Free Catch a Falling Star by Unknown Page A

from her hands and clat-
    tering to the floor, dots of frothed milk scattering the walls, espresso
    machine, counter, and Chloe herself. Obviously, Chloe + Adam
    67
    Jakes = dropping things. “Oh my God!! Adam Jakes!!” she screeched,
    a huge blob of milk foam sliding down the wall behind her.
    That Adam didn’t react, didn’t even flinch but rather grinned,
    established how often he dealt with this sort of teen-screech
    reaction.
    The rest of the café, however, did not. At the moment of
    Chloe’s shriek, several people dropped the mugs/forks/items they
    were holding; two men leaped out of their chairs as if stung,
    knocking the chairs to the ground; and a woman just trying to
    enjoy a glass of icy lemonade and a novel while holding a sleeping
    baby tightly to her chest now had to contend with a wailing infant
    and a spilled drink. Dad hurried out from the kitchen. “Good lord,
    Chloe, what on earth . . . ?” Then he saw me. And Adam. “Oh,
    right. We close in twenty minutes,” he told me, nodding to the
    clock over the door.
    “Chloe,” I sighed as I helped a shaky Mr. Michaels back into his
    chair. Then I added, rather unnecessarily, “This is Adam.”
    Adam nodded, clearly enjoying this. “Hey. Chloe, is it?”
    At the sound of her name cradled in the mouth of this movie
    star, Chloe swallowed audibly and huddled close to the espresso
    machine, her arms cemented to her sides. “Okay, wow, hi.” Then,
    sneaking glimpses of him from beneath her shaggy bangs, she
    scrambled to pick up the milk frother. Dad mopped up the various
    bits of foam with a towel, then set about trying to make sure every-
    one else recovered, refilling coffees, righting chairs, pouring a
    new glass of lemonade. As I helped him, the woman took her baby
    outside, but not before smiling in a sort of daze at Adam.
    68
    Now, things settled, Dad brought Adam an egg, spinach, and
    goat cheese bagel sandwich to where we sat toward the back of the
    café. Parker positioned himself at a nearby table, a sort of human
    shield, his phone glued to his ear. The rest of the café had taken to
    sneaking quick glances at us, pretending to go about their conver-
    sations as usual, but clearly texting about us, adding barely sneaked
    photos of us to their Facebook pages. Adam didn’t seem to notice,
    though he kept his glasses on. He ate the bagel sandwich with a
    ferocious intensity, and people watched as if he were performing
    surgery.
    I fiddled with the straw of the iced tea Dad brought me and
    watched Adam eat. “So, that happens a lot, I guess.”
    He glanced over at where Chloe studied him from behind the
    counter, her mouth slightly open. When she saw him look, she
    hurried to finish erasing the daily specials board before disappear-
    ing into the kitchen. “You mean your friend there?” He chewed a
    piece of sandwich. “Yes. Yes, that happens quite a lot.”
    “Must get annoying.”
    He shrugged, shoveling the last of the bagel into his mouth and
    pushing the plate away. In seconds, Parker had it cleared. “It’s
    always been like that.” Adam slipped his glasses off, laying them on
    the table like an upside-down crab. I noticed how his blue eyes,
    always so electric in the movies, were almost turquoise up close,
    shot through with some green and framed with thick, short lashes.
    He had a smattering of freckles on his nose that didn’t often show
    up in his movies, either. Little flecks of deeper brown against his
    already-tan skin. He really was some sort of human work of art.
    69
    Adam checked his phone. “You have about thirty seconds, just
    in case you want to brush your hair or something.”
    “Excuse me?” I leaned a bit closer to him, which caused Chloe
    to gasp from where she’d been peeking over the napkins and straws
    counter.
    Looking up from his phone, he said, “Before they start show-
    ing up.”
    Moments later, two men in jeans and old T-shirts, cameras
    slung around their necks, pushed through the doors of the