposefully unhelpful right now,” Clary said exasperatedly. “We’ll just talk to Lydia. She might know what’s going on.”
“ You can talk to Lydia,” Simon corrected, his eyes wide. “I’m going to stay far, far away from her. Students in positions of power terrify me.”
“Jace is literally captain of the football team.”
“Jace is also one of the most oblivious people I’ve ever met,” Simon snorted. “He doesn’t count. Our class president, though? No way. You’re on your own. I’ll support you from very, very far away. And when you change your mind and realise you do not want to be going to Lydia fucking Branwell for advice, I’ll be waiting with Jace so we can ask him what’s going on.”
Which was how Clary found herself waiting in front of Lydia’s locker alone, wondering why she’d ever thought this would be a good idea.
She tightened her grip on her English Lit textbook as Lydia turned the corner and finally came into view. She looked as put-together as she always did, not a hair out of place, her outfit colour-coordinated to match the bow tied around her ponytail. Once upon a time, Clary had had a crush on their class president, back when she was just the new girl in their middle school.
Maybe she just had a thing for new girls with piercing eyes and enough confidence to knock her out.
“Clary,” Lydia greeted her with a raised eyebrow and a small smile. “I haven’t seen you outside of Lit in a while. Did you forget something for Mr. Herondale’s class? You know he won’t mind if you don’t have your book.”
“Nope,” Clary laughed awkwardly, patting the bag hanging from her shoulder and limply waving her textbook. “I’ve got everything right here.”
“Oh,” Lydia’s brows drew closer together. “Well, good. You realise there’s paint on that textbook, don’t you?”
“Yep,” she said, popping the last letter. “Part of the charm. It’s like you said; Mr. Herondale doesn’t mind anyway.”
Lydia nodded, shuffling past Clary to reach her locker and shooting her a confused look when Clary stayed in place. She shifted from foot to foot uneasily, biting down on her lip as she wondered if there was an easy way to broach the topic of Isabelle.
“Okay,” Lydia said, slamming her locker and meeting Clary’s gaze head-on. “You’re making me nervous. The last time you accosted me this nervously, you asked me out to our 8th-grade prom and then immediately ran away from me. Prom isn’t for another six months, so what’s this about?”
“I didn’t run,” Clary protested, though her cheeks coloured at the reminder of her – very unsuccessful – attempt at asking Lydia out. “And I’m not going to ask you to prom. It’s just– I wanted to talk to you about Isabelle.”
The change was instant. Understanding dawned on Lydia’s face, her eyes sparkling with amusement and the corners of her mouth twitching.
“What?” Clary asked, the turnabout even more anxiety-inducing than Lydia’s initial confusion.
“Oh, nothing,” Lydia chuckled. “What did you want to talk about?”
“It’s nothing, really,” Clary exhaled. “But I recently had a conversation with Isabelle about coffee? Apparently, she loves gingerbread lattes, but she wasn’t able to find a coffee shop that sells it near her. I told her about Java Jones, of course, and now Jace has been getting drinks from there but I haven’t seen Isabelle with a drink even once, and it’s– Well, it’s weird, isn’t it? She supposedly loves this very specific seasonal coffee but she hasn’t gotten it a single time since I mentioned it? And her brother is getting one pretty much on the daily?”
She paused, taking a deep breath, and watched as Lydia blinked bemusedly.
“I thought maybe you’d know something about it,” she continued, slowing down. “Since you’re her best friend and everything.”
“Ah, right,” Lydia said, her face colouring slightly. “I can’t say she’s mentioned anything about coffee, though I’m surprised she’s not getting some more regularly. Work’s been exhausting, especially with all our homework to handle on top of it. If anyone deserves a good cup of coffee in the morning, it’s her.”
“Yeah,” Clary breathed out.
Isabelle had told her once that if there was one thing she missed about her old life, it was the amount of free time she’d had to just live.
It had been one of their only private conversations, the two of them tucked away in Simon’s bedroom while the rest of their friends enjoyed the party downstairs. Isabelle had had a few drinks, but Clary had been decidedly sober and very aware of the way Isabelle’s hair had felt against her shoulder, tickling her neck.
When Clary had asked Isabelle if she’d been upset when they’d moved to Brooklyn, Isabelle had shrugged.
“We’re happier here,” she’d whispered. “But I do miss being able to just… be a teenager. It’s harder now.”
She’d quickly moved onto lighter topics, gossip about the diner she worked at and the friends she’d made along the way. She’d asked Clary about the art gallery she volunteered at as well, and they’d talked until their voices were hoarse.
Clary had fallen in love with her just a little bit that night.
“You should ask Jace,” Lydia added when Clary stayed silent. “He might know what’s going on.”
“Ugh,” Clary wrinkled her nose. “But he’s so… Jace.”
