By the time I clocked out of the office, my feet were bleeding. Zoe had given me a pair of electric blue heels to contrast the fitted orange blazer. She let me keep my white button down which I was thankful for. My watch read ten after five and I figured a coffee was in order. Navigating my way through the subway and down bustling streets of hundreds of people making their way home, I eventually reached The Pearl. The strong coffee aroma filled my nose as I made my way to the counter to order. Once my order was taken, I grabbed a seat and shot Eva a text saying I'd be home within the next hour.

Zoe had warned me it was only going to get busier from here on out and I couldn't imagine what the next couple weeks were going to entail. We spent the majority of our day going over terminology and the filing and going over names and faces. I'd be impressed with myself if I could remember a fraction of the people I met today. My coffee was placed in front of me, steaming and enticing as I gingerly took the heels off, inspecting my blistered feet. Luckily for me, Zoe had loaded me with pointed flats and various heels to try for the next couple weeks as well as a couple of staple pieces to work around, ordering me to do some actual shopping in the next few days. She was determined to figure out a signature style for me, while I didn't really care. I was at Close Up! to work. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Man, you need to bandage those up."

My head flew up to the sound of a voice being directed towards me.

"Timothy," I said, once I saw the familiar musician from yesterday. He wore a giant, ratty hoodie today and some nasty looking baseball cap.

"Sorry if I scared you. It's Talia, right?" I nodded. "I just thought I'd say hi to my biggest fan." He beamed at me and it was unsettling how attractive I found his smile when everything else looked like... well. That.

"Biggest fan or only fan?" I teased, taking a small sip of my coffee.

"Ouch!" He clutched his heart, seating himself across from me. "I've only known you a day and you're laughing at me?"

I shrugged. "I don't know, you seem like the kind that doesn't mind."

"I don't, I just find it refreshing to meet someone who can tease me and not think that there'll be consequences."

Quirking an eyebrow, I dared to ask why there would be consequences. Was he hypersensitive or something?

"Uh, I don't know," he admitted, scratching the back of his head. "I'm not sure exactly why people think I'll lash out or something. It's crazy, honestly. If someone does tease me, they typically start backtracking before I can tell them that what they said was funny."

I eyed him carefully before speaking. "You're a fascinating guy, Timothy." I wasn't sure why I said it, but then again I wasn't one to think too much about what I said.

"Why do you say that?" He placed his elbows on the table, leaning forward. Behind those glasses, his eyes were grey — nearly matching his hoodie. I felt like I'd never seen such interesting eyes.

"I'm not sure. You just don't add up in my head."

He seemed to be studying me as intently as I was studying him.

"Add up how?"

I breathed out a laugh at his questions. He wasn't going to get that information out of me. There was no way I was telling him that his rags for clothes didn't match up with his attractive face and perfect musicality. Whichever way he took it, I don't think it would go down well.

"Nevermind me. I'm just being weird." I waved my hand as if waving away my odd statements. "How was your day?" I asked instead.

He didn't look ready to move the conversation along, but he resigned and leaned against his chair. "It was alright. I worked on a few new songs that I hope to perform here again."

"That's great! You need to let me know when."

"Pretty sure next week sometime. I'm not sure when that'll happen, but I'll keep you updated."

"I'll be here then." His smile was precious when I said that.

"How about you? How was your day? Any particular reason your feet are blistered?"

"Ugh, it's my new job. Apparently wearing granny shoes isn't appropriate," I repeated the phrase that Zoe had said when I questioned why I couldn't wear my own shoes.

"Where do you work?"

Okay, so maybe this Timothy Bartholomew guy was a stranger and I knew little about him. But I felt like I could tell him anything. He was a good and active listener and I appreciated that in a person.

"I'm an intern at Close Up! Magazine. Today was my first day and my mentor threw my entire wardrobe in the trash."

"Wait, seriously?"

"Yeah! She let me keep my shirt, but everything else is from their wardrobe department."

"No, no," Timothy smiled again and leaned forward. "I meant, you're an intern at Close Up? Because last time I checked, that's one of the best magazine companies in the States."

"Oh! Yeah, I'm expecting it to be difficult. Just to get the internship there's a bunch of interviews and applications. But luckily, my professor back home filled out a golden recommendation."

"Where is home?"

Before I had a chance to respond, my phone rang with Eva's photo flashing on my screen. "Give me one second," I told him before pressing the green button. "Hey."

