The Catch

Chapter 2: The Coffee Shop Apology

The rain had started sometime around three in the morning, a soft, persistent drumming against the library's massive windows that had followed Miri all the way back to her dorm. It was still falling now, twelve hours later, a gray curtain that turned the campus into a watercolor painting of blurred edges and muted colors.

Miri had chosen the coffee shop on purpose. It was tucked away on a side street off campus, a narrow little place with mismatched armchairs and a permanent smell of caramel and old books. The kind of place where nobody looked at you twice. Where you could disappear into a corner booth with a textbook and a latte and pretend the rest of the world didn't exist.

She had been there for two hours. Her medieval history textbook lay open in front of her, the pages dense with footnotes about the War of the Roses, but her eyes kept drifting to the same paragraph without absorbing a single word.

She couldn't stop thinking about it.

The party. The fall. The way his arm had felt around her waist, solid and warm and impossibly strong. The way he'd said her name. Miri. Like it meant something. Like she meant something.

It was ridiculous. She knew it was ridiculous. She had spent the entire walk home replaying the moment in her head, dissecting every word, every glance, every micro-expression. By the time she'd crawled into bed, she had convinced herself it was nothing. A reflex. He'd caught her because she was falling, and he was standing there. Simple physics. Any decent person would have done the same.

And then the blonde had appeared, and he'd vanished, and that was that. A blip. A momentary glitch in the fabric of her ordinary, invisible life.

She had almost convinced herself to forget about it.

Almost.

The bell above the door jingled, a bright, cheerful sound that cut through the soft hum of the espresso machine and the quiet murmur of other customers. Miri didn't look up. She kept her eyes fixed on her textbook, her fingers wrapped around her mug, the ceramic warm against her palms. The rain tapped against the window beside her, a steady, soothing rhythm.

Footsteps approached. Heavy. Confident.

She still didn't look up.

Then a shadow fell across her table, blocking the dim light from the overhead fixture, and a familiar voice said, "Fancy meeting you here."

Miri's head snapped up.

Leo Castellano stood at the edge of her booth, his dark hair damp and curling at the ends, rain droplets clinging to the shoulders of his jacket. He was wearing a simple gray hoodie and jeans, no trace of the party swagger from the night before. He looked almost normal. Approachable. Like someone who existed in the same world as her.

Her glasses fogged instantly. Of course they did.

"You—" She blinked, her brain stuttering. "You're—"

"Wet?" He grinned, that same devastating grin from the party, and gestured at his jacket. "Yeah. It's raining. You might have noticed."

She had noticed. She'd been staring at it for hours. But she couldn't seem to form a coherent sentence. Her mouth opened and closed, a fish gasping for air.

Leo didn't wait for an invitation. He slid into the booth across from her, his long legs brushing against hers under the table. He was so big. The booth seemed to shrink around him, the walls pressing in, the space between them suddenly charged with something electric and terrifying. His knee knocked against hers, and she flinched, pulling her legs back, her face burning.

"Sorry," he said, but he didn't look sorry. He looked amused. "Long legs. Occupational hazard."

"What are you—" Miri started, then stopped, then tried again. "How did you find me?"

The question came out more accusatory than she intended. Leo's eyebrows rose, and he leaned back against the cracked vinyl of the booth, folding his arms across his chest. The movement stretched his hoodie across his shoulders, and Miri had to physically force herself to look away.

"I didn't find you," he said. "I was walking by, saw you through the window, and decided to come in. Small campus. You're not that hard to spot."

She was hard to spot. She was four-foot-ten and wearing a sweater the color of oatmeal. She blended into the background like wallpaper.

"You remembered my name," she said, and immediately regretted it. It sounded pathetic. Desperate. Like she couldn't believe anyone would bother to remember her.

But Leo didn't laugh. He just looked at her, his green eyes steady and serious. "Of course I remembered your name. I'm not an asshole."

"Could've fooled me," she muttered under her breath.

He heard her. His grin returned, wider this time, and something warm flickered in his gaze. "Fair. I deserved that."

The espresso machine hissed. Someone near the counter laughed. The rain kept falling, a soft, steady percussion against the glass. Miri's fingers tightened around her mug, her knuckles white. She didn't know what to do with her face. She didn't know what to do with her hands. She didn't know what to do with him.

"I wanted to apologize," Leo said, and his voice was different now. Softer. The teasing edge was gone. "For last night. Bethany—the blonde—she's my ex. We broke up months ago, but she doesn't really... get it. She dragged me away before I could say anything."

Miri stared at him. "You're apologizing to me?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

He hesitated. For the first time since he'd sat down, he looked uncertain. His fingers drummed against the table, a restless, rhythmic tap. "Because I didn't want you to think I just... vanished. That I didn't care."

That I didn't care. The words hung in the air between them, fragile and strange. Miri didn't know what to do with them. She didn't know what to do with any of this. Guys like Leo didn't apologize to girls like her. Guys like Leo didn't even see girls like her.

But he had seen her. He was seeing her right now, his gaze fixed on her face with an intensity that made her skin prickle.

"You don't have to apologize," she said finally, her voice small. "It's not like we're... I mean, we don't even know each other."

"We could change that."

The words were simple. Casual. But the way he said them—low and deliberate, like he was testing the weight of them—made her heart stutter in her chest.

"I—" She stopped. Swallowed. "Why would you want to?"

Leo tilted his head, studying her. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Because I'm..." She gestured vaguely at herself, a helpless flail of her hand. "This. I'm not—I don't—" She couldn't finish the sentence. She didn't know how to explain that she was invisible. That she had spent her entire life on the periphery, watching other people live while she hid in the stacks. That she had never been kissed, never been held, never been chosen.

Leo waited. He didn't fill the silence with platitudes or reassurances. He just watched her, patient and still, like he had all the time in the world.

"I'm not like the girls you usually date," she said finally, and it came out defensive. Bitter. A shield thrown up before the inevitable rejection.

"I know," he said.

She blinked. "You know?"

"Yeah." He shrugged, a small, easy movement. "That's kind of the point."

She didn't understand. She couldn't understand. The logic didn't track. The math didn't add up. Guys like Leo—tall, gorgeous, surrounded by adoring crowds—didn't sit in coffee shops with girls like Miri. They didn't apologize for their ex-girlfriends. They didn't say things like that's kind of the point.

"You're a history major," Leo said, changing the subject so smoothly that it took her a moment to catch up.

"How do you know that?"

"The party. You were muttering something about the Plantagenets under your breath when I caught you."

Her face went scarlet. "I was not."

"You were. It was cute."

"I—" She pressed her lips together, mortified. "The Plantagenets are fascinating."

"I'm sure they are," he said, and there was no mockery in his voice. Just genuine curiosity. "Tell me about them."

Miri stared at him. This had to be a joke. Some kind of elaborate prank. Any second now, a camera crew would jump out from behind the counter, and Bethany would appear, laughing, pointing at her, gotcha.

But the coffee shop was quiet. The rain kept falling. Leo was still there, his elbows on the table, his chin resting on his fist, waiting.

"You actually want to know?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah." He said it like it was obvious. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. "I asked, didn't I?"

So she told him. Hesitantly at first, then with more confidence as the words began to flow. She told him about Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitaine, about the Anarchy and the Battle of Bosworth Field. She told him about the obscure details that made her heart race—the way medieval scribes doodled in the margins of manuscripts, the bizarre medical remedies that involved ground-up mummy dust, the fact that Richard III's body had been found under a parking lot.

Leo listened. He asked questions. He laughed at the right moments and furrowed his brow at the wrong ones, and he never once looked at his phone or glanced at the door or gave any indication that he wanted to be anywhere else.

By the time she ran out of steam, the rain had slowed to a gentle drizzle, and her latte was cold and forgotten.

"You're really passionate about this," Leo said, and it wasn't a question.

"It's the only thing I'm good at," she admitted, then winced. "That sounded pathetic."

"It sounded honest."

"It sounded like I don't have a life."

Leo grinned. "You have a life. It just involves more dead kings than most people's."

She laughed. It surprised her—a real, genuine laugh that bubbled up from somewhere deep in her chest. Leo's grin widened, and something in his expression shifted, softened. He looked at her like she'd just done something remarkable, when all she'd done was laugh.

"So," he said, leaning forward, his voice dropping to something low and conspiratorial. "Can I ask you something?"

"Uh-oh."

"It's not a bad question."

"That's what people say right before they ask a bad question."

"Fair point." He paused, his gaze flickering over her face. "Have you ever been on a date?"

The question hit her like a bucket of cold water. Her laugh died in her throat. She looked down at her mug, at her reflection warped in the cold, milky surface. "That's... that's kind of a personal question."

"I know. You don't have to answer."

She could lie. She could deflect. She could make up some story about a high school boyfriend, a brief fling, something. But Leo was looking at her with those green eyes, patient and steady, and she was so tired of pretending.

"No," she said quietly. "I haven't."

He didn't react the way she expected. There was no pity, no awkwardness, no hasty subject change. His expression just... softened. Became something tender and serious, like he was handling something fragile.

"Would you want to?" he asked.

Her heart stopped. "What?"

