It Started in a Coffee Shop

No one had ever written anything for me before. I wondered how much time he had spent on it. I wondered if it came to him naturally or if he sat down and racked his brain for a while to find words that fit. If it was the latter, I would feel bad. If it was the latter, I bet he was very annoyed writing it.

Of course, I contemplated the idea that it wasn’t even for me, that maybe he had written it for someone else or for no one at all, and it ended up in his pocket where it became entwined with the dollar bills that he put in the tip jar. Maybe I was so into him, I was reading too much into the whole thing. I mean, I thought he was telepathically trying to tell me something. Tell me that’s not crazy.

I wanted to think of something just as wonderful to say back in case it actually was for me. But I was held back by my inability to creatively write anything (at least confidently) and the thought that it was all a mistake. I would catch myself thinking of him and trying to come up with something perfect to write back. I would think about it while doing the dishes at home, or if I was up late, or while mindlessly browsing the internet. But everything in my head sounded wrong. I just couldn’t.

Eventually he came back to the coffee shop, and I got butterflies, and I panicked because there was no response I could come up with that would suffice. He automatically looked at me and gave a small smile, like we were old friends. I tried to smile back, but I’m sure I looked flustered.

Mel noticed our little exchange. She became less of a bitch as the weeks went on, by the way. She was tolerable these days. She raised her eyebrows at me as Evan approached the counter.

I got out a napkin this time, for more room, and pulled out a pen and just began to write.

“I’m not much of a writer, and I’m sorry. All I can say is that your eyes look sweet and warm like melted chocolate and your hair is beautiful, the way it shines from the sun just before you walk in. I hope I see you again soon.”

He ordered an iced coffee again, and this time Mel was so kind as to make it while I was writing (see? Less bitchy, thank God). However, I got to hand it off, with the napkin, and he said thanks and we smiled at each other, like the other times.

“What was that all about?” Melanie asked me when he had left.

I took in a breath and looked down at the floor. “Oh nothing, really,” I responded, shaking my head, trying to play it off as no big deal

“Yeah right, he was basically eating you up with his eyes as he walked in,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Plus, I could tell by how flustered you were that you’ve got some kind of school-girl-crush on him, too. I’m not sure if it’s cute or pathetic,” she laughed. Ok, she still was kind of a bitch sometimes.

I just looked at her and rolled my eyes. Another order came in (I don’t know if you can tell, but the coffee shop isn’t very busy today. No one wants warm drinks when it’s hot outside). After I handed the next customer his drink, Mel pressed the issue some more.

“Seriously, tell me why you were writing him a note. Are we in grade school again?” She was smiling when she said it, a playful smile, so I tried not to be offended. I, personally, was glad we were writing because it was kind of old school and slightly more romantic than just going straight for “Hey, can I have your number?” But I knew she didn’t mean that. She wanted to know why we were even communicating.

“Well, the first time he came in when I was working, I wanted to let him know that I think he’s attractive. So, I wrote on his cup that he was pretty.”

Mel laughed a little again. “Smooth move. Now you’re exchanging love notes?”

“Well, I wasn’t expecting anything back. But here we are.” I made a face at the thought of love notes. “I don’t know, I wouldn’t call them love notes.”

“Hmm. Whatever.”

Melanie must know him, I thought. She’s lived here her whole life (I, on the other hand, just moved to the town in the fall to start college. After Spring semester, I got an apartment & started working at the coffee shop). He must have been here a while if Helen knows him. Plus we’re on the subject…

“So, do you know him?” I asked nervously. I felt like such a creeper asking.

“Not really. I know his name’s Evan and I see him around the campus a sometimes.” Mel shrugged and began pacing. It really was a slow day. “Oh,” she said, just thinking of something. “I heard a girl I was doing a group project with last semester say something about him being an ass. Especially when he’s drunk. They were dating and she dumped him over it.”

“Hmmm. That’s a little off-putting.”

“What, are you in love with him already?” She said, smirking at me.

“Definitely,” I said sarcastically. Finally another customer came in.

“Hey, what are you doing tonight?” she asked as I was making the order.

I shrugged. “Nothing, I guess, why?”

“Well, I’m going out to a club with one of my friends and we don’t want it to just be the two of us. So, we’re looking for more people to go. Do you want to?”

I’d never been to a club and they definitely didn’t seem like my kind of thing. But I didn’t go out much and I wasn’t looking forward to going back to my tiny apartment and browsing the web, alone. And I was getting really tired of not socializing. The only person I really socialized with was my roommate in the dorms and she went back home for the summer. I liked her because we weren’t into going out.

But to be honest, I was tired of not going out. And even if I was going out with Mel, who I hated not long ago, it still sounded more appealing than watching illegal movies all night.
So I shrugged and said, “Sure, I don’t see why not.”

“Nice. What’s your number? I’ll text you details.”