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...
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0.7|from Sabah's hastily-written notes on tissue paper: when observing an Anthony|
Anthony came again next Tuesday. I was attending to a large group of Japanese tourists which had swamped the café when I saw his blonde head over a few dark ones. It's funny how you never really know the small details of a person the first few times you meet. Earlier he had been just a blonde head with grey eyes.
Now, as I saw him weaving through the tables, looking for a certain girl, I realized that his hair wasn't blonde, it was more like a brownish-blonde. It's difficult to describe it to you, Sabah. You have to see him to believe it. And his eyes, Auburn wasn't kidding when she had called the lovely. Yes, they could be called grey but they weren't just grey. They were a different shade altogether, rather like blue had mixed with grey and melted into his eyes.
I smiled at him, thinking how well Auburn and Anthony would look together. He smiled back, a little shyly, as always, his eyes still looking for Auburn. I didn't want to break it to him that she only came on Fridays. I didn't want to disappoint him like that.
Still, I asked, "Looking for someone?"
"Uh-what?" he blushed, reaching up to brush back the strands of gold that fell across his forehead. "No! I just came for-uh-a latte?"
"Of course, you did," I laughed.
He ignored the laugh and sat on one of the stools beside the counter. I think it was the same stool, you're sitting on.
"Slight rush today," I informed him, wiping the beads of sweat that hung from temples. "Not used to a full house."
He followed me with his eyes as I tried balance mugs and cups, trying my best to run from one table to another, wincing sometimes at the protest of my knees. He bit his lower lip and narrowed his eyes before jumping down from his stool and crossing the counter. Rolling up his sleeves, he asked in a cheerful voice, "How can I help?"
I waited, wondering when he would let on that he was joking. I couldn't remember the last time someone had tried to help me, me who people sometimes even failed to acknowledge. Turned out he was dead serious.
I closed my mouth and sighed, "When you start regretting your helpful-hand idea, remember that it was your idea."
"Yes, ma'am," he saluted, grinning.
He was a really sweet boy. He didn't mind turning waiter (the customers loved his accented English) and he even helped me wash a few mugs and plates. He even made me laugh all the time with his jokes (his face turned red from laughing often), his childish antics and his attempts to speak Spanish.
He left soon after the Japanese tourists and I watched him leave, feeling that if Auburn deserved a man, it was Anthony.