“He likes you, though,” Lydia laughed. “He won’t pull his usual masculine crap with you. Especially not if you want to talk about Isabelle. You know how they are with each other.”
“I usually let Simon deal with him,” Clary sighed. “I know he says he doesn’t care that I rejected him, but I still feel weird about the whole thing.”
“He’s a teenage boy, Clary, I promise he’s gotten over it,” Lydia snorted. “Besides, you’ll have to learn how to be around him more regularly if you’re that interested in Isabelle.”
“I don’t–”
But she cut herself off, because she knew Lydia would sniff her lie out from miles away.
“You’re concerned about her damned coffee order, Clary,” Lydia pointed out, her eyes twinkling with mirth. “I’d say that’s more than a little interested. And for the record, I support this fully. Isabelle deserves the best, and I reckon you’re as close to that as we’re going to get around here.”
And although Clary hadn’t had a crush on Lydia in years, she couldn’t help the warmth that flowed through her at the blatant compliment. If even Isabelle’s best friend thought there was something there, perhaps her crush wasn’t quite as hopeless as she’d once believed.
“Fray-fray, fancy seeing you here.”
“Don’t call me that,” Clary said, smacking the back of Jace’s head with her bag and ignoring his protests. “How are you liking your drink?”
“Best drink out there,” Jace sighed happily. “I could have it every day for breakfast, lunch and dinner and still not be sick of it.”
“Right,” Clary rolled her eyes. “A favourite of yours?”
“You know it,” Jace grinned. “A family hit, actually. Izzy and Max go crazy for it as well, though we all like to pretend as though Max has never had caffeine before. Just for the sake of Alec’s sanity. Do you like it too?”
“I can’t stand coffee. But I know Isabelle is quite fond of it, and I’ve noticed she hasn’t been coming in with a matching cup.”
“Of course you noticed Isabelle is quite fond of it,” Jace snickered. “Tell me, have you finally told my darling sister that you’d like to kiss her? Or are you still making eyes at her from across the room without acknowledging that the reason you turned me down was because you were madly in love with another Lightwood.”
“I’m not madly in love with– Oh, never mind that. I noticed it because she’s my friend,” Clary mumbled. “And you didn’t answer my question.”
“Iz gets her coffee on the way to work,” Jace shrugged. “Two cups a day would be a bit much for her.”
“On the way to work?” Clary frowned. “Java Jones is in the opposite direction, though.”
“Huh,” Jace said, his lips parting. “Hadn’t even thought about that. But it’s what she told me when I asked her about it the other day. Swears she couldn’t stomach two cups of it without it making her sick.”
“Oh-kay,” Clary said slowly. “So either she’s taking the longest detour to work, or she’s lying to you.”
“If those are the options, then she’s definitely lying to me,” Jace snorted. “There’s no way she’s making her trip to the diner any longer than they have to be.”
“Right,” Clary nodded. “Well, thanks for this enlightening conversation. Have the day you deserve, Jacey boy.”
“Bye, brat!” He called after her.
Clary shook her head as she walked, leaving Jace behind and turning her thoughts to Isabelle instead.
It was such an innocuous lie.
If she hadn’t seen Isabelle sip on the drink with delight, Clary would have assumed she’d simply grown out of her liking for gingerbread lattes. If she didn’t have work in the afternoon, she’d have accepted the excuse she’d given to Jace without batting an eyelash. And if Jace hadn’t started going to Java Jones in the morning, she would have come to the conclusion that the Lightwood siblings lived too far away from the coffee shop to partake in its deliciousness.
But none of those things rang true, and damn it, Clary just wanted to see that smile on Isabelle’s face again. If all it took to make it happen was a gingerbread latte, why wasn’t she treating herself to one every morning?
The thought stayed tucked at the back of her mind all day, and then all night as she worked on her art project. By the time she put down her paintbrush, her canvas was covered in paint the exact colour of Isabelle’s eyes, and Clary reckoned she’d have to start all over again the next day.
She stepped out of her and her mother’s apartment with renewed determination that morning. Five minutes later, she was walking out of Java Jones with three drinks in hand and as much confidence as she could muster.
The smell of gingerbread mixing with eggnog and peppermint followed her all the way to school. By the time she reached Simon and Isabelle’s lockers, she’d chewed up her bottom lip until it was almost painful.
And of course, because the universe either hated or loved her, Isabelle arrived before Simon.
“Clary!” The other girl exclaimed, her face lighting up. And there it was, that smile that made Clary feel like she could do anything. Clary grinned right back, extending the latte in Isabelle’s direction.
Who knew caffeine could bring so much delight to a person?
“You brought me coffee!”
“I did,” Clary smiled softly. “Thought you might appreciate a little pick-me-up.”
“Oh,” Isabelle murmured, looking down. “Thanks Clary. You didn’t have to.”
