Chapter 6: April is Too Spring-y
Del Teller walked with her hands in her pockets, her shoes scuffing faintly against the pavement. The sky was a dull smear of gray above the university’s wrought-iron gates, and the distant rumble of traffic only made her more aware of the gnawing in her stomach.
She turned a familiar corner and saw the café again—the same one with wide windows. She pushed open the door and stepped in, the bell above her giving a small, polite chime.
The place was half-full, mostly students hunched over laptops and couples leaning in close, their hands wrapped around mugs. Del made her way to the counter and ordered a late lunch—a chicken pesto sandwich and a side of fries—then found a seat by the entrance, near the glass wall. The light filtering through the windows was pale and soft, the clouds outside piling heavy with the promise of another downpour.
She sank into her seat and unwrapped her sandwich. A few bites in, she glanced around, not looking for anyone in particular—just observing, the way she always did when alone. Her gaze moved to the far side of the café.
That’s when she saw him.
Elbows on the table, one hand wrapped around a coffee cup, the other thumbing through something on his phone, and dark brown hair in its usual tousled mess, expression relaxed from this distance.
Just as she began to look away, his gaze lifted—and locked with hers.
Shit.
Del snapped her eyes back to her food. Her body tensed, and she focused too hard on her fries, pretending she hadn’t seen him. Or been seen.
Too late.
Seconds later, she caught movement in her peripheral vision.
“You stalking me?” a voice teased, and there he was, suddenly standing beside her table.
Del looked up, unimpressed. “You wish.”
He chuckled and slid into the seat across from her without asking, coffee in hand. “I’m flattered either way.”
“You should get over that.”
“In case you forgot, I’m Oliver.” He rested his chin in his hand and studied her. “And you’re April, right?”
Del picked up a fry and popped it into her mouth. “I didn’t ask you to join me.”
“And you’re terrible at fake identities. If you’re going to lie, at least pick a name that suits you.”
She gave him a side glance. “What does that even mean?”
“I don’t know. You look more like a... Harper. Or Quinn. April’s too springy.”
Del sighed and leaned back, crossing her arms. “So what, you just live here now?”
Oliver lifted his coffee cup. “The same could be said for you. You chose the exact same café at the exact same time of day. Almost like fate.”
“Almost like I was hungry and didn’t want to walk further.”
He grinned wider. “You’re really committed to killing the mood, huh?”
“I’m just allergic to unnecessary sentiment.”
“Maybe,” he said, taking a sip from his cup, “but your eyes lit up just a little when you saw me.”
She narrowed her eyes. “They did not.”
“They totally did.”
“You’re hallucinating from all that caffeine.” Del rolled her eyes but didn’t ask him to leave. In fact, she kept eating.
Oliver didn’t say anything for a while, just sat there, drumming his fingers lightly against the table. The silence between them was surprisingly comfortable. Outside, a raindrop tapped against the glass, then another.
He glanced at the window. “Looks like rain again. Are you going to limp away dramatically this time, too?”
“I’m not limping anymore,” she said, though her knee had started to ache faintly since leaving campus.
“Still,” he said, glancing at her legs under the table, “if you get caught in it again, your knee might not forgive you. And I don’t think I have any more tissues to offer.”
Del looked at him, suspicious. “Are you trying to convince me to stay?”
“Me? Never,” he said, eyes twinkling. “I just think your sandwich looks depressing, and I could probably get you a better one.”
“I already paid for this.”
“I’ll pay for the upgrade.”
“Why?”
“Because I like talking to you. Even when you pretend you don’t enjoy it.”
Del picked at the last of her fries, but Oliver didn’t seem in any rush. He sat there comfortably, eyes on her.
“So,” he said casually, “should I guess again? Because I’m still not buying ‘April.’ You hesitated when you said it the first time. Like you were choosing from a menu of fake names.”
She gave him a look. “Maybe I was just trying to remember if I wanted to tell you anything at all.”
He grinned. “Come on, I deserve something. I shared my name. I gave you a napkin. I offered to upgrade your lunch. That’s, like, three acts of chivalry.”
“Very bare minimum of you.”
He leaned in just a little. “At least give me a letter. First initial. I’ll fill in the blanks.”
She didn’t flinch. “Stella.”
He blinked. “Stella?”
“Mmhmm.”
He stared at her, clearly unconvinced. “You expect me to believe you went from April to Stella?”
“You said April didn’t suit me.”
“I said you looked like a Harper. Or maybe Quinn. Stella feels like you’re trying too hard.”
Del smirked. “Sounds like a you problem.”
Oliver tilted his head and studied her longer than felt casual. The amusement in his expression dimmed just slightly, like something had clicked or was trying to.
“What?” she asked, mouth still half-full.
“I don’t know,” he said slowly. “You actually... look a little familiar.”
Del paused mid-chew. “That’s original.” She pointed a fry at him. “If anyone’s the stalker here, it’s you. You’re practically telling me you’ve seen my face floating around your memories or whatever. Sounds creepy.”
Oliver raised both hands. “Okay, okay. Truce. I’m not stalking you. I swear. Just... déjà vu, maybe.”
Del finished the last of her sandwich and wiped her fingers on a napkin. Outside, the sky had finally cracked open, and the soft tapping against the glass had turned into a steady pour. Raindrops raced down the window beside her, distorting the world beyond into a blur of headlights and gray.
“Looks like you’re stuck,” Oliver said lightly, taking another sip of coffee. “Unless you’ve got a secret umbrella tucked into those shapeless pants of yours.”
“They’re called trousers,” Del said flatly, grabbing her tote.
“I could order you tea,” he offered. “You look like the type who hates small talk but secretly likes Earl Grey.”
“I hate tea.”
“Lies. You’re full of them.”
Del stood, shrugging on her jacket.
“You’re really going to walk out in the rain again?”
“I survived last time.”
He tilted his head, watching her. “You sure you don’t want to stay? Just for a little while. It’s dry, I’m charming, and you’re clearly lying about hating tea.”
She looked at him. He smiled—soft, coaxing, boyish.
Del didn’t smile back. “Goodbye, Oliver.”
She stepped out into the drizzle, her shoes splashing lightly as she disappeared down the street, head bent just enough to avoid eye contact with the sky.
Oliver watched the door long after she’d gone, his coffee cooling in his hands.