"Hey, I got your text. Where are you right now?"

"Still at the coffee shop. My feet are bleeding." Eva snorted, probably not the least bit empathetic.

"Okay, pick me up a latte and I promise I'll give you a foot bath while we watch Count of Monte Cristo tonight."

"Do you have epsom salts?"

"Like you have to ask. I work in a hospital. My feet are constantly needing soaking."

I sighed overdramatically, "Twelve ounce latte? Any flavoring?"

"Nah that should do it."

"Alright, be home in half an hour."

Eva vocalized her assent before I hit the 'end' button and glanced up at Timothy.

"You're heading out?"

"I have major work to do. And my feet are crying for a foot rub so, yeah. I'll be around though, so make sure you let me know when your performance is!"

He nodded in affirmation and said, "Definitely! I'll see you soon then."

"Yeah, you will," I told him, not sure why I was so enraptured by this guy or why I wanted to hang out with him so much. "I gotta bolt though, bye Timothy!"

-

By the time I reached home, my feet were in even more pain and Eva's latte was near cold.

"I'm so sorry! I tried to get here at a reasonable speed!" I bumped the door open with my hip, trying to balance the latte, my keys, my new wardrobe, and my orientation binder in my arms.

Eva looked around the corner to see me struggling through the entryway.

"Dios mio, Tal! What is all this?" She grabbed the binder and the latte, freeing up my arms to finally release the garment bag and tote of new clothes.

"Apparently," I started with a huff. "I dress like a business stiff and my 'mentor' decided that was unacceptable. So. New clothes."

"Can you afford this?" Eva opened the tote and pulled out a gorgeous Jimmy Choo snakeskin flat.

"Ha, no I cannot. They are on loan until I can do actual shopping," I pried the shoe from her hands, setting it back in the bag. "Trust me, Zoe kept a very thorough log of the things I took and their condition."

"Those are Jimmy Choos," Eva stated, once again pointing to the flats.

"This jacket is Gucci," I told her, trying to be nonchalant and watched her eyes bulge.

"That's it. I'm quitting my job and becoming an intern. Tal, your outfit is worth thousands."

I pulled off my shoes — a brand I could not pronounce and would have to ask someone later — and inspected the physical damage these pieces of clothing were inflicting. The loafers  had eased the pain from the heels I had on before and I was amazed the band-aids stayed secure.

"I'm paying for them in literal blood," I told her, peeling back the bandage to show her my horrendous blisters.

Eva immediately jumped into action, getting hot water and the Epsom salts ready, while I wobbled into my room to change into pajamas.

By the time I re-emerged, Eva was bopping to a song I vaguely recognized which sounded an awful lot like the one Jess was listening to on a regular basis.

"What music is this?" I inquired, reaching for her phone to check the playlist.

"Only the sweet melodies of my future husband," she nearly sang.

It clicked as soon as I read the name. Braden Crew.

"Seriously, Eva? His music all sounds the same. Can we listen to someone good?"

"I don't get it, Tal. I really don't. You're barely 21. How can you not like his stuff?" Eva started pulling out sandwich supplies, laying them out on the tiny counter space.

"Because it's overdone? And predictable? You should have heard the guy at the coffee shop the other day, he was so good and didn't sound like another cookie cutter popstar."

"You should watch Braden Crew's interviews. He's so attractive. And so charming. I think you'd actually like him."

I rolled my eyes. "I don't trust charming, attractive males, Eva. They're usually up to something."

Eva turned and studied me a moment.

"Listen, I know Mark wasn't that long ago, but—"

"This isn't about Mark."

"It sounds like it's about Mark," she insisted, crossing her arms over her chest. "But just because someone — celebrity or not — vaguely has similar characteristics to him, doesn't mean you should just discount them."

I was tempted to roll my eyes again, but worried tears would spring up. She was right. Mark wasn't that long ago.

"His music still sucks."

Eva snorted before grabbing her phone and switching the playlist to Broadway music.

Much better, I thought as the music drowned out all other thoughts.

-----------------------

Wow, okay, it's been a hot second since I was writing on here. 

I suppose it's all thanks to my friend who started reading my stories and has now pestered me to continue writing it. 

So here it is.

I have certain scenes and ideas scoped out, so I'm hoping I can make some good progress on it. 

Thanks for sticking with me.

- Kate