Chapter 7: First Contact—Breakfast with Aubrey

After waiting at the dining hall entrance for ages, I finally spotted Aubrey.

She weaved through the crowd, her steps hesitant. The breakfast rush buzzed around her, the scent of coffee and syrup thick in the air. Some kid in pajama pants cut through the line with a tray stacked high with tater tots. The overhead TV played ESPN highlights no one was really watching.

She wore a big, ill-fitting puffer jacket, her bright eyes cast down, frowning one moment and biting her lip the next.

Her cheeks were pink from the cold, hair pulled into her signature ponytail. She kept glancing at the floor, twisting the strap of her backpack. The way she chewed her lip made her look younger, almost out of place among the caffeine-fueled chaos.

She looked troubled.

Her backpack seemed too heavy for her narrow shoulders. I wondered what weighed her down.

I hurried over, smiling. “Aubrey, have you had breakfast?”

I put on my best friendly smile, trying not to scare her off.

She blinked, looking lost.

She glanced over her shoulder, as if she expected Natalie to appear at any second.

“What?”

“I don’t know where Natalie is.”

She sounded apologetic, as if she’d failed a test. My heart twinged at her sincerity.

I raised an eyebrow.

I realized she was nervous, probably worried I’d quiz her about Natalie like always.

Why does she look a little scared of me?

Maybe I’d been too much of a jerk in the past.

I softened my expression and replied gently, “I wasn’t asking about her—I meant you. Come on, let’s have breakfast together.”

I tried to make my tone light, nonthreatening. I even held out my hand, palm up, like a peace offering.

The next second, she looked at me pitifully.

Her eyes widened, lashes fluttering. She looked like a deer caught in headlights.

“Can I say no?”

Her question was so honest it caught me off guard. I almost laughed.

“Not a chance. C’mon, breakfast is on me—well, it would be, if my cards weren’t frozen.” I took her gently by the wrist, steering her toward the cafeteria doors. People stared, but I didn’t care.

Aubrey was thin—holding her hand didn’t take any effort.

Her hand was soft, cold from the morning air. I wanted to tell her to wear gloves next time.

Who knows what kind of junk she eats every day?

I pictured her living off ramen and vending machine snacks. She deserved better.

I frowned at the breakfast menu. “What do you want? I’ll get in line.”

I scanned the options, trying to guess what she’d like.

She answered immediately, “Just a bagel and a cup of black coffee.”

Classic. Efficient. Totally different from Natalie’s complicated orders.

“That’s it?”

I must’ve sounded incredulous. She looked at me as if I’d asked if she wanted ice cream for breakfast.

The breakfasts I used to prepare for Natalie were always fancy—avocado toast, smoked salmon omelets, fresh fruit parfaits.

My phone was full of food photos—each one a failed attempt to impress.

Sometimes I’d switch it up: steak and eggs, crab benedict, you name it.

No expense was too much. Each meal was a shot at winning her over.

At first, Natalie refused, but later, faced with delicious food, she gave in.

A small victory, but never enough.

Not only did she accept my breakfasts, she even nitpicked—the toast was cold, the eggs tasted off.

Her critiques stung, but I kept trying, always chasing perfection.

So I had the chef change the menu. Then she said the eggs benedict were still the best.

I’d spent weeks perfecting that recipe. Turns out, she never really cared.

Round and round, I never figured out what she actually liked.

It drove me crazy, trying to solve a puzzle with missing pieces.

Whenever I asked, she’d just say, “It’s fine.”

Her indifference was the final insult.

Now, standing in line with Aubrey, I pointed. “Pancakes, breakfast burrito, scrambled eggs, hash browns—two of each.”

I ordered enough food to feed a football team. Old habits die hard.

The cafeteria lady bustled over. “Swipe your card.”

Her voice was brisk, no-nonsense. She tapped her fingernails against the register.

I pulled out my debit card, then remembered—my cards were all frozen.

A cold wave of embarrassment washed over me. I fumbled for an excuse.

Damn, am I about to embarrass myself in front of my new target?

Panic flared in my chest. I tried to look calm.

“Ma’am, can you put it on my tab? I’ll have someone bring you the money this afternoon.”

It sounded reasonable in my head, but the look she gave me said otherwise.

The cafeteria lady gave me a strange look, but there was a hint of pity in her eyes.

She’d seen a hundred kids like me—big talk, empty wallets.

People nearby started staring at me in surprise.

I heard whispers, felt the weight of eyes on my back. My cheeks burned.

The atmosphere turned awkward. No one said a word.

The hum of conversation stilled. I wanted to disappear.

“Beep.”

The sound was loud in the silence. I glanced over, confused.

Aubrey pulled out a cute meal card, swiped it, took the breakfast with one hand, and tugged my sleeve with the other. She slid her card through with a practiced swipe, not looking at me, but I caught the tiniest smile at the corner of her mouth—like she was in on a secret.

Her card had a little sticker of a smiling avocado on it. She grinned shyly, pressing the tray into my hands.

“You have to use a meal card in the dining hall.”

Her voice was gentle, almost apologetic, as if she didn’t want to embarrass me.

After we sat down, she mumbled, clearly wanting to see me embarrassed but too shy to look at me.

She kept her eyes glued to her tray, stirring her coffee with the end of her fork.

“Of course I knew that. How could I not? I just haven’t been here in ages, so I forgot to bring mine...”

I tried to sound casual, but I knew she didn’t buy it. Still, she just smiled, letting me save face.

She buried her head in her food, not replying.

She took a bite of her bagel, cheeks puffed out, refusing to look up.

When Aubrey ate, her eyes curved into happy crescents, like she was truly savoring it.

Her contentment was infectious. For a second, the world felt simple again.

I picked up a pancake—cold. “Not great, it’s cold.”

I poked at my food, making a show of being unimpressed.

“No, it’s really delicious.”

She smiled, syrup smudged at the corner of her mouth. I almost reached out to wipe it away.

Aubrey picked up a breakfast burrito, took a bite, her face lighting up with pure joy.

Her whole demeanor changed, like sunshine breaking through clouds. I found myself staring.

My heart skipped a beat—Aubrey was actually kind of cute.

A warmth spread through my chest. Maybe, just maybe, I could get used to this.

Suddenly, Natalie’s icy voice cut through the air: “Jason Miller, what are you doing here?”

Natalie’s glare could’ve curdled milk. She didn’t just see me—she saw a threat, and suddenly, breakfast tasted like trouble.