Jesus Freaks: Sins of the Father(30)

Laughter sprinkles through the group.

I smile. “I take that as a unanimous decision. Let’s go.”

Walking into Word, I stop again and take a deep breath. Looking around, I’m bursting with excitement. It’s a locally owned coffee shop—as are all of the shops in this section of Downtown—filled with wall-to-wall shelves of used books. The only style element here is that of a garage sale, it seems. Mismatched tables and chairs fill the large space, segmented only by bookshelves. It’s amazing.

“It looks like it’s getting busy in here,” I note to the group. “I don’t mind ordering for you guys if some of you want to snag a table for us. Maybe one outside since it’s so nice out?”

“Sure,” Eden replies, handing me a five dollar bill. “Just a small chai for me.”

“Bottle of water,” Joy mumbles, giving me two dollars. She handed me her money, which makes me think she might just be changing her mind about me.

Bridgette hands me a ten. “Decaf for me, full-strength for Si.”

“You got it.” I turn and find that Jonah is retrieving money from Brent.

I take my place an ever-growing line, and Jonah sidles up next to me.

“Rule breaker,” I mumble, scanning the board and appreciating all the choices before me.

Jonah laughs. “What?”

“I mean, if you wanted a date with me, you could have asked,” I tease. “But we’d still need a chaperone.”

He shrugs. “They’re all fifteen feet behind us.”

“Is that a university-sanctioned distance?”

Jonah’s eyes crease as he delivers a full-wattage smile. I do appreciate his shaggy hair—oh so very much. “What’s gotten into you?” he asks.

“Huh?” I step forward; he follows.

“Ever since breakfast you’ve been all, I don’t know…bubbly. I’ve heard you talk more in the last hour than I have all week.”

I roll my eyes. “Says the man of many words. This is the most I’ve heard you talk.”

With his hands in his pockets, Jonah swings his elbow out, nudging mine. “I mean it,” he insists.

“I don’t know. I guess I just feel… free. We’re out, like, amongst my people.” I hold out my hands my eyes scanning across the crowd.

“We’re not all like her, you know…” Jonah half-mumbles.

“What? Like who?”

“Joy.”

My cheeks feel flushed as my heart flutters slightly. I hope I haven’t given away my suspicion of her. “I don’t know what you’re ta—”

“Oh, come on!” Jonah’s eyes widen and he flashes another smile. “She’s pretty intense.”

I look up at him from the corner of my eye. “You’re all pretty intense.”

Jonah chuckles. “So are you.”

Turning to face him, he meets me with a pointed stare, smile still dialed up.

“It’s the lip ring, isn’t it?” I joke.

He laughs. I like how much he laughs. And I like that he thinks I’m funny. “Some of it.”

It’s our turn at the counter. Jonah orders a hot apple cider and a half-caff coffee. I don’t know which is for him and which is for Brent. Both strike me as the cider type, really. I order the drinks I’m in charge of and we move down to the far end of the counter to wait.

“Sorry about the other day at lunch.” I lean against the counter and tuck some hair behind my ear.

Jonah shrugs and shakes his head, truly a universal sign for “what?”

“Our discussion of the Word,” I prompt.

“Oh, right.” He shifts on his feet and looks down. I look, too, and find Converse sneakers. I grin but don’t say anything. “That’s not really…something to apologize for?”

“Was that a question?”

He lifts his chin and, while the smile’s gone, his face remains bright. “I don’t know?”

“Well, that clears that up.” I roll my eyes and we both laugh.

I realize he’s the only person I’ve really laughed with since I arrived on campus. A quick look over my shoulder shows our friends at a table outside, Eden seeming to do her best not to stare openly at Jonah and me at the counter. She’s talking with Brent and Joy, but every three seconds exactly she shoots a quick look our way. Jonah, having the manners he does, won’t notice this because he’s focused only on our conversation.

Jonah nudges my elbow when the barista begins setting our drinks on the counter. The touch feels warm and slightly scandalous. Maybe because I know the rules—which this touch doesn’t break—or maybe because I actually like Jonah.

Bummer for me, I resign to myself with a soft sigh. You aren’t his type, Kennedy. He’s basically Jesus and you aren’t even saved.

“Anyway,” Jonah continues as we navigate through the crowd to the patio outside, “I wouldn’t spend too much time thinking how different you are from the rest of us, if I were you. I’m willing to bet we’re more alike than different.”

“Yeah? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Before he has a chance to answer, Eden leaps to her feet to be oh-so-helpful in distributing the drinks. Jonah takes the half-caff. There’s hope for him yet.