That Beautiful Kind of Magic

God, she love’d the way Burberry feels on one’s skin. It made Annabelle miss London terribly—the breeze, the smell, the overall feeling of the spray when walking across a bridge, or even the titillating smell of fresh crepes across the street. Just being able to feel the fabric that originated from home made her nostalgic and altogether unsettled.

After waiting for John to see the new dress, a reaction that was one in a million complimented with a few kisses and some tugs in protest to her departure, she stepped out, letting the material match with a khaki trench coat that was studded over the sleeves, another one of her Burberry loves.

Annabelle swung her bag holding her laptop and all the necessities over her slim shoulder.

New York really is beautiful in the fall, and at a time like this, you really need to just breath and look around. Look at the leaves and smell the air. It’s all comforting and soothing all at once.

Generally when Annabelle writes, she liked to take her things over to the village and sit in the first coffee shop she could find. Today was a small cafe with a French name, one that no one really paid any mind to.

She set up her things by the window, plugged in her laptop and began writing. Each word flowed easily from her dainty pale fingers to the worn down keys and into the open word document. The little ticking sounds that lifted off the keyboard just blended in to the sound of grinding coffee beans and the froth machine behind the counter.

“One cafe au lait.” A waitress approached the focus-pinned girl with a white mug filled to the rim with a pail coffee-colored liquid, letting off a veil of steam over the porcelain.

“Oh,” Annabelle sat up in her seat. “I didn’t order that.”

“Um.” The waitress turned around. “The guy by the window—over there.” She pointed. “Said that you looked tired.” She placed the cup down. “Enjoy!”

Annabelle studied the cup and smirked to herself. Coffee shop admirer? Interesting. And all the more reason to ignore the gesture and go back to work. When working with admiration, the best solution is the turn the other cheek in order to see if the other person is willing to use up the energy just to see your entire face. Hm.

“I take it you’re not a coffee person?” A voice spoke above the writer.

The ignorant girl finished typing the final word in her fifth paragraph of a new chapter before answering, still looking at the screen but not at the stranger. “I don’t accept drinks from strangers, dear sir. That is how drama starts.” She choked a laugh despite how humorous the situation really was.

“Ah.” The stranger continued to reply. “I see. Because, you know, it’s quite plausible that I slipped a date rape drug into your coffee.”

“Or maybe coolant. Or rat poison.” They continued their banter.

“May I join you?”

“Depends on who is asking.” Annabelle finally looked up to her unknown guest.

The two pairs of hazel eyes met each other suddenly with a honey-simmered gaze. The boy, or man more over, had messy brown hair, curls and all that framed his face, pale and dabbed across with hints of red and pink. He smiled with a beaming feeling that was welcoming and inviting.

“Do I look like a serial killer?” He shrugged with this question. “Yes? No?”

“Oh.” Annabelle lowered her laptop but not before pressing save. “I’m sorry. I’ve been rude.” She motioned towards the seat in front of her. “Please.”

“I’m guessing you’re not from here.” He chuckled at the girl’s foreign voice.

“I’ve been here for quite some time, thank you very much.” She retorted. “I don’t plan on losing my voice any time soon.”

“London?”

“Basically.” Annabelle cocked her head to the side. “And you? That is not a Brooklyn accent, Mr. Cafe Au Lait.”

“Arizona accent actually.” Her company laughed. “I didn’t realize my voice was all that different than others.”

“All voices have distinctness, Sir. I am a prime example of that.” The Brit laced her fingers together and leaned forward. “Is that justification enough for you?”

“Your vocabulary is very sophisticated, Ms. London.” He copied her position.

“I try to entertain.”

“Are we to continue these titles then?” Mr. Cafe Au Lait expressed his delight through sarcasm.

“I suppose so.” Ms. London giggled.

“Well.” He leaned over. “Judging by your new nickname and the way you dress, I’m guessing you party at night but you’re reserved when the sun is up. Boyfriend?”

“Yes, actually.” Annabelle nodded ever so slightly. “And yourself?”

“Quite the opposite, Ms. London.”

“How unfortunate. I’m sure your future girlfriend would appreciate these subtle hints of your kindness being hinted through random cups of coffee.” She arched her left eyebrow.

Mr. Cafe leaned closer resting on his elbows. “And you aren’t here with your boyfriend because?”

The cautious girl leaned back. “It’s too early for him. I’m a night owl and an early bird in one.”

“Interesting.”

Annabelle studied the man across from her. He looked very rugged, unlike John who was more composed and stoic in his movements. This one was more fluid and wordy with his opinions. Such conversations like this don’t occur everyday, and it was kind of refreshing to talk to someone new. Mr. Cafe’s looks added to his charm.

It was an odd desire—to want to get to know this stranger more. The appearance of the situation made it seem like a debate among friends as opposed to… a first conversation between strangers. It was enough to tantalize the mind and bind one’s inhibitions.

“Care to drink my gift to you before it turns to ice?” Mr. Cafe nodded towards the drink on the edge of the table.

“We’ll see.”

It was more the sensation of this stranger keeping the conversation alive that intrigued Annabelle. Such effort came at a price.

Annabelle narrowed her eyes. “Please keep in mind, I am a taken woman.”

He smirked. “Please keep in mind as well.” He lowered her voice to a whisper. “I wasn’t looking to steal you away.