Espressos & Cappuccinos

tveir

A L I C E

"An americano, love. Two shots."

       I TILT my head, unsure if I heard him correctly; not just because of his nearly inaudible, husky voice, but because of the nickname he used.

I was almost sure he hated me, but here he is, calling me 'love.' I guess it's just a habit of his, like my finger biting.

I nod skeptically, adding, "Here or to go?"

"To go," and though he speaks lowly, his voice carries, filling the empty coffeehouse. I barely notice the subtle change in his voice, a little smoother than the intimidating roughness earlier.

My eyes meet his dark ones as I, once again, fail to smile with any emotion other than exhaustion, "Name?"

His gaze burns into mine, "Aleksander."

I move to write his name on a to-go cup, policy even when it's only one customer, but he stops me with his dark voice before I can touch my Sharpie to it.

"It's spelt with 'ks,' instead of 'x,'" he clarifies before sitting on the same stool I was just in, his strong legs long enough to get on without hopping, and resting his chin in his palm.

He pays with a five dollar bill, telling me to keep the change, before I busy myself.

Silence engulfs the café as I shuffle around behind the counter, prompting me to sing a song. The lyrics of K. by Cigs After Sex flow from my lips, coming out in a hushed manor. I'm not very confident in my singing to be any louder, but I figure the hushed tone fit because it's a Cigs After Sex song.

As I sing the chorus, I sway a little to the tune, slightly dazed as I make the americano.

When I finish making the coffee, I come out of my dazed singing and turn around to give the cup to Aleksander. When I slide it over the marble counter, he grabs it with his large hands. He has a small smile on his lips for some reason, "Thank you, love."

He gets up from the stool, not needing to jump like I would've, and strolls out through the glass doors, but not before glancing back at me to lock me under his burning gaze once more.

When he's gone, I look at the humongous wall clock on the right side of the café, reading 2:49 a.m. I take off my apron after cleaning the counter and Aleksander's table, then lock up.

My mind is, once again, blank as I stride home, but at least Milo is still up when I open the door to greet me like an excited puppy, asking me how my day was.

So, I fill him in on what happened that day, from my coworker calling in sick, to thinking a customer I'd never met before had hated me. Then, Milo fills me in on his day of going to the gym and bumping into the guy he'd been interested in for months at the swimming lanes. We just met in person yesterday, and yet he's comfortable enough to talk to me about such a personal thing already. I honestly kind of admire him for his ease with conversation.

"He's so fucking sweet, Alice," Milo falls to the sofa after I sit down in my corner, his arm over his eyes, "He makes me melt with just a sentence."

I fold my knees to my chest, hugging them with my arms. I try to give helpful advice, which is a little difficult since I don't really have a love life, "Why don't you ask him out?"