The "Coffee Truce" photo was, somehow, even worse than the party picture. It was mundane. Intimate. It showed them standing close at the counter, him leaning in, her looking up at him, a latte in her hand. It looked… domestic. Normal. The caption read: Morning after the storm? Jace & Sienna looking cozy at The Beanery. #Jienna #CoffeeTruce
"I hate it here," Sienna groaned, shoving her phone face down on the library table two days later. The buzz had not died down.
Tasha, for once, was sympathetic. "Okay, even I'll admit this is getting intense. It's like having a personal, unsolicited documentary crew." She leaned in. "But between us, the photo is kinda cute. You look like you're not plotting his murder for once."
"I'm always plotting his murder," Sienna muttered,but her protest was weak. The memory of him paying for her coffee, of his quiet "Let me know when you do," replayed in her mind. She'd spent the last 48 hours dissecting that simple gesture, the way he'd remembered her order, and the frustratingly charming look on his face when he'd called it a "bribe."
Her phone buzzed. A new email from the campus newspaper, The Chronicle. The subject line: Interview Request.
"You have got to be kidding me," she whispered, opening it.
Dear Ms. Cole,
We're working on a piece about modern campus relationships and the impact of social media. We'd be interested in interviewing you and Jace Rivera about your experience. Please let us know if you're available.
She felt dizzy. This had gone from campus gossipto a feature story. She quickly typed a rejection, her fingers clumsy with panic, and slammed her laptop shut.
"I can't do this. I'm dropping out. I'll join a monastery."
"They have Wi-Fi in monasteries, honey. You can't escape." Tasha patted her arm. "Just breathe. It'll blow over."
But it didn't feel like it would. It felt like a snowball rolling downhill, gathering mass and speed, and she was trapped in its path.
An hour later, she left the library for her art history class. The sky was a grim, uniform grey, threatening the storm that had been forecasted all day. As she walked, she felt the stares, heard the whispers. "That's her… the coffee truce girl…" She kept her head down, her shoulders tense, feeling like an animal in a zoo.
Class was a welcome distraction. ProfessorEldridge's passionate lecture on Caravaggio's use of chiaroscuro, dramatic light and shadow, was a world away from her own life. But as she took notes on the stark contrasts, she couldn't help but see the parallel. Her life had become a series of extremes: the blinding flash of a camera, the dark quiet of her apartment, the glaring spotlight of public attention, and the intimate shadow she somehow kept finding herself in with Jace.
When class ended, the threat in the sky had become a reality. A cold, wind-whipped rain was lashing the campus. She huddled under the narrow stone ledge of the building's entrance, stranded. Her umbrella was at home. Of course.
Students fled past her, jackets held over their heads. She pulled out her phone to message Tasha, but a text was already waiting.
Tasha: Sorry!! Got caught in the lib. This is biblical. U ok?Sienna typed back a grim, Stuck outside Hayes. No umbrella.
She leaned her head back against the cold stone, closing her eyes. The sound of purposeful, splashing footsteps approaching made her open them. She did not expect to see Jace Rivera, drenched and looking like a drowned god.
His dark hair was plastered to his forehead, and his grey t-shirt was stuck to his torso, revealing every defined line. Water dripped from his chin. He shook his head, sending a spray everywhere, and grinned when he saw her.
"Fancy meeting you here, Cole."
"Do you have a GPS tracker on me?" she asked, her voice weary.
"Just a highly tuned Sienna-Cole-in-distress sensor." He held up a large, black golf umbrella. "Your chariot awaits."She eyed it, then him. The zoo felt a little less terrifying with its most popular resident standing next to her. "This is a direct violation of Article Three."
"Article Three has a 'severe weather' clause. I just added it." He popped the umbrella open. "Welcome to your rain check."
She ducked under the canopy, and the world shrunk. The drumming rain softened to a gentle patter above them. The scent of wet pavement was overpowered by him—rain-soaked cotton and faint cologne. They were close. Her shoulder brushed his solid, damp arm with every step, a steady, electric rhythm.
They walked in silence for a moment. "So," he said, his voice a low hum in the intimate space. "The Coffee Truce seems to be holding."
"It's under review. The paparazzi incident was a setback."He chuckled. "And what's the verdict on the umbrella?"
She looked up at his profile. "It's… pending."
He glanced down, his eyes dark and serious in the grey light. "Let me know when you decide."
They reached her building all too soon. He walked her right to the door, holding the umbrella over her until she was safe under the awning.
"Thanks," she said. "For the rain check."
"Anytime, Cole." A droplet of water clung to his eyelashes. He gave her a small, genuine smile. "See you around."
He didn't move to come in. He waited for her to go inside first. She slipped into the dry lobby and watched through the glass as he turned and walked back into the storm.
Her phone buzzed. A text from him.3B Nuisance: You make it in?
Sienna: Yes. Thanks again.
She hesitated, then added, the memory of his closeness making her bold.
Sienna: The umbrella? It's a very strong peace offering.
His reply was almost instant.
3B Nuisance: Good. That was the intention.Sienna pocketed her phone, a slow smile spreading across her face as she listened to the rain. For the first time all day, the spotlight didn't feel so harsh. It felt, strangely, like a spotlight for two.