Coffee Shop

The bell jingles as she walks in, clunky boots making dull thuds on the floorboards. She smooths down her dress and walks over; her overall look seems to be inspired by the 80’s “vintage” craze with a hint of punk. Round sunglasses complete the outfit which she props up on her head. The barista looks over at her and smiles politely, a messily written name pinned to his pain black shirt, reading “MATT”. He asks for her order, readying the till.

“I’ll have… an iced caramel latte, thanks.” Her steel grey eyes had assessed the board behind him before giving her order. A hand with black painted nails passes over a crisp five dollar bill as Matt names the price. He gave her back sixty cents and a receipt, not bothering to ask for her name because the amount of customers had lulled in the past few minutes and he wasn’t expecting many more in a hurry. She had been the only one in a good ten minutes or so, and the lunch rush had finished over an hour ago.

“It’ll be a few minutes.” She stood to the side and looked around the coffee shop, breathing in the bitter scent of freshly ground beans. The dim lighting and soft music playing gives it a relaxing aura, as does the few earth toned paintings hanging on the walls. One wall is bare brick, adding to the rustic façade – the middle of Melbourne is anything but rustic with its busy streets and new, modern skyscrapers being built every few years.

While Matt is making her latte, he scrounges around next to the till, trying to find their permanent marker – he’s sure he saw it next to the spare change tin, but instead finds it under a stack of business cards that he should probably tidy up. He scribbles on her cup and glances over, trying to hide a smile. She’s looking out at the city. It’s a nice day, and sunshine is filtering through the windows. Satisfied with his handiwork, Matt hands over her drink with a wink and an infectious smile. A soft blush blossoms across her cheeks as she tucks her hair behind her ear, accepting the beverage. She turns and sits down at a booth, reading the few words he had penned and glancing back over at him, an eyebrow raised.

“Excuse me?” Matt’s grin only becomes wider.

“I get off in ten.” Now that she’s heard him say more than a few words, she can detect the English accent. She scoffs and takes a sip, impressed by his coffee – making skills. The caramel aroma fills her nose as she breathes in the scent.

Just as Matt said, he clocks out in ten minutes, after making himself an espresso, and wanders over to the chair in front of the red headed woman. “Do you mind if I sit here?”

She smiles up at him. “You seem to have invited yourself beforehand, but sure.” She makes a small indication with her head to tell him to sit and her oddly coloured eyes watch him.

A hush settles over them both, broken only by the soft chatter of voices around them. It seems to have gotten louder and more claustrophobic. “I’m Matt,” he said, hoping to break the ice. She settles her cup on the table and tells her his name.

“I’m Erin.”

“That’s a beautiful name,” Matt compliments and Erin shakes her head, a short laugh escaping her lips.

“Thank you. I like your accent – where are you from?” Erin picks up to have another sip of her drink, wiping her hand on a serviette afterwards – condensation was starting to form and run down the side of the plastic.

“Born and raised in Surrey. I came out here a few years ago.”

“To what, make coffee?” Erin jokes with him. “Speaking of which, this is excellent. Best I’ve had from here.” Matt ducks his head shyly at the compliment and continues with his story.

“Actually, to study. None of your collages, sorry, universities would take me on.”

“Ouch,” Erin murmured.

Matt shrugged, then said, “there’s always next year. At least I got a job too – I’d never be able to pay my share of the rent otherwise.” He finally took a swig of his espresso, wincing at the bitter taste and taking a sugar from the complementary bowl in the middle of the table. “What about you?”

“I’m taking a gap year. I’m still not certain on what I’d like to do so I’m taking on a whole heap of volunteer work experience.”

“What sort of field are you looking at?”

“All types – fashion design, photography, interior design. Something crafty and hands on. I couldn’t see myself working some nine to five office job.”

“I hope it all goes well.”

“I do too.” They share a look, both understanding where the other is coming from despite not being in the exact same situation, and have some more coffee. As Erin finishes hers, her phone rings from inside her bag.

“Excuse me.” She fishes out the small device and skims through the text. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. It was nice meeting you, Matt.” She holds her hand out for a handshake. Matt thinks that this is somewhat peculiar, but complies with a huge smile on his face.

“It was nice meeting you too. Can I please have your number?” He tacks the sentence on smoothly, and even leans back a bit. He was the picture of relaxed – sure in his mind that she would say yes.

Erin nods, smiling a final time before handing her number over, which had been hastily scribbled on a piece of scrap paper. His impromptu coffee date and charm had earned him that at least. “I look forward to seeing you again.” With that, she slipped her glasses onto her nose, arranged her drawstring bag on her back and walked out of the shop, the bell jingling and her clunky boots thudding while Matt entered the ten digits into his phone.