Auburn Ivy runs away from her problems even if it means running away from her family, friends and familiar life. Anthony Kroff is a footballer on the rise but is lonely and lost in the new city he finds himself in. Their lives would have never inte...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
0.3|from Sabah's hastily written notes on tissue paper: when making the slowest latte ever|
That day I made the slowest latte in my whole career and the blonde-haired man waited. I really wanted to hear more, catch his name and see if in the future, him and her could become them but I waited.
I waited until I heard him laugh and I finally knew I could safely give him his order.
"Here you go, son," I handed him the mug with a sweet smile.
He smiled at me and I was amazed at how his face changed when he smiled. Earlier he had been handsome, handsome like a Michelangelo statue but now, he was beautifully alive like a human.
"Wow, that took some time. Danke, I mean, gracias!"
"The machine was stuck," I provided, easily. Lying was something that came naturally to me, sad as it sounds.
Auburn gave me a pointed look and that was when I realized that the young man wasn't the only one who had changed. Auburn's smile no longer contrasted with her tired eyes. Her eyes shined with laughter and her cheeks were a lovely shade of the lightest pink. I couldn't help smiling at her. She was clearly one of those rare breed of people who could evoke a smile by their own wherever they went. A muse of happiness.
You would think that I left it there, left fate to work its little strings at the puppets of time we called humans. Of course, I didn't.
I dragged a rickety white chair from the adjacent table and sat down, my back protesting, my knees overcome by an icy-hot pain.
"What's your name?" I asked, gaily. If he thought it was weird of me to be friendly when we were strangers, he didn't say it.
"Anthony," he replied his thick accent surfacing. Before he gave me his hand to shake he reached up to comb back his hair.
"Are you sure its not Pedro?" I asked, hopefully. Maybe, just maybe he was Spanish, only born in Germany.
He looked at Auburn to confirm whether I was serious or not, "Uh, no?"
"Alonso?" I asked.
"Nope, its Anthony," he looked at me apologetically, endearing himself, his innocent eyes and quick smiles to me until I decided that he was as good as any bronze-haired sexy Spaniard.
Of course, it would have been better if his name had been Pedro, Alonso or even Dani but you can't have everything in life. I spent the remainder of the conversation (and my coffee) glancing between Anthony and Auburn, smiling to myself at the early and subtle signs of a friendship that just might grow into more.
When I look back, I am amazed at how they met and how their story started. Two random strangers in a small, side-street cafe. In my small, side-street café.
