~Vincent Van Gogh The line at Starbucks is precariously long, but I’m going to need a venti cappuccino to get through this morning. I glare at the chatty barista who’s moving too slowly and glance at my watch to determine if I’m going to make it to work on time or not. There’s nothing worse than rolling in late holding a cup of Starbucks, absolute evidence that you could have been on time if you hadn’t fed your hard-earned dollar to the corporate coffee machine. While I wait for my drink, I receive a text from Max. My heart thuds as a chill runs up my spine. I seriously wondered if I’d ever hear from him again. I slide open my phone’s screen. I need to talk to you. I pause, unsure how to reply. As curious as I am about what happened with Mr. Matthews, I’m not sure I’m ready to talk to him. My phone prompts again. I really need to talk to you. How long will you make me wait?