“But I wanted to,” she said. “It made you happy.”
Isabelle didn’t look back up, but Clary could have sworn she was blushing.
And really, what was she meant to do with that? Not buy her another coffee?
It became a daily ritual.
Jace would still show up with his own cup of coffee, but Isabelle’s would be waiting for her by her locker, safely tucked next to Simon’s eggnog monstrosity and Clary’s piping-hot tea.
The second she laid eyes on the latte, Isabelle’s face would turn radiant, and Clary would tell herself it was worth the few extra dollars she was spending at Java Jones.
It didn’t hurt that the coffee gave her a reason to talk to Isabelle more than she ever had before.
Whenever Isabelle showed up before Simon, the two of them would stay by her locker, talking about their classes and life outside of school and the many things Isabelle’s siblings would do to get on her nerves. Clary would even occasionally show Isabelle some of the drawings she was working on, and then try not to melt with nervousness while the other girl ooh-ed and aah-ed over her pieces.
As the Christmas holidays got closer, Clary forgot all about her initial confusion about Isabelle’s coffee routine. It was just nice to have something to share with Isabelle, and even nicer to be able to make her smile so easily. If anything, she was more worried about the end of the holiday season and the return to a world in which the gingerbread latte didn’t exist.
So, when she walked into Java Jones one morning and ran straight into Isabelle, she had to rub at her eyes to convince herself she wasn’t dreaming.
“Clary,” Isabelle beamed, her eyes just as joyful as they always were. “I was hoping I’d get here before you!”
“Isabelle,” she said in return, wishing she’d paid more attention to her hair when she’d left the apartment. She probably looked a mess. “No Jace?”
“He’s already gone ahead with his order,” Isabelle answered. “I’m waiting for our drinks, though. Simon’s eggnog thing takes a surprising amount of time to prepare, you know?”
“Oh, I know,” Clary groaned. “Wait, did you say our drinks? Isabelle–”
“I was confused at first, you know?” Isabelle interrupted her, accepting their drinks from the barista as they were extended towards her and gently guiding Clary out of the shop. “You started bringing me a drink out of nowhere, and I didn’t know what to make of it. I mean, I had hoped maybe… Well, I thought maybe you wanted to spend more time with me. But when I brought it up to Lydia, she had the strangest reaction. She was awfully smug and secretive about the whole thing, but she did eventually mention that you’d asked her about my lack of coffee in the morning.”
“It was weird!” Clary exclaimed, feeling like she had to interrupt before Isabelle could call her a creep. “I swear I wasn’t trying to spy on you or anything, I just… notice you more than I notice other people. And you’d mentioned you loved the drink, so it didn’t make sense to me that you wouldn’t want to buy it more often. You were so happy when we got you that first one, I thought I could make you smile that brightly again if I just… gave you more.”
“It’s probably the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me,” Isabelle said quietly, pulling them to a stop as they neared school. Clary paused in front of her, feeling a little dizzy at their proximity. “I didn’t want to worry Jace, but I’ve been trying to save up for Alec’s Christmas gift. He’s always complaining that he and his boyfriend don’t have enough privacy in our apartment, so I wanted to get him a weekend getaway as a gift. But turns out getaways are ridiculously expensive. I’ve been saving since October and I’ve only just hit my goal.”
“That’s–”
“Embarrassing?”
“Really nice of you, doofus,” Clary shook her head in disbelief. “He’s going to be over the moon. And you should have told Jace! He would have probably helped you to save up for it. Or at least paid for your coffees in the morning.”
“Ah, but he’s been seeing this guy lately, and I didn’t want him to feel any pressure to stop going on dates because of me,” Isabelle shrugged. “Besides, it all worked out in the end. I even got my gingerbread lattes thanks to the most amazing girl I’ve ever met.”
“I don’t know if I’m–”
But Isabelle cut her off with the gentle press of her lips against Clary’s cheek, rendering her speechless.
“You absolutely are,” Isabelle said sheepishly when she pulled away. “And for the record, I wasn’t smiling at the coffee. I was smiling at you .”
“Oh,” Clary blushed, then cleared her throat and forced herself to regain some composure. “So you’ll still smile at me like that if I stop bringing you coffee?”
“Woah, slow down!” Isabelle laughed. “Maybe we could alternate? The gingerbread lattes will still be here for at least another month, you know?”
“Hmm, I’ll have to think about it,” Clary said, tapping at her lip thoughtfully and bursting into giggles when Isabelle used her free hand to nudge her ribs. “I suppose we could work out some sort of arrangement. I’ll gladly accept payment in kisses, if that’s on the table.”
“I suppose we could work something out,” Isabelle said, mirroring her words.
And later that day, they did.
To Clary’s absolute lack of surprise, Isabelle tasted like gingerbread.