Messages on a Coffee Cup

Chapter 1

It was a casual -30 degree school day in Westfield, Ontario. As usual, I slept in for an extra five minutes and missed my bus for the fourth freaking time that month. I took this amazing opportunity to not go to school and catch up on my unfinished french homework at the local Starbucks so I wouldn't get decapitated by Monsieur Pelletier the next day. They know me pretty well there and usually have my order ready a minute after I walk in, one grande pumpkin spice latte with a shit load of whipped cream, but today it took abnormally long for them to make my "Ecstasy in a cup".

Impatiently, I yelled, "Come on Carol. I don't have all damn day!"

Carol is the barista at Starbucks; she knows me as the annoying and snarky Holland Summers and I know her as the Pumpkin Spice Latte guru who constantly puts up with my shit in fear of getting fired. I guess you could say it's a love-hate relationship. When Carol failed to answer me I walked over to the counter to see what the hell was taking so long, frustrated and worried at the same time.

My neck was craned over the counter when a beautiful Adonis waltzed out of the break room to tell me that Carol called in sick.

His sky blue eyes seemed to gaze into my soul making me feel completely and utterly violated, but in a good way. I instantly questioned my "just woke up" appearance; grey track pants, fandom graphic t-shirt all topped off with a messy bun that tamed my out of control curls. His short dark hair and defined jaw line reminded me of Josh Hutcherson who I am, to this day, still completely obsessed with. I just stood there for a minute trying to comprehend why such a gorgeous human being was working at a Starbucks in a small town like Westfield, Ontario.

That moment of awkwardness thankfully ended after he asked me what I wanted to order so I told him, "Ummm.. one grande pumpkin spice and don't cheese out on the whipped cream okay?"

He smiled and said, "Your name?"

Surprisingly, I responded confidently, "Holland."

"That's a beautiful name you've got there," he pointed out.

I blushed, "Thanks, it was my choice".

I wasn't lying. I named myself when I was around five or six years old. My parents wanted me to have full creative control over my life so for like five years I was No Name Summers. I have family in Holland; I guess that had some sort of an influence on my decision but thinking back to it now, I hardly remember a thing.

He chuckled, "Really? Well, Holland, it was an amazing decision," he said as he handed me my coffee.

"Have an amazing day."

"You too," I said nervously.

I exited the joint nearly slipping on a patch of ice the size of Russia and waited for the next bus to take me to my street. It wasn't until I got home that I realized the writing on my cup.

It read:

You are beautiful. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

(647)-985 2096.

Sincerely, Ethan.