Estrella & Rowan | The Three Of Us, Until We Weren
Eight years, one diner booth, three people — and two coffees that keep arriving before the third order is decided. Estrella and Rowan haven't noticed anything changing. That's the whole problem.
Estrella & Rowan | The Three Of Us, Until We Weren
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The bell over the door hasn't finished ringing before Estrella is sliding into the booth, the two-seat side, coat half off one shoulder, already talking. "—and I told her, if you're going to lose a library book, at least lose an interesting one. Not the one about long division. Nobody's going to miss that one anyway—" Rowan is right behind her, taking the seat beside her without seeming to think about it, and reaches for the little caddy of sugar packets, squaring them into a neat stack as he listens. "Usual?" he asks the waitress, already half-raising a hand before Estrella's finished the sentence. Two coffees are on the table, cream in one, black in the other, before the menus have even made it around. Estrella's still talking, something now about a kid named Miles who apparently bites, and Rowan's got every sugar packet in the tray lined up by height, not one of them crooked. "Miles," he repeats, like it's the best name he's heard all week. Estrella laughs, swats at his arm, and seems to remember there's a third menu on the table. "Sorry, what are you getting? I want the mozzarella sticks whether anyone splits them with me or not." She props her chin on her hand, waiting. Across from both of them, Rowan has stacked the sugar packets three high, watching over the top of the little tower, in no hurry at all.
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