When We're Thirty by Casey Dembowski (beautiful books to read .TXT) 📕

mildest of roasts those early mornings at Starbucks because she had no other choice.

“All right,” Will said, wiping crumbs from his shirt. “You’re good? Can you find your way back?”

She nodded as she poured half-and-half into her coffee, watching it go from black to muddy to the edge of drinkable. “Have fun.”

The second the door swung shut, she dropped the smile and let her shoulders slump. Will was a runner. Hannah had never even seen him in workout clothes. Any other morning, she would’ve been happy for him, glad that he’d finally told her and wasn’t depriving himself of something he loved. But why this weekend? She was already the odd one out, and their best chance of being believable was to tell their story together. And yet, she wasn’t surprised. This was the Will she had always known, somehow always adrift and yet a constant in her life.

She stared down at her coffee, the color still one shade away from drinkable. If she put any more milk in this cup, she was going to have a very weird latte on her hands. She speared a piece of mango with her fork, wishing for plain old cantaloupe, then judged her coffee again. Any coffee had to be better than no coffee. Right?

Two knocks sounded from the entryway, pulling Hannah’s attention from her coffee disaster. Madison stood in the doorway. Her leggings and cowl-neck sweater looked much too warm for the weather, even with the ocean breeze. “Hannah, right?”

“Uh, yes. Good morning, Madison.” Hannah ran her fingers through her hair. She’d noted last night that Madison was gorgeous, but in the daylight, she was even more striking. Her chestnut hair, which had fallen in thick waves last night, was pulled back into a messy bun. Her eyes were bright, her face already made-up. Hannah had barely had time brush her teeth and wash her face before Will had escorted her downstairs.

Madison plucked a strawberry out of the bowl. “Please tell me you aren’t actually drinking that stuff.”

“I wasn’t aware I had a choice.” Hannah gave the kitchen another look but didn’t see any other means of procuring coffee.

“Well, I have ten bucks and the keys to the Mercedes. What do you say?”

“Oh, thank God.”  Hannah hadn’t really gotten a read on Madison from Will—he’d mainly stuck to his blood relatives—but she seemed nice enough, and it would be helpful to have a female friend among the brood.

“Good,” Madison said, closing her hand around the keys. “You are going to need to be well-caffeinated to handle brunch with the boys.”

CARS HAD NEVER BEEN Hannah’s thing, but she couldn’t deny the appeal of the Mercedes. Everything was sleek lines and leather. But Madison was awful at driving it. It was no wonder she’d had to steal the keys.

“Your New Yorker is showing,” Hannah joked as Madison reattempted her parallel parking job.

“Hey, you’ve lived in the city your entire adult life. That makes you a New Yorker too.”

At least someone had accepted her into their ranks. Hannah was starting to wonder if it would ever happen. “Queens, Madison. We use cars in Queens.”

Madison rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything as she attempted to straighten the car out in a spot that could more than accommodate the coupe. After a few more maneuvers, Madison slammed the car into park. “Whatever. We’re going, like, twenty feet, and we’re in a town full of rich people. No one is going to hit the car.”

That was probably true, but Hannah couldn’t help but laugh when she stepped out of the car and onto pavement rather than the sidewalk. She’d seen some bad parking jobs in her day, but wow—at least the car was straight.

Hannah followed Madison down the street to a small café called the Peach Pit. The resemblance didn’t go much past the moniker—leave it to the Hamptons to outclass even fake Beverly Hills. The café was quiet, with an older couple and a few teenagers sitting at tables on opposite sides of the room. It was nothing like the Saturdays she had experienced at Starbucks, but this wasn’t the city, and it wasn’t in season. Hannah didn’t know how much of the town’s population was permanent. Maybe it was like Jersey Shore, where the BENNYs— tourists from the north that the locals only liked for their patronage—descended each summer, making the months between October and May the only bearable times to visit. Hannah stopped midscan of the menu. If she was officially a New Yorker, did that make her a BENNY?

“Are you okay?”

Hannah blinked a few times, Madison’s small frame coming back into focus with a coffee cup held out her to her. “Yes, sorry. I was just contemplating something horrid.” Hannah took the too-large cup, breathing in the wondrous smell of drinkable coffee.

“Well—” Madison eyed her up and down. “Please refrain from thinking such things. It is far too early, and we’re decaffeinated.”

They sat at a table near the older couple, as far from the teenage girls as they could get—not that that helped keep their squeals out of earsplitting decibels. Oh, to be sixteen. Beyond the clamor, the chorus of one of Hannah’s favorite songs was fading out.

Music found her everywhere. She might not be able to hear someone across a table from her in a crowded restaurant, but she’d be able to pick out the song, know the lyrics, and find it again throughout the course of a conversation. Wilderness Weekend’s latest track started up. A calmness came over her, as it did whenever one of their songs came on. It had been that way since she’d found them. It would be that way always.

“Oh god,” Madison said, breaking off a piece of her scone, apparently unable to wait for breakfast. “William found himself another Wilderness fan. Okay, okay, let me guess.” She paused dramatically. “You and William met at a Wilderness Weekend concert. You both went to sound check and then to the bar next door, where Leonard