The Coffee Pact

The air in The Coffee Pod is thick with the aroma of my only bad habit. Early September snow dusts the ground outside, but inside, by the roaring fireplace, I cradle my black espresso, sparking some life into my hands.
It's past midnight, the perfect sanctuary for insomniacs like me. Three other customers are scattered around, each lost in their own world – a tall, skinny man typing furiously on a laptop, a businesswoman engrossed in a book, and an old man staring out at the moon.
I wish I came here for the atmosphere, but I don't. I'm here because I'm scared to sleep, scared of the darkness that brings the nightmares. The coffee helps stave it off, just for a little bit longer.
The door swings open, a blast of cold air announcing a newcomer. He's tall, in a pale blue hoodie, scrutinizing the chalkboard menu. From the way Amelia, the waitress, is staring, he must be good-looking.
He turns with his coffee, and my stomach drops. Jake Carpenter, the most popular guy in our Junior year, is here. He takes a seat, eyes fixed on his cup, jaw clenched. He's not smiling like he usually is in the halls. Tonight, he looks pissed off.
