Under the Same Stars(19)

“Ah,” I said.

“It’s true.” His lips twisted into a smile, and he handed me my million-dollar coffee. It was in a takeout cup, and our pastries were in the same brown paper bag. “Anyway.” He took out one of the muffins. “What are you doing in town?”

“Oh, well, I’m…” I started, but drifted off, somehow noticing Crescent Moon’s bell ring amid all the chaos. A cute Black guy walked through, wearing a blazer with a white button-down and a loosened striped tie. A private school uniform if there ever was one.

That had to be Davis.

“I have to go,” I abruptly told Marco. “I’m meeting someone.”

He raised an intrigued brow. “Okay,” he said and handed me the pastry bag. “It was good seeing you, Mads.”

Instead of grabbing a table and waiting around for Reese’s cousin to track me down, I went straight up and greeted him like he’d just gotten out of a limo at the famous Bachelor Mansion.

“Davis?”

From the flash of light in his eyes, I could tell he recognized me. “Hey, Madeline!”

“Mads,” I said back. “It’s just Mads.”

Crap. I wanted to backtrack. I couldn’t have said hello first?

“It’s nice to meet you,” I added quickly, smiling.

“It’s nice to meet you, too.” He smiled back, and then it was clear that neither of us knew what to do next. A hug seemed like too much, and we couldn’t shake hands because I was double-fisting it with my latte in one and my muffin in the other.

Also, was shaking hands even a thing anymore?

“I’m sorry I already ordered,” I blurted. “I, um, wasn’t sure…”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Davis said. He was cute, looking more like Reese’s younger brother than her cousin. Tall and lean with what Austin and I called the “Peaky Blinders haircut.” Shaved on the sides and longer on top. His ears adorably stuck out a little. “How about you find us a spot,” he suggested, “while I go grab a drink?”

I managed to snag two cushy armchairs the second two people vacated them, and Davis joined me several minutes later with what looked like a swirled caramel Frappuccino. “School was really draining today,” he said when he caught my amused look. “I’m treating myself.”

“Where do you go to school?” I asked. “Reese wouldn’t tell me anything beyond your first name.”

Davis chuckled. “That sounds like her.” He took a sip of his drink. “I go to Hun. It’s right down the road.”

“I know Hun,” I said. “They tried to recruit me for field hockey.”

“Oh, yeah, Reese mentioned you’re really into field hockey,” Davis said. “Have you committed anywhere yet?”

I shook my head. I didn’t really discuss my college prospects with anyone except my family and Coach Webber. Well, and my high school guidance counselor because it was encouraged that she be in the loop. “Not yet,” I told Davis. “Hopefully by the end of the school year, though.”

Because that was when the Ivy League schools made the last of their offers. April through June of a player’s junior year was their sweet spot, and I knew I would be holding my breath for those three months. The University of Pennsylvania—Penn—was my dream school. The Quakers were my dream team. I loved their city campus and the team’s style of play. I’d gone to their annual summer camp for the last several years, and nearly screamed when I got my first invite to their smaller, more exclusive clinics.

What I was now hoping for was an invitation for an official visit to campus. If a coach wanted you to spend a weekend getting to know the girls on the team?

It was a big deal.

“Do you play any sports?” I asked Davis before taking an anxious sip of my coffee. Was I talking about myself too much? And even if I wasn’t, we needed to shift the conversation away from field hockey. I could go on about it forever, but the bridesmaids had told me it was important to find out if Davis and I had anything in common.

“I played a bunch when I was a little kid,” he said as I chewed and swallowed a bite of muffin. It was a little dry, but still good. “But I wasn’t very good at them, so my parents thought maybe art or music would be more my thing.”

I smiled a little. “And? Are you an artist or musician?”

“I’m the saxophonist in Hun’s band and in their choir. I’m also in a local chamber choir.”

“That’s really cool,” I said. “I like to sing too, but my school’s choral director cut me for my extreme pitchiness.” I shrugged. “So instead, I perform in the comfort of the car.”

“Oh, yeah?” Davis’s eyes shined. “Let me guess—”

I cut him off. “If you say Taylor Swift, I’m going to punch you.”

He chuckled. “You don’t like Taylor Swift?”

“No, no, I do,” I said. “I just think it’s stereotyping to assume every girl on earth is a Swiftie.”

“Fair enough.” Davis smiled, then after a beat added, “Although, as a guy, I am not ashamed to say she’s incredible. I skipped school to get tickets for the Eras Tour two years ago.”

“Are you kidding me?”