October.
I walked to work the next morning, the events from last night still fresh in my mind. l h. What did those two little letters mean? Initials maybe? Obviously.
I wonder what his name is. I thought to myself, while crossing the crosswalk of Manhattan. Louis Hackman? Ew no. Too good looking for that. Landon Hufflepuff - what the fuck, October? Hufflepuff? What is this, Harry Potter?
Oh well. Guess I'll have to stick with l h for now.
I didn't really know what to feel when I bumped into him last night, giddy and full of happiness and relief that I finally got a name from this captivating human that has ever walked the Earth, or disappointed and kind of embarrassed that I bumped into him due to my parents filling up my thoughts all of a sudden and earning a "Watch where you're going" instead of a welcoming hand to lift me off the ground. Not that I cared, really. I was mostly excited that I had one thing I learned from him, out of the many more ahead. I was determined.
Walking down the already busy street at 6:30 a.m., I tied my dark and messy hair up into a ponytail and made my way into the store, with a black polo and black leggings, most of the workers already doing their jobs, preparing drinks and touching up pastries and all that jazz.
"Well it looks like someone woke up on the right side of the bed today." Michael smiled while tossing me my green apron, and I (surprisingly) caught it with my left hand.
"I've got so much to tell you, you won't believe it." I exclaimed. I wonder how he'll take he news. He'll probably be a boy about it and just tell me that I've got a tiny crush for the boy across the street. Maybe.
"Well based on the look on your face right now, this may be important."
"It i-"
"I mean it probably isn't, but you know, I was just saying. Your eyes are practically bulging out of your head right now. Like, scared raccoon and everything. I'm just adding fuel to the flame." He smirked, a smug grin on his face. "It's amusing."
"You little shit," I mumbled and Michael just laughed, throwing an arm around my shoulder as we made our way to the chairs we had to put down from the tables.
~~~
I was in the middle of taking the order of the old grouchy man, when he walked in. He had his hair up in a quiff today, along with a dark jacket and a Nirvana shirt underneath. He had dark jeans on, along with white, worn out Converse.
"Excuse me?" The man complained. I was snapped out of my daze quickly to see that I was in the middle of taking orders. Whoops.
"R-right. One black coffee. No milk, sugar, anything, like the usual?" I asked, still a bit distracted. The man nodded, obviously a little annoyed and impatient as he payed and took his regular seat on one of the stools.
l h casually walked up to the back of the small line, with, of course, the little journal I've grown fond of clutched in his hand. He was focused on the menu list that was located behind me. What was I doing? Why am I so nervous? He's ordering like a normal human being.
Yeah, one that's so fucking fascinating and perfect for some reason, my mind tells me.
It was now his turn. Oh god.
"Uhm, hi." I muttered and silently cussed at myself for being to goddamn nervous. I cleared my throat, "Welcome to Starbucks, what can I get you?" I stated, more confidently, when really all I wanted was to curl up into a ball and hide. He was so much better up close.
He had a bit of a stubble, probably from not shaving for quite a while, his eyes were a sharp ice blue. I swear I could feel myself getting pulled into them, being a sea of mystery and secrets that I could swim in forever. Wait, what am I, an Ophthalmologist? It could be any fucking colour he wanted, if I care. He's still hot, so... flawless. He bit his lip as he scanned the list behind me, a dimple evident on his cheek as he did so.
He averted his eyes from the menu then to me, and if you look closely, you could see them widen a little, pupils dilating.
Did he recognize me?
He didn't say anything for a short while and neither did I, almost as if we were having a staring contest. I decided to speak up.
"Uhm, sir?" I mumbled. "You're, uh, holding up the line." It was true, there were two other people waiting behind him, looking at him expectantly as well. I pinched my lips together and rocked back and forth on my heels, one hand resting on the top of the cashier, fingers tapping patiently.
His eyes suddenly lost all life in them that they had a few seconds ago, looking dead and boring, unamused. Then, he spoke. And even if I've heard him before, his voice gets better and better to hear than the last time.
"Just a caramel macchiato." He stated, still unamused, staring at me. I nodded and felt insecure, because with the intense glare he had on, it was like he was trying to read my soul, or something. "That'll be $4.50. And your name?" I asked, a sudden sense of hope, please tell me, what could l h possibly stand for?
"The drink's name is fine enough." He grouched. Damnit.
"Got it." I breathed, disappointed. He payed and turned to the pick-up area, leaning against the wall of the left side of the café, waiting for his order. His drink came and he took it and left, just as fast as he came in.
Bruce popped his head out of the corner reminding me that I had a thirty minute break, which I was most thankful for, because so did Michael. And I had a hell of a lot to tell him.
~~~
"Wait a minute, so last night, you bumped into him while walking down the street?" Michael exclaimed and I nodded. We were sat on the tables near the front window of the café discussing the events of yesterday evening. I had to say I was a bit surprised at how much he cared about this whole thing. I had told him everything and I thought he would fall asleep the first minute I started talking.
"And he didn't even help you up or say 'sorry'. Unbelievable." he muttered.
"Oh stop, I'm fine, that's not what this is about." I scoffed. I couldn't care less if he left me on the ground. I'm just happy that he had bumped into me last night, which was creepy, but a miracle, most definitely. "I just want to find out what l h means. No, I need to."
"I don't know, Tobe. He seems like bad news to me." Michael said worriedly, running a hand through his hair, which is what he did when he was frustrated, or maybe nervous. "I don't know about you, and you can do whatever you want, but he doesn't sound like someone to mess with." I slouched, because this little adventure of mine was suddenly not so exciting anymore. Damnit, Michael.
"But," he pointed at me lazily, and I perked up, "If you do try something, cause I know you're stupid enough to, and he hurts even a hair on that pretty little head of yours, I will not hesitate to punch that smug little face of his."
I smiled, shaking my head. I turned to look to my left and was about to say something, when something, no, someone caught my eye.
There he was, l h, sitting across the street, on the bench, near the lamppost, journal in his hands, elbows propped up on both his knees, pen between his teeth, brows furrowed. Only something was different.
His eyes were on me.
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