Surprisingly enough, I wasn't late for work the next morning. I fell asleep shortly after Val finally gave up trying to get more information about Andrew and my almost-date, but I woke up at 3AM and couldn't get back to sleep. I kept thinking about him, about how I refused to give him - the guy who just wanted a chance to be normal - the opportunity to do so.

I felt horrible, and the churning in my stomach got worse even after I forced myself to get up and get ready for work. I made myself breakfast, opting for homemade avocado toast and coffee instead of my customary toasted onion bagel from the coffee shop down the street, and opened up my laptop to Google him.

My fingers hovered over the keys as I chewed on the bagel, debating whether or not this was a good idea, but - in the end - curiosity won. I opened the browser and typed "Lincoln Shepherd" in the search box, only to be bombarded with a slew of websites dedicated to him on the first page. I skipped his IMDB page since I already knew most of the films he was in, and I opened Wikipedia, Twitter, and Instagram. Everything else seemed to be a fan site or a news article about his latest casting. The last result on the first page was even a Tumblr account dedicated to him, xxlincolnshepherdxx.tumblr.com.

I clicked it, and my cheeks flushed pink the instant the page loaded. It was covered with photos and gifs of Andrew, his familiar dark hair and beard, as he smiled and laughed during interviews. My stomach panged with guilt, and I double checked Val's bed to make sure she was still asleep as I scrolled down. Interviews, screengrabs from his movies, magazine photo shoots...countless reminders that the man I met on the street was indeed an international celebrity.

And he was absolutely gorgeous.

There were even paparazzi photos of him on the street, and I felt even worse when I saw the number of reblogs and comments on the photos. Hundreds of thousands of fans hounded after him, all of them obsessed with his movie-star good looks, his charming smile, his clear blue-green eyes, and...well...everything else about him.

Switching over to Instagram, I grimaced when I saw his 2.3 million followers. The first photo had over 243,000 likes - a freaking quarter of a million - and over two thousand comments. Most were repetitive, fans proclaiming their love for him in all caps (followed by ten heart emojis, obviously), but there were a few that made me feel sick. Several talked about inappropriate situations, including one girl who wanted to "lick his abs" and "have his babies", and many were worse than that. I cringed as I read some of them, scrolling quickly past the ones with profane content, and saw some commented simply to say how much they hated him.

I couldn't understand why anyone would say those things, how they could possibly say it - publicly - so he could see it. All of it. He could read it when people were perverted, rude, and hateful. Didn't they know that he was a person too? That he had feelings? That he breathed the same air that they did? Or did they just think that because he was separate from them - that he was larger than life on the screen - that it didn't impact him the same way? I couldn't imagine having people say this kind of thing to me. I wouldn't be able to stomach it.

Closing Instagram, I decided to skip Twitter and opened Wikipedia instead. It was surreal, reading a brief biography of him online instead of hearing it in person, and I couldn't help feel like I was breaking some kind of rule. I wanted to know more about him, obviously, but did I want to find everything out online? After all, he said he wanted to take me out to dinner because I seemed interested in him. In Andrew, not Lincoln.

What if Andrew was nothing like the guy I read about online? There was a good chance the internet, the tabloids, all of it might be wrong. His image and persona may have been the production of a talented publicist, crafted to make his two million followers fall even more in love with him, and that doesn't necessarily mean it's true to the man he really was.

Shutting my laptop quickly, I winced at the sound and rubbed the top of my laptop apologetically. I didn't mean to slam it, but I couldn't keep thinking about this anymore. Not only did I need to finish getting ready for work, I reminded myself, but I also didn't want a relationship. At all.

Even if I did, Andrew was gone. I lost that opportunity when I walked away from him on the street, and there was no way I would be able to get in touch with him to change that regardless.

When I got to work, I tugged on my green apron over my gray t-shirt and black skinny jeans while greeting my boss, Peter.

Peter was about 5'4" and British, his short brown hair balding in patches around the back of his head, and what he lacked in traditionally good looks he more than made up with his warm and engaging personality. (Also, his accent didn't hurt.)

Without a doubt, he was my favorite person to work with at Starbucks, aside from Val, because he always put me in a good mood. Even when we were slammed with customers, Peter was constantly joking with us - telling stories from when he grew up in London - and telling us that we were doing a great job. He was the epitome of an uplifting and enthusiastic manager, 100% authentic, and I loved him for it.

My coworker, Sariah, gave me a tired grin as she dropped her apron over her head and started helping with us. We didn't normally work together, which meant she didn't know much about me. This morning I didn't want any Val or anyone else to poke around in my personal life, so I was glad to be working with Peter and Sariah. Just what the doctor ordered.

"Oi, Cait, you feeling alright?" Peter asked me as we started opening the shop.

"Yeah," I replied, confused. "Why? Do I look that bad in the morning?"

He laughed, "You were early. Just wanted to be certain the sky wasn't falling."

I stuck out my tongue at him, biting back a sarcastic reply in favor of finishing my opening duties. Once everything was stocked properly, I turned to face the other two and helped Sariah with her work. More of the staff would arrive as the day progressed, so once we finished prepping for the shop's open, we each made ourselves a drink and took a seat at a table near the register.

Peter munched on a spinach feta wrap, gulping his second venti americano - with an extra three shots of espresso - of the morning, while Sariah and I both sipped lattes. I didn't help open very often since Peter understood that chronic lateness and early mornings don't really work well together, but I liked getting the chance to enjoy the quiet of the shop before the busy day.

"Seriously though," Peter said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Everything okay?"

I nodded, "Couldn't sleep."

"Yuck," Sariah groaned. "That's the worst."

Peter lifted an eyebrow, "Trouble in paradise? Was Val snoring?"

"Something like that," I snorted, taking another drink of my latte.

Dodging questions was an artform I'd perfected over the past few months, and I pride myself in knowing that I could do it without pissing people off. Most of the time, people noticed if you ignored them or refused to give them an answer, but my technique involved acknowledging them in some way...just not in the way they wanted. I answered one question...ish...while dodging the one I didn't want to touch with a ten-foot pole.

"Who's the guy?" Sariah asked, and I nearly spat out my drink.

"What?" I coughed as Peter handed me a napkin, chuckling to himself. "What guy?"

She looked at me like it was obvious, "The guy. The reason you couldn't sleep. You aren't back in school, if I remember correctly, so something had you up last night. It could've been anything, but I just figured it would've been something of the male variety."

Oof.

There goes avoiding that topic.

I hid an Easter egg in this chapter, and no one found it. Oh well, here it is: xxlincolnshepherdxx.tumblr.com exists.

Andrew/Lincoln will be back soooooon.

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