Cold Coffee
prologue
He came in the cafe I work at every Wednesday and Friday. That was the only thing that could be expected of him. The time always differed, so I was forced to wait in agony for him to show up. I even offered to work full days so I'd be sure not to miss him. Sometimes he'd be there when we opened, sometimes right before we closed.
He never sat in my section, and he always ordered a cup of coffee - no cream, no sugar. I guess that's one more thing that was predictable about him. Sometimes he would order a piece of cobbler, and I knew that blackberry was his favorite because he would scrape the plate clean when he was done and then usually ordered a second one.
We never spoke, but man was I in love with him. I dreamt about him in the leather jacket he wore when it was cloudy and the stubble that would appear on his jawline every once in a while. It was summer, and I had nothing else better to do than daydream about his gray-blue eyes and what it would be like to actually look into them.
I guess it was my fault. I didn't even know the guy's name and I had already made up his entire personality in my mind. He didn't know that he was supposed to be gentle and quiet and honest, or that he was supposed to eat meat and like to dance and play the guitar. And when I finally met him, it was like falling through the ice on my pond, like taking that one shot too many, like a cold cup of coffee. And just as soon as I fell out of love with him, he fell in love with me.
He never sat in my section, and he always ordered a cup of coffee - no cream, no sugar. I guess that's one more thing that was predictable about him. Sometimes he would order a piece of cobbler, and I knew that blackberry was his favorite because he would scrape the plate clean when he was done and then usually ordered a second one.
We never spoke, but man was I in love with him. I dreamt about him in the leather jacket he wore when it was cloudy and the stubble that would appear on his jawline every once in a while. It was summer, and I had nothing else better to do than daydream about his gray-blue eyes and what it would be like to actually look into them.
I guess it was my fault. I didn't even know the guy's name and I had already made up his entire personality in my mind. He didn't know that he was supposed to be gentle and quiet and honest, or that he was supposed to eat meat and like to dance and play the guitar. And when I finally met him, it was like falling through the ice on my pond, like taking that one shot too many, like a cold cup of coffee. And just as soon as I fell out of love with him, he fell in love with me.