Coveted

It wasn’t love; it was obsession… 

Chapter I

The smell of coffee wakes me up for yet another torturous day in the life of a loner. I order my usual and wait at the side of the counter taking in the riff raff the bad weather has dragged in. Old Mike in his usual seat by the window, with Margaret looking, somewhat forlornly, at Mike in hopes he’ll offer her the empty seat opposite him. He won’t, he never does. Edie’s arguing with Joe about who knows what this time; by the end of the hour, after one too many espressos, they’ll kiss and make up. They always do. And then there’s a sea of unnotables, mainly businessmen getting their daily caffeine fix before an arduous day at work; housewives stealing a quick breather from the energetic chaos that is their lives. And me, an avid people watcher with little to do in her spare time but imagine up snappy sayings for the front of greeting cards. You see, when I’m not burdened with the soulless work of university assignments, I write greetings cards. I know, talk about living the dream.

‘One caramel latte’, the barista drones out, clearly bored of the listless job shouting out orders provides. Finally. I’m in serious need of a caffeine revitalisation right-about-now. Too preoccupied with the heady smell of roasted coffee beans, I grab the coffee cup off the side of the counter without any regard to the other people also in line for their morning caffeine. Just as my hand closes around the paper cup, I feel the lingering warmth of fingers pressing into mine. I look up instantly into the most mesmerising of eyes, all colour and no pupil. I stand there, a little taken aback when the barista serves another latte, indicating that the one in my hand is in fact mine, and she is holding this handsome stranger’s. Despite the fact that he has now been anointed with his rightful coffee, his hand lingers, his eyes moving slowly from my eyes to my lips and back up again. 

‘Sorry for the mix-up, you know when you’re running on zero sleep, you tunnel vision on coffee.’ He says, his voice almost robotic in its monotonal rhythm. I try thinking of some witty retort, hoping to entice him with innate social skills; unfortunately, all I muster is a smile and a slight nod of my head, dying a little at having to try and socialise. He looks at me as if I’m stupid, expecting me to say something in return, but all I seem capable of doing is getting lost in his glacial eyes. Could I be anymore awkward? 

‘Don’t worry about it, it happens to all of us’, I decide upon in the end. Even though it clearly doesn’t happen to all of us. I, for one, would never pick up someone else’s coffee, and if I did happen to make such a tragic mistake, I’d sink to the floor in a mess of human embarrassment. He smiles at me then, like he can read my thoughts, his lips slowly quirking up in a wonky smile as though he finds my inability to communicate somewhat endearing. Or at least I hope that’s what the small gleam in his eyes is.

‘I’ll try to make sure it doesn’t happen again’, he laughs with a wry smile. I laugh with him, erasing my early inept conversational skills. 

‘I’ll be seeing you’, he murmurs, and then, with a wink, he’s gone. God, I hope he does. I watch as his figure recedes out of the coffee shop; his broad shoulders and towering height making him easy to trace in a crowd. Before long, he’s out of the door, and seemingly out of my life, like he was never there to begin with. With a sign, and a somewhat forlorn look towards the door, I take a sip of my coffee. It’s delicious, as always, just what I need to start the day right.