Jenna Ortega - an Americano, please

Chapter Four

Y/N's POV

11 AM rolls around and I'm standing in front of Jenna's apartment complex, anxiously tapping my foot on the ground.

It's a nice day today, not a lot of clouds, which is rare for Autumn here.

"Morning," a familiar voice says. I look up to see Jenna smiling at me, her long black hair swaying with the slight breeze. 

"Hey, how'd ya sleep?" I ask.

"Pretty good, I was really tired," she tells me, pushing her bangs out of her eyes.

"Yeah, working a much as you seem to tends to have that effect," I chuckle.

"I guess it does, but it's not like I can just stop working," she reminds me.

"I get that, everyone needs a job in this day and age," I agree.

"You- you have a leaf in your hair," she giggles.

"I do?" I ask, feeling around my scalp to try and find it.

"Here, let me just..." she gets up on her tip-toes and pulls the leaf from my hair. I find it impossible to conceal my obvious blush.

"All good?" I ask.

"Yep," she smiles.

"Shall we walk?" 

"Lead the way."

We start to walk down the street, quiet at first. Neither of us really know what to say.

"So how come you speak English?" Jenna asks out of the blue.

"Oh, I grew up in an English speaking country, but my parents read in some magazine that raising children bilingually makes them smarter. Turns out they happened to know Romanian, so I kinda just grew up speaking both languages," I explain. 

"I see," she replies.

"They were wrong, by the way."

"Huh?" she inquires.

"It didn't make me smarter, just a more valuable asset to cafe staffs," I joke.

"Ok, that makes sense," she giggles, "so why'd you come here?"

"Who knows, maybe it was to cover up an elaborate crime," I say blankly, "do you speak any other languages?"

"No, just English, but I know a really small amount of Spanish," she confirms, "but I have to know more. Did you murder someone? Am I your next victim?"

"No don't worry," I laugh, "I wouldn't do that to anyone."

We walk a little more in silence, with me pointing out little landmarks as we go.

"That's Casa Zuzulache (this is literly a real place I found it on snapmap) it's an old motel, for some reason it shows up as a night club on a lot of maps though. Confuses a lot of tourists," I chuckle.

"Yeah, I can imagine," she laughs along, "like, you walk into what you think will be the time of your life and all you see is a tired old person behind a desk!" 

We laugh as we continue to walk, I don't know when it started, but at some point, she had slipped her hand into mine, and hadn't moved it since. Normally when someone I like does this, I feel an anxious sort of butterflies, but this. This just feels... right. 

"There's Freya House, it's also a hotel, but it has a decent restaurant. Apparently the soup is bad, but most things I've had there are pretty good."

"Good to know. I haven't gone out to eat much since I've been here. Most places can't accommodate vegans," she says.