I cried for a long time, but I waited to let Clyde go when I was all dried out.
"I'm so sorry for your loss, Elsie," Clyde apologized softly.
I sniffled and detangled myself. Clyde watched me anxiously. I managed a small smile.
"Is there any way I could help?" Clyde asked carefully.
I looked at him in a thoughtful state.
"Coffee?" I squeaked.
Clyde smiled faintly.
"If you'll drink it, kid," Clyde smirked at me.
I laughed and gently shoved him.
"Shut up!" I giggled before taking his hand and running out of the apartment. We laughed heartily all the way to the coffee shop. Momentarily, I was blindsided by the fact that this was the cafe and Pietro and I first met at. I wiped my grimace away.
Clyde and I sat down. It felt splendid to be sitting with another American. I smiled when I thought of how we would outnumber the saucyy, busty French accent. The sun was making Clyde's lemony hair glow. His baby-blue eyes were glossy and large. He looked like a boy and yet a designer's male model. I smiled to myself. He looked like the boy-next-door. Suddenly, I heard a young girl shout to her grandmother, and I instinctively turned my head. I refused to meet Clyde's gaze when I turned back.
"I miss her. She was my only real family," I muttered while sipping my coffee.
"You don't have to tell me," Clyde warned.
"No, no. I like talking with you," I admitted casually.
I saw Clyde's glossy eyeballs, and confidence surged through me.
"I've never told anybody that," I laughed.
Clyde raised his eyebrows.
"I guess this means we're friends," He beamed.
I clinked my mug with his.
"Oh, yeah," I declared.
Clyde and I shared another laugh.
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