At that moment I thought I was at my happiest.
As I sat, enveloped in the burgundy leather arm chair, I sipped at my double strength classic cappuccino that (I admit) I was pretty addicted to. I held my abnormally thick book open with my pinky and thumb which, I may add, is a exceptionally hard technique that I have been able to develop over the years. Both sides of this exceptionally comfy armchair came so far forwards that it happily blocked my peripheral vision, it happily blocked my view of the world around me and (better still) blocked the world's view of me; therefore leaving me to be sucked into the world that was my book.
This is where I spent too many of my days. This is where I loved to be. This was where I was at my happiest. And one day something arrived and allowed me to see out of this peripheral burgundy armchair bubble. Dane DeHaan walked into my coffee shop. To my surprise, his entrance turned very little heads. Although considering that the coffee shop was currently housing mostly those over the age of 60 or otherwise people like me. The coffee shop was a good nook to hide and read. So that what a lot of us did. So the lack of turning heads was understandable as they were more interested in turning pages than heads. I looked back down at my book, not reading, just looking. I lifted it slowly, resