Tea Guy

You let out a long sigh and lifted the cup to your lips, delighting in the feeling of the warm china against your cold skin. It was a chilly October day in London: the sky was grey, promising rain, and the wind blew straight through your coat. Therefore, you had decided upon a cup of tea at a cosy little cafe near your flat before going home after a long day of work.

It was Wednesday, which was your favourite day, since you could stay longer at work. You worked as a writer and layout designer for a huge newspaper company, and you loved writing. You often took your work back home and stayed up long preparing tomorrow's page layout if you didn't work on your own stories. Your family used to say you'd married your work.

The cafe was little but business was booming:every table and booth were filled. You, however, were alone in your booth in the corner. You were looking out upon the dimly lit room, which offered a cosy contrast to the grim afternoon. People were chatting and laughing, sipping their tea or coffee, digging into sweet pastries or buns and going through their Facebook feed on their phone or whatever other activity one might normally do at a cafe in the heart of London.

You shifted on the soft red sofa and pulled up your notes from your handbag. You read the latest entry and soon you were absorbed by the writing, switching words and shifting ideas so the information would read better. Therefore, you didn't hear the man standing next to you until he gently nudged your shoulder. You flinched and looked up into a pair of strikingly blue eyes, which seemed to shift in the lights: they were blue now, but as he stepped back and the light fell differently they shimmered green.

"May I sit here?" he asked and gestured towards the table by which you were sitting. You shrugged and returned to your notes, a little irritated over being disturbed; but on the other hand, the cafe was crowded and he only wanted a seat to drink his tea. Earl Grey, you noted by the smell. You refocused on your notes and read them again, crossed some things over absentmindedly but didn't quite know what you were doing. Your gaze travelled towards the man's hands: large with long, slender fingers. They fit perfectly in the dirty fantasies you used to write.

You sighed and shut your notebook, slid it back into your handbag and leaned back, cup in your hand. You had chosen a smooth vanilla tea today to lighten up your mood. As the hot drink ran down your throat your eyes wandered up his lean body, his muscular yet slender arms, the white shirt he was wearing that looked great on his body. His dark blue padded jacket was folded neatly next to him on the sofa.

You let your gaze wander upwards as you sipped your tea. He lifted his cup to his lips as your eyes traced his neck, jaw and cheekbones. You studied his hair for a while: a dark, beautiful brown which faded down to blonde outgrowth—a dye job then—and the way he styled it. Your gaze fell to his eyes.

He was looking at you.

You looked away, feeling your cheeks heat. How long had he watched you size him up and judge him? You had been staring, what if he thought you were rude?

You chanced a glance and found that he was still staring straight into your eyes. You looked into your empty tea cup and swallowed. Just as you were about to cough up an excuse and hurry away he flinched.

"Oh dear, I'm sorry, were I staring? I lost myself in thought, I'm sorry."

You looked at him and nodded.

"It's alright, I... I was staring too. I apologise." you said quickly.

A smile was tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"What were you writing when I came?" he asked, and then added quickly, "If I may ask, that is."

You smiled and pulled your notes up.