Last Kiss

The strong aroma of coffee that wafted through the light breeze outside of Commonplace Coffee was the only indication that a café was nearby. There were no signs to indicate where the entrance was—no obnoxious gimmicks to lure customers inside. Nestled deep in the city, it would have been impossible to find without an experienced guide.

Luckily, Kris had obviously been a patron of the shop for quite some time. Surprising me by gently taking my hand, he carefully tugged me towards a shady-looking alley without a word. I hesitated for a brief minute, thoughts of my near-tragedy with Max still racing through my head. After a moment, I reluctantly trusted him to lead me into the shadows. Halfway between the streets lay a narrow staircase, leading down into the basement of the building on our left. The delicious smell of coffee engulfed my senses at this point, and I descended ahead of Kris without further hesitation.

The barista looked up from a blender and flashed him a grin of pearly whites as he led me to the counter. Kris waited patiently as she finished making a gentleman a frothy frappachino, leaning casually on the counter as though he owned the place. I realized with a jolt that the young multi-millionaire standing at my side literally could own the shop; he definitely had enough money.

Turning with a smile, she began talking to him in rapid French that I couldn’t understand, and he replied just as quickly. My limited French skills allowed me to catch a few words, but the meaning of the conversation was lost on me. Giving up, I glanced around the café awkwardly, admiring its décor.

The coffee shop was charming; it was impossible to deny. Though it was smaller in size, the circular booths that lined the far wall gave the appearance of both comfort and privacy. Plants covered nearly every surface, making the quaint little store feel warm and earthy. Strange knickknacks adorned the walls, leading up to the unusually high ceiling. The ceiling itself was a sight to behold. Hundreds of tiny lights were embedded in the wood, which had been painted a mixture of dark blues and black. The overall effect was a brilliant, clear night sky. Truly, the shop was absolutely beautiful.

As I visibly relaxed in the warm ambiance of the coffee shop, I realized that Kris’s hand was still intertwined with mine. I had never really held hands with anyone before; my most recent ex usually had frigid fingers, and my ex before that didn’t really like it much. Unfortunately, those two men were as far as my dating expertise had gone, so I was inexperienced in hand holding.

With Kris, however, it felt completely natural. It was as though my hand was perfectly molded to fit into his. It seemed that everything felt natural with Kris, though; on our walk over to Commonplace Coffee, neither one of us had said more than two words. Normally, the silence would have been awkward, stabbed with random bursts of small talk and pregnant pauses. Instead, Kris and I both simply enjoyed the peace of each other’s company, knowing internally that speech wasn’t necessary to have a conversation.

That’s not to say we didn’t communicate. When we had passed a child dancing along the sidewalk, blowing bubbles into the wind, Kris lightly nudged me before extending an index finger and popping one. Giggling, I leapt into the air, grasping frantically to pop one, too. Managing to hit a few, I landed with a triumphant grin, looking over to Kris for approval.

He was chuckling and shaking his head, clearly amused by my childish display. I had just started to turn a light shade of pink when Kris mimicked my actions perfectly, springing up off the concrete to touch another bubble. He, however, missed. His feet hit the ground a moment later as a disappointed look set upon his face. I couldn’t help but laugh, nudging him reassuringly. He struggled to resist smiling, but it soon proved to be impossible. With a roll of his eyes, we continued down the sidewalk towards our destination.

So much more is often said in unspoken words.

Looking up from our interlocked fingers, I noticed that both Kris and the barista had ceased talking and were simply staring at me. Kris’s eyes were twinkling with humor, while the barista’s eyes were merely filled with curiosity. Finding the dazzling beauty of the blonde in front of me slightly intimidating, I turned to Kris, biting my lip. “What did I miss?” I said hesitantly.

A grin quickly spread across Kris’s face. “ Elle a demandé à ce que vous souhaitez commander, ” he began, “mais vous étiez trop enchanté par le plafond et vous n'avez pas l'entendre.”

Shaking my head with a mock sigh, I smiled back at him. “You know, French is a lovely language, and I’m certain that you said something fantastic and worthwhile. But I don’t speak French, so I have absolutely NO clue as to what the fuck you’re saying.”

The sharp bark of laughter from the barista caught me a little off-guard, and I was instantly un-settled. I shifted my weight nervously, unable to keep from glancing between them. Flashing another flawless grin, the barista turned quickly to Kris. “ Elle est fougueuse, n'est-elle pas?” she said quickly in her lilted voice.

Kris shrugged a little, his gaze never leaving mine. “Elle est special,” he said softly, squeezing my hand very lightly.

My heart gave a little stutter-stop at his words. I didn’t need a French-English dictionary or Google Translate to know what he had just said. Simply gaping at him, I tried desperately to control my simultaneously surprised and flattered reaction. I felt my fingers return his squeeze, though I don’t remember my mind ever asking them to. I don’t think my lips were told to upturn in a goofy smile, either. Yet there it was upon my face, as easy to read as a large-print children’s book.

Struggling a little to maintain a semblance of composure, I nudged Kris lightly with my hip. “Don’t make me speak more Japanese,” I warned, managing to keep my voice steady.

He grinned widely, his eyes lighting up. “Is that a promise?” he replied, obviously enthused by the idea.

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes teasingly at him. “You know,” I began, “if you give me a pen and a napkin, I could write your name.”

The prospect seemed to delight Kris, and he began digging around in his pockets, presumably for a writing device. “Oh,” he said offhandedly, “and Megan there is waiting for your order. You really need to learn French.” He paused in his searching for a moment, his eyes narrowing a little in consideration. “Actually, scratch that,” he added. “It’s way too much fun torturing you.”

“You’re mean,” I teased, shaking my head with a giggle. After a brief moment of scrutinizing the drink menu, I turned to the barista and smiled politely at her. “I’d like a vanilla frappachino, please,” I said. “Sorry I can’t order in French like Mr. Canada over there.”

“Bonjour, mademoiselle,” she said with a grin. “Since Kris over there hasn’t felt the need to introduce me, I guess I will. I’m Megan, the owner of this shop and Kris’s cousin. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Hey,” Kris complained, “don’t put all the blame on me for not introducing you two. We both know you have a loud mouth, Megs. Maybe I just wanted to give you a chance to use it.”

Megan raised one eyebrow, tapping her perfectly manicured fingernails on the counter. “Maybe I was a little surprised that you actually brought someone here instead of coming in, buying your coffee, and sulking in the corner alone like normal.”

“I…”Kris said before breaking off, shaking his head and turning to me. “Family,” he began, shrugging, “what can you do about them, eh?”

The jealousy that I didn’t realize I had been harboring instantly faded, and I felt the tension in my shoulders dissipate. A genuine smile crept on my face as I turned to Megan and held out my hand to shake hers. “I’m Audrey,” I said with a small laugh, “and I absolutely love your coffee shop.”

Megan briefly looked up at the ceiling before meeting my eyes once again. “It was Kris’s idea,” she said softly, “but he would never admit to it.” With a wink, she took my hand and shook it delicately before turning to the whirring machines behind her. “One vanilla frap and one cup of plain coffee coming right up!” she called over her shoulder.

I felt Kris move to my side, and I looked up to meet his gaze. He was analyzing me curiously, and I couldn’t help but think of what Megan had told me. More importantly, I couldn’t stop thinking about how he had told her that I was special. It was impossible even begin to comprehend the implications of that solitary, simple sentence.

“What?” I finally asked with a chuckle, finding Kris’s eyes to still be searching mine. There was another moment of silence, and I could practically see a whirlwind of thoughts racing though his head. After hesitating, he held up a long, silver pen with a childlike grin.

“Will you write my name?”