it’s a meet cute
Summary: Iza and Jamie meeting for the first time.
Jamie fixes a cigarette between his teeth as he exits the convenience store, and he ducks his head against the biting wind. Shoving his hands in the pockets of his oversized bomber jacket, a hand-me-down from John, who unlike Jamie, is built like a linebacker and has the breadth to fill out the jacket, Jamie searches for his lighter. His fingers brush against his keys, the pack of cigarettes he just bought, his wallet, and his phone, but no lighter. Frowning, he pats the pockets of his jeans, then pulls open the jacket to fish through the inside pocket.
And then he runs directly into someone.
The cigarette tumbles to the pavement, and there’s the sound of a book hitting the concrete and the clattering of small objects.
The stranger hisses out a sharp, “Damn it!” at the same time he mumbles under his breath, “Fuck.”
Jamie feels his cheeks warm as he’s hit with a rush of embarrassment. He wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings, and now he’s made someone drop everything they were carrying. Even worse, the stranger, a young woman probably around his age, was carrying a sketchbook that has fallen open so the pages are pressed against the sidewalk. He really hopes the pages aren’t bent and the art isn’t ruined.
A few pencils and paint brushes roll away and a loose sheet of paper skitters away in the wind. He darts after it, only pausing for a second to look up and down the road as the paper tumbles into the street. He snatches it between two fingers as it blows over the yellow line in the center of the road, then darts back to the sidewalk, getting honked at by a nearing car. In another situation, he would’ve flipped the driver off, but crashing into the young woman has left him flustered.
“I’m really sorry,” Jamie says, a bit breathless as he grabs a pencil that rolled over the curb.
The young woman is kneeling on the sidewalk, gathering the escaped pencils and brushes. Her dark curly hair whips in the wind, blowing in her face.
“I wasn’t looking where I was going. I—”
She stands, pressing her sketchbook against her chest, her fist clenched around the brushes and pencils, and she glares up at him. Jamie feels his face grow hotter and he wants to melt into the ground.
“I, uh, here’s your, um, paper,” he says, holding out the loose sheet of paper. “And pencil. I’m really sorry. I hope nothing was ruined.”
Her expression softens and she sighs, “It’s okay. No harm done.”
She takes the paper and pencil, and shoves the paper between the pages of her sketchbook.
“Um, I hope you have a good day,” he says, unable to make eye contact. Her jeans are streaked with splotches of paint. “Sorry, again.”
“It happens,” she says. She shrugs and shakes a strand of hair out of her face as she walks away.
Jamie reaches into his pocket and pulls out another cigarette.
