e m b r y .

“Depends what of. Of a boy? Not typically. Of good food? Always. I’m sure if I liked a boy enough I could be jealous, but—hasn’t really happened.”

“If I had a dollar for every time someone’s asked me that…”

“There’s a few poems I really take pride in. I’m good at poetry when I’m in a reflective mood… Or when I’m really upset. Which hasn’t been too often recently. And that’s good, but—I write better when I’m sad. Ha.”

Cayden winched in sympathy when she turned the blanket screen around. He knew the feeling of sitting down to work on something - nothing creative the way she was trying to do - only to have nothing come out. Only to stare at a blank screen convinced you were actually the worst. When the computer was spun around for him again, this time with a poem pulled up on screen, he read through it slowly, grinning as he reached the end. “It’s good, Embry. Like really good. Are you trying to write more poems or a novel right now?”

Embry smiled thankfully when he complimented her work, turning the laptop screen back to herself once again. “I’m looking to write a novel. I mean, I’ll write poetry when I get the feeling for it, but I’m primarily trying to write a book. Hopefully a good one.” She sighed. “What do you do? What’s your niche?”

“That’s a good question. I was just watching this thing on YouTube, where they recreated these bread sticks from Olive Garden which seemed easy to do. Turns out, the channel didn’t really specify what kind of flour they used,” Ryan mused aloud while he continues to scan the aisle. 

“I think they’ll both work, they just make the bread a little different.” Embry chuckled, scanning the aisles for the items she needed. “Like, bread flower has more gluten—so it’s chewier.” She snatched the mac and cheese off of the shelf, turning to the stranger. “Hi, I’m Embry. Not a flour expert or anything, but, my dad cooked a lot at home.”

“Yeah…” he said chagrined. “I’m usually not like that, but I guess I wasn’t paying as much attention as usual.” He held his hand out for her to drop it into. “I don’t think many people would have set off on a man hunt for the owner of a watch, just hand it into the counter or something, but thanks.” Wes laughed, “The competition too much for you to handle? I’m Wesley, but you can call me Wes.” 

Embry dropped the shiny timepiece into the man’s fingers, shrugging at him. “I mean—I figured I’d do a good deed, not usually my style, but, I’m trying,” She rambled, eventually stopping herself. “Oh, yeah. I’m not sketchy enough. They wanted less of a five-foot-four-blonde-hair-green-eyed look and more of a homeless-with-a-trench-coat look.”

“Oh,” Peter said, running his hands through his hair, unsure of how to respond. “But those sandwiches are great, you’ll have to try them eventually, I guess. I’m from New York City. And you? Where are you from? I guess I just assumed everyone was an urbanite.”

Embry was a bit confused by this interaction, but it was interesting nonetheless. “Well—thanks. I’ll try them sometime?” She cocked her head, nodding in understanding at where he was from. “Ah, okay, that makes sense. I’m from a little town in North Carolina, so.”

A part of Amanda almost wanted to laugh, but the throbbing in her head kept it in check, especially when she noticed that appeared to be what the blonde in front of her had been about to do. That was a little embarrassing. “Two,” she answered in a clipped tone. “You should have tried more than that. Everyone guesses two.” She sighed, brushing her fingers gently over the sore spot on her forehead. “Wanna go with me to get some peas?”

Embry lowered her fingers, noticing that the brunette probably did not think this was as funny as she did. “I don’t know you—I don’t know your life. I don’t know if you guess two,” Embry shrugged, beginning to walk slowly toward her. “Sure. I’m Embry, by the way. Do you remember your name?” The blonde stifled a laugh again, figuring this was probably not the way to make friends, but she didn’t really care.

“I’m going to save you from that mistake right now. The scarf was fuckin’ ugly. No wonder she was returning it.”

“I mean—shouldn’t she have noticed that before she bought it? God forbid she bought it as a gift for someone. That’s probably why she was so pissy.”

soren quirked up an eyebrow at that and just managed a smile. “wow, not a sports gal?” he echoed, leaning forward ever so slightly. “it’s like you really don’t want us to be friends,” he said as he pulled out his own laptop and a textbook from his bad. “the crease is where the goalie is for most of the game, yeah? and he usually has a whole little camp there… his water bottle, a towel, whatever. but i kicked the water bottle, and that was my death sentence last game.”

Embry slumped back in her chair, folding her arms. “Well, if I have to be a sports gal to be your friend, then maybe I don’t.” She joked smugly, listening to his explanation. “Makes sense,” She sipped her latte with a bat of the eyelashes. “But I’m not sure it’s my kind of material. Also, not quite long enough of a story to write a novel on.” The girl leaned forward to eye the contents of his bag, nodding toward the textbook. “What’re you working on?”

“Sorry,” he quickly mumbled, she didn’t seem to be too affected by their collision. His mind was so focused on getting back to the coffee shop that it took him more than a few second to realise exactly what was dangling from the girl’s fingers. “That my watch?” he raised his eyebrows surprised that she recognised he was the one who owned it. “Or are you one of those sketchy watch sellers?” he grinned. 

Embry looked up at the stranger with confused eyes, down to the watch, and back up. “Oh! You’re the one who left it. I saw it in the coffee shop as I was walking out and figured I’d track down the forgetful owner.” She laughed, sticking the bracelet out towards him. “Nah, I retired from the sketchy-watch-seller-business loooong ago. I’m Embry, by the way.”