"Go on a date. With me. This weekend." He said it like it was simple. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Somewhere quiet. Just the two of us."

Miri's hands were shaking. She set her mug down before she dropped it, the ceramic clinking against the saucer. Her glasses had fogged up again, or maybe that was just the blur of tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. She blinked them back, furious at herself, at her body for betraying her.

"You don't have to do this," she said. "You don't have to be nice to me because you feel sorry for me."

"I don't feel sorry for you."

"You should. I'm a mess."

"So am I." He shrugged. "Everyone's a mess. That's not a dealbreaker."

She looked at him. Really looked at him. At the way his damp hair curled against his forehead. At the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw. At the way he was watching her, his gaze steady and warm, like she was the only thing in the room worth looking at.

"Why me?" she asked, and her voice cracked on the words.

Leo was quiet for a moment. Then he reached across the table and covered her hand with his. His palm was warm and rough, calloused from years of gripping footballs and lifting weights. His fingers curled around hers, gentle and sure.

"Because you're real," he said. "And I'm tired of fake."

The rain had stopped. Outside the window, the clouds were beginning to break, pale sunlight filtering through the gray. But inside the coffee shop, in the warm, dim hush of their corner booth, Miri felt like the world had narrowed to just this. Just him. Just the weight of his hand on hers.

She nodded. A tiny, jerky movement of her chin. "Okay."

Leo's smile was slow and bright, spreading across his face like sunrise. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He squeezed her hand, then let go, leaning back against the booth with a satisfied grin. "Saturday. I'll pick you up at six."

"Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise."

"I hate surprises."

"You'll like this one."

She wanted to argue. She wanted to demand details, to prepare, to plan. But her heart was still racing, her hands still trembling, and Leo was looking at her like she'd just agreed to something monumental.

She had.

The bell above the door jingled again, and a gust of cool, rain-scented air swept through the coffee shop. But Miri barely noticed. She was too busy staring at the boy across from her, the boy who had just asked her on a date, the boy who was still smiling like he'd won something.

Outside, the sun was breaking through the clouds, casting long golden rays across the wet pavement. The rain had stopped. And for the first time in a very long time, Miri felt like something was beginning.

The bell above the coffee shop door jingled as Miri pushed through it, and the cool, wet air hit her face like a splash of cold water. She stood on the sidewalk for a moment, blinking against the pale sunlight that had broken through the clouds. Her legs felt unsteady. Her hands were still trembling.

She started walking.

The campus stretched out before her, a maze of brick pathways and manicured lawns that glistened with rainwater. Puddles had formed in the cracks of the sidewalk, reflecting the sky like scattered pieces of a mirror. Miri stepped around them automatically, her feet carrying her home while her mind remained stuck in that corner booth, replaying every word, every glance, every brush of his fingers against hers.

He asked her out. Leo Castellano asked her out.

She clutched the strap of her bag tighter, pressing it against her chest like a shield. The canvas was damp from the rain, cool against her palms. She could still feel the ghost of his hand on hers, warm and rough and impossibly real.

This wasn't supposed to happen. Not to her. Not to the girl who ate lunch alone in the library, who spent Friday nights translating Old English manuscripts, who had never so much as held a boy's hand in a romantic way. There had to be a mistake. A mix-up. Some cosmic clerical error that would be corrected any moment now, leaving her back in her rightful place: invisible, forgotten, alone.

But the memory of his smile lingered. The way he'd said her name. The way he'd listened, actually listened, when she'd rambled about Eleanor of Aquitaine for twenty minutes straight.

She walked faster.

The shared house came into view, a weathered Victorian with peeling blue paint and a porch that sagged in the middle. Miri fumbled for her keys, her fingers clumsy and numb, and pushed through the front door into the narrow hallway. The house smelled like lavender and old wood and whatever Chloe had been cooking for lunch.

She kicked off her shoes and padded toward the kitchen, her socks sliding against the hardwood floor. The kettle was already on the stove, gleaming silver in the afternoon light. She reached for it automatically, the ritual of making tea a comfort she clung to like a lifeline.

"There you are."

Miri jumped, spinning around. Chloe sat at the kitchen table, a mug in one hand and a magazine in the other, her red hair piled into a messy knot on top of her head. She was wearing oversized sweatpants and a faded band t-shirt, her feet propped up on the chair across from her.

"You're floating," Chloe said, setting down the magazine.

"I'm what?"

"Floating." Chloe gestured at her with the mug. "You've got this look on your face. Like you're not quite touching the ground."

Miri turned back to the stove, her cheeks burning. She busied herself with the tea, pulling a box of chamomile from the cabinet, filling the kettle with water. Her hands were still shaking. She hoped Chloe wouldn't notice.

