Cinnamon, Blueberries, & Other Subjects to fill a Book of Poetry

Chapter 5: Coffee

I was only waiting for him for twenty minutes or so. I think my internal clock is a little better now, or maybe I was just counting the minutes myself. I wave him over, worrying immediately that it makes me like a complete idiot, and the corner of his mouth twitches. I think about that and the worry rolls to the back of my mind. He walks over and I think about how peculiar it is to see him again, at least out of his place of work. I think about that. I think maybe I'm not as great with words as I thought I was. The first thing he says when he sits down is:

     "Does your shirt say 'T-shirt?'" I glance down at my shirt. I like this shirt.

     "It does. I think it's funny, don't you?" He laughs at me and I wonder if it's because he also thinks it's funny or if he's just laughing at me. I hope it's the former, it's never nice to be laughed at. But, I don't think I'd mind either way, if it's him doing the laughing. He has a lovely laugh. I think about that. Then I realise I've been quiet for too long again.

     "Well, you aren't exactly the pinnacle of fashion yourself."

      "What? You don't like my outfit?" He asks, corner of his mouth twitching.

     "It's a cropped shirt. With sleeves."

      "And?"

      "Doesn't that defeat the purpose of it being cropped in the first place?" He shrugs. "And, it's neon orange. Who wears neon anymore? And, why orange?" The corner of his mouth twitches again.

      "Because it's my favourite colour." I sip at my smoothie and smile. I think that fits him too. "So, you don't like my outfit?" He asked again, giving me that look that makes me shiver.

      "Well.." I look him over again. I can't say it looks bad. It is indeed neon orange. I don't generally like neon, it hurts my eyes, but it seems to make sense on him. His shirt mostly looks like a hoodie, but it's cut off straight above his stomach and I can vaguely see a tattoo under his rib cage peeking out. I wonder how far up it goes. I've never seen a man wear a shirt like that before. I wonder if he bought it from the women's section. It's odd, but I don't think it looks bad on him. I don't think it looks bad on him at all.

     "Hey, Earth to Sammy." He briefly waves a hand in front of my face, pushing the fog of thoughts out of my head, "It's kind of rude to stare, innit?" I feel slightly bad, realising I probably had been staring for a while now. I started to worry. Then I looked over at him and saw how his ears were slightly pink and he was staring at me and the worry was pushed back by thoughts and questions and the rush to commit this new look to memory.

      "Sorry. I hadn't meant to." I offer, smiling and watching his mouth twitch in response. "I don't dislike your outfit at all. I think it looks nice on you." His ears are still pink and he looks away from me and rolls his eyes. I think about that. I think of a million questions to ask him until one comes tumbling out.

      "Are you a mechanic? He gives me the familiar look of confusion and I sip my smoothie to avoid letting any more questions pour out. He wouldn't answer any of them even if they did. One at a time. 

Always making me wait.

      "No. I'm a state senator. That's why I showed up with a tow truck and overalls in the middle of nowhere. It's just a hobby of mine to pick up random guys who sit on the hoods of their cars writing." He's making fun of me, even I can pick up on that, but I can't help but smile because I think that means he likes me. Friends make fun of each other, right? I think this means we're friends. I ignore the odd pang that sends through me. I don't know what it means and I get the feeling that that's not a line of thought I want to pursue. He crosses his arms on the table, nodding towards my cup. "You're not a coffee person." It wasn't a question and that made me laugh, which makes him smile and I think I'm genuinely enjoying myself.

     "No. I hate it, actually, I haven't touched the stuff since college." I wrapped both hands around the cup, shivering slightly at how cold it was, "My cousin thinks it probably has something to do with how much of it I drank back then. She says I spent too many nights running solely off of caffeine and deadline pressure."

     "Is she right?"

     "She usually is." I nod, looking at my half full cup and then over at him. 

   "Why'd you drink it before?" The question catches me slightly off guard, but I know what he means. In the back of the auto-shop, where I drank bitter coffee and first started collecting his looks. I feel my face heat up and I know I can't tell him that I drank it because he drank it. So instead, I just shrug. Stealing a page from his book, as it were.

   "Oh! I'm so sorry, I'm being rude. I can't believe I invited you here and haven't even gotten you a coffee yet." I frown, standing up quickly. He watches me,

    "Don't worry about it, man. I'm fi-"

      "No. Just- give me one second." I say quickly, gently pushing down on his shoulder as he goes to follow me. " I'll be right back. Promise." I pull my hand away and watch him for a second to make sure he'll stay put, he gives me a look, but doesn't go to stand again, then I turn and walk to the counter. I feel my face flush and mentally reprimand myself for being stupid and selfish and all manner of things.

    "Y'know, if you keep going through those drinks at this rate, you'll give yourself a permanent brain freeze." The barista teases me. I know him. Harrison. Like the street. I went to school with his sister. I never quite got along with either.

     "What can I say? You guys really do make the best drinks around." I smile, rummaging in my pocket for my wallet, "I'm actually still working on mine though. Right now I'd like a coffee, please." He quirked an eyebrow at me as he tapped at the order screen, "With cream, sugar, and cinnamon, if you could." I add.

      "You gettin' into coffee now, Greene?" I laugh and shake my head, handing him my card,

     "No. It's not for me, actually, it's for my friend." I gesture vaguely and turn as he glances over my shoulder. Reese is still sitting at my table- our table? But now he's got his phone out and is tapping away at it with one hand while his other arm is draped over the back of his chair. I notice he's got his legs kicked up on my chair now and it makes me smile. That stops when I look back at Harrison, who's frowning.

     "I haven't seen him around before. He doesn't work at the Oak with you, does he? He doesn't really look the sort." I feel myself frowning now too. I know exactly what he means, but I almost feel like demanding to know what he meant by that. Just to hear him say it. I remind myself how ridiculous that would be and change the topic as I push back the thoughts of why exactly his opinion on the company I keep made me see red.

     "How's Caroline?" I ask instead, taking my card back as he hands it over.

     "Oh, she's great! She s-" I let myself drift into my head as he drones on. I feel a little bad about it. Just a little though. I once again try not to think about why his words made me so bitter. I don't know if I'd find an answer even if I did. Not a solid one. Not a good one. Just more questions. I smile and thank him when he hands me my drink and I shake my head clear as I walk back over to the table. 

Our table.

      "There. Now I won't have to feel guilty after you leave and you won't be able to needle me about owing you a coffee." I try my hand at a joke, earning an indignant snort in response, and feel myself preen.