The Coffee Shop

(Part 1) Ed: Beth. She isn't like any other girl I've ever seen before. Nothing like what you'd see in a movie, no, she isn't aesthetically perfect. Her eyes aren't Caribbean blue and her hair isn't long or silky blonde. She isn't exactly 100 pounds, and she doesn't wear any make up.

But that's why I like her. I adore her, actually. Her freckles seem to grow in numbers every single day, whether they be on her face, her arms, anywhere. I see her constantly wearing roughly used combat boots, sporting them with dresses and jean jackets. What seems like thousands of thick strands of curls are tied with an elastic on the side of her head, laying on her left shoulder, every single day.

I see her walk into the cafe with her laptop and giant headphones, waiting for her to walk up to me. She never orders the same thing twice, even if she claims that it tastes like heaven. "Blueberry muffin and a...uhm...iced latte?" That was the first thing she ever asked for. She smirked when I accidentally grabbed chocolate chip, and I was probably blushing furiously, but I apologized and gave her what she wanted. She made her way to a table, and every now and again I would glance at her, playing with a neon ringlet of her hair and tapping her thick boots to the beat of whatever song she was listening to.

She's out of my league on so many bloody levels, but I can't seem to give up on her. The way she taps her fingers while she's figuring out what to order, the way she smiles at nothing, it just makes me melt inside. If it hadn't have been for this job, I would've never seen her. Beth.