"I'm fine," she said. "Just tired."

"Uh-huh." Chloe's voice was skeptical. "You've been gone for four hours. You said you were going to the library."

"I was at the library."

"For four hours?"

"I stopped at the coffee shop on the way back."

"The coffee shop." Chloe's chair scraped against the floor as she stood. She crossed the kitchen and leaned against the counter beside Miri, her arms folded. "The one on Elm Street? With the mismatched chairs and the cute barista?"

Miri focused on the kettle. The water was starting to simmer, tiny bubbles forming at the bottom. "I don't know about the barista."

"You're a terrible liar."

"I'm not lying."

"You're blushing."

Miri pressed her cold hands to her cheeks, which were indeed radiating heat. She wanted to disappear. To sink through the floor and never resurface.

Chloe's expression softened. She reached out and touched Miri's elbow, gentle and careful. "Hey. What's going on? You seem... different."

The kettle whistled. Miri poured the water into her mug, watching the steam curl upward, and tried to find the right words. There weren't any right words. There was only the truth, absurd and impossible.

"I saw Leo," she said.

Chloe blinked. "Leo?"

"Leo Castellano."

"The football guy? The one from the party?"

Miri nodded, still not looking at her. She dunked her tea bag with more force than necessary, splashing hot water onto the counter.

"The one who caught you," Chloe said slowly. "When you tripped."

"He remembered my name."

Silence. Miri finally looked up. Chloe was staring at her, her mouth slightly open, her eyes wide.

"He remembered my name," Miri repeated, as if saying it twice would make it more believable. "And he apologized. For leaving so suddenly. And then he—" She stopped. Swallowed. "He asked me out."

The words hung in the air between them, fragile and strange. Chloe's expression flickered through several emotions—surprise, confusion, something that might have been delight—before settling on cautious curiosity.

"He asked you out," she echoed.

"On a date. This weekend."

"On a date."

"Stop repeating everything I say."

Chloe held up her hands. "I'm processing. Give me a second." She pulled out the chair beside Miri and sat down heavily. "Leo Castellano. The guy who's been on the cover of the campus sports magazine twice. The guy who half the girls in our year have been drooling over since freshman orientation."

"I know who he is."

"And he asked you out."

"Yes."

"After one conversation."

"Technically two. We talked at the party, before you pulled me away."

Chloe winced. "Right. That. Sorry about that, by the way. I panicked. You looked like you were about to pass out."

"I was." Miri wrapped her hands around her mug, letting the warmth seep into her fingers. "I still feel like I'm about to pass out."

"Okay." Chloe took a breath. "Okay. So Leo Castellano asked you on a date. And you said..."

"Yes."

"You said yes."

"Yes."

Chloe stared at her for a long moment. Then she grinned, wide and bright, and let out a whoop that made Miri jump. "Oh my God. Oh my God. This is amazing."

"It's terrifying."

"It's amazing. You have a date. With Leo Castellano. This is the best thing that's happened all semester."

Miri shook her head. "It's a mistake. It has to be. He probably felt sorry for me. Or he's doing some kind of charity thing. Or it's a prank."

"A prank?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

Chloe reached across the table and grabbed Miri's wrist, her grip firm. "Stop. Listen to me. That boy looked at you like you were the only person in the room. I saw it. Everyone saw it. He's not playing a prank."

"You don't know that."

"I know guys. And that guy?" She pointed at Miri. "That guy is interested. Genuinely interested."

Miri pulled her hand away, her throat tight. She wanted to believe it. She wanted to believe that Leo saw something in her worth seeing. But the voice in her head—the one that had been there for as long as she could remember—kept whispering. Kept telling her she was nothing. That she was forgettable. That she would always be on the outside, looking in.

"I can't do it," she said suddenly.

Chloe's brow furrowed. "What?"

"The date. I can't. I'll cancel."

"You'll what?"

"I'll tell him I'm busy. That I have things to do on Saturday. He'll understand."

"Things to do." Chloe's voice was flat. "What things?"

Miri's mind raced. "I have... reading. For class. A lot of reading. And I need to reorganize my bookshelf. It's a mess. And there's a documentary on the History channel about the Tudors that I've been meaning to watch."

Chloe stared at her. Then she stood up, her chair scraping against the floor, and grabbed Miri by the shoulders.

"You," she said, "are not canceling this date."

"But—"

"No. No buts." Chloe's eyes were blazing. "You've been hiding in your room for two years. You barely leave the house except for class and the library. You've never once—not once—let yourself have anything good. And now a gorgeous, genuinely nice guy wants to take you out, and you're going to chicken out because you're scared?"

"I'm not—"

"You are. You're terrified. I can see it." Chloe's grip softened. "And I get it. I do. But you deserve this, Miri. You deserve to feel special. To feel wanted. To feel beautiful."

The words hit Miri like a punch to the chest. Beautiful. No one had ever called her that. No one had ever looked at her and seen anything worth wanting.

"You don't have to be afraid," Chloe said quietly. "It's just one date. One night. If it's terrible, you never have to see him again. But if it's not..." She shrugged. "What if it's not?"

Miri didn't have an answer.

Chloe released her shoulders and stepped back. "Go upstairs. Take a shower. Put on your comfiest pajamas. And think about it. Really think about it."

Miri nodded, a jerky, uncertain movement of her chin. She picked up her tea and walked toward the stairs, her legs heavy and slow. Behind her, she heard Chloe start rummaging through the cabinets, humming under her breath.

By the time Miri reached her room, her hands had stopped shaking. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, her eyes scanning the familiar chaos of her space. The wall of bookshelves. The desk buried in papers. The unmade bed with its patchwork quilt and the stuffed dragon she'd had since she was seven.

She set her tea on the nightstand and started peeling off her sweater, which was damp and chilly from the walk home. The fabric clung to her arms, and she struggled with it for a moment before finally pulling it over her head.

"Hey."

Miri spun around. Chloe stood in the doorway, her arms crossed, leaning against the frame.

"I knocked," she said. "You didn't answer."

"I was—" Miri grabbed a clean t-shirt from her dresser and held it against her chest. "I'm changing."

"I noticed." Chloe didn't leave. She just stood there, watching Miri with an odd expression on her face.

"What?"

"Nothing." Chloe gestured at her. "Just... look at yourself."

Miri looked down. At her baggy jeans, damp at the cuffs. At her old bra, faded and plain. At the soft curve of her stomach, the width of her hips, the shape of her body that she had spent years trying not to see.

"I don't—"

"In the mirror," Chloe said. "Look in the mirror."

Miri turned reluctantly toward the full-length mirror on the back of her closet door. She didn't like looking at herself. She never had. But Chloe's voice was firm, and something in her tone made Miri obey.

She saw a small girl. Four-foot-ten, standing in a tangle of discarded clothes, her dark hair escaping from its pencil-held bun. Her glasses were smudged, her cheeks flushed. Her shoulders were narrow, her frame slight.

She saw someone who could disappear in a crowd. Someone who had spent her whole life trying not to take up space.

"You're tiny," Chloe said from behind her. "But you're also beautiful."

Miri's eyes burned. "Chloe—"

"I mean it. Look at your eyes. Look at your mouth. Look at the way you hold yourself." Chloe stepped closer, her reflection appearing beside Miri's in the glass. "You've spent so long hiding that you've forgotten what you actually look like. But I see it. And Leo sees it. And maybe it's time you started seeing it too."

Miri stared at her reflection. At the girl in the mirror who had never been kissed. Never been wanted. Never been chosen.

For the first time, she wondered if that girl could change.

Chloe squeezed her shoulder and left, pulling the door closed behind her. Miri stood there for a long moment, still staring at herself. Then she pulled on the clean t-shirt and crawled into bed, her tea forgotten on the nightstand.

She lay on her back, her dragon tucked under one arm, and stared at the ceiling. The cracked plaster. The glow-in-the-dark stars she'd stuck up there years ago. The shadows pooling in the corners.

What would it be like? To go on a date with Leo Castellano?

She imagined him pulling up in front of the house. Holding the door open for her. Smiling that slow, devastating smile. She imagined sitting across from him at some quiet restaurant, her hands twisting in her lap, her tongue tied in knots. She imagined the silence stretching between them, awkward and awful, until he realized he'd made a terrible mistake.

She flinched and rolled onto her side.

Then she imagined something else. His fingers brushing against hers. His laugh, low and warm. The way he'd looked at her in the coffee shop, like she mattered. Like she was worth listening to.

Chloe was right. She was scared. She was terrified.

But maybe—just maybe—that wasn't a reason to run.

She reached for her phone, which was lying on the nightstand next to her tea. She pulled up his number—he'd given it to her, written on a napkin she'd stuffed into her pocket—and typed a message before she could talk herself out of it.

Still good for Saturday?

She hit send before she could regret it. Three dots appeared immediately. Then:

Wouldn't miss it. Wear something warm.

Her heart stuttered. She typed back:

Where are we going?

You'll find out.

She could almost hear the grin in his voice. She buried her face in her pillow, and for the first time in longer than she could remember, she smiled.