[dedicated to]: flirtation because everything she writes is just stupidly gorgeous and im not sure which account she uses to I'm just going to go with this one...
. . .
Had they known each other, they might have fallen in love.
She was a nothing. Plain blond hair, pondwater blue eyes, simple grey cardigan and nondescript jeans. The flats on her feet were worn and scuffed, weary even from a sitting day at the office. When she stepped into the coffee shop, the quiet shuffling of the lone barista was the only thing sounding. All she brought in was a slight winter chill and the soft clicking shut of a wooden door.
He was a nothing. Brown hair, brown freckles, brown coat, brown eyes. They neither sparkled nor twinkled, they just sat on his face, staring blankly ahead. He was last in a very long line of people that were somethings, a woman with a yapping baby, a girl with snake bites and purple hair, a purposeful man with a briefcase and tie. He too had a briefcase, though it was slightly less expensive and slightly more stuffed with papers.
She moved in line behind him, her soft, quick steps gliding soundlessly across the tile floor. They stood next to each other not like two people waiting should, with their darting eyes scanning the menu dashed with that slight impatience in people that had to be somewhere. They weren’t going anywhere. So she stuffed her hands deep into the pockets of her tan winter jacket and stared at the ground.
He was looking at her. This was a strange woman, who seemed to know exactly what kind of coffee she was getting, yet could not muster the confidence to keep her gaze straight. Her hair curled in wisps toward her face, shielding her cheeks and lips and nose, red from the cold. He then turned back to the list of drinks, as that was sure to be far more interesting than the woman behind him.
She thought he was strange also. He was so average-looking he seemed to almost blend in with the wooden counter, had she not looked twice. Through her thin blond locks, she saw him staring at her. It made her uncomfortable, as no one had ever stared at her. Everyone stared through her.
“The coffee’s good here.”
His head shot up in surprise at her voice. A subdued monotone, the words spoken so quietly it could have been the wind. “I know.”
She kept staring at the ground as he ordered. Black coffee, no cream, no sugar. “I get that too.” True to her word, she took out her ratty black wallet, fishing out precisely one dollar and eighty-seven cents in exchange for her black coffee, no cream, no sugar, no change. “I come here everyday for this.”
“I do too.”
And with that, he left, walking to the door and through it, his brown-hair, brown-eyed averageness melting into the snow. She stayed in the coffee shop for a while longer, sipping her hot drink and looking at the ground before leaving so quietly, it was as if she was never there.
