@deesmu - avery corcoran.
Rodrigo was busy. Having your own business was nothing but hard and having Mabel and Gretchen to look after was also time consuming. He didn’t want to be those guys that just appear an hour per day or on the weekends; he wanted to be an active part of their life and for them to rely and count him on everything that they needed to. That meant he was always on the move, always awake and had very little time for himself.
Running around with a coffee made him feel a little bit stupid, like a character on a romcom that his mom liked to watch, but he really needed it and had no time to do it himself when he got up that day. It was just his luck that he was too busy looking at his phone, a text message from Mabel, when he crashed against another person. It took everything from him to have enough balance to not throw his coffee and his eyes moved up to apologize, but his words got caught on his throat.
She was… A dream, or a nightmare, depending on the nights he dreamed of her. They were less now that he had a new life, but the image in front of him was real.
It’s a very bad no good kind of day. A call in sick stay in bed don’t leave the apartment kind of day. And if she could have played hooky, she totally would have. Half of the reason she’s running late is the full half hour she spent debating doing just that, but her boss had made it very clear all hands were to be on deck that day, and if they weren’t they shouldn’t bother coming in the next. And as much as it killed Avery to admit, she really did need her job. So, she’d gotten Parker to school (the whole drive a chorus of ‘yes, I loved your short story’ and ‘it is so your best work!), mustered up her strength to face her day, now all she had to do was get a coffee, bagel, and head to work.
Coffee, bagel, work. Coffee, bagel, work. Coffee, bagel --
“Fuck, dude!” She lashes out, a totally normal reaction, she thinks, to scalding hot coffee colliding with one’s abdomen. She so didn’t have time for this! “Jesus, dude! Walk much --” her words catch in her throat as she finally looks up to see the culprit behind the stain on her favorite blouse.
“Rodrigo?” Fuck. “Why -- what are you doing here?” In Chicago. On this street. Today of all days looking just as good (better? totally better. annoyingly better!) as she remembered him. Fuck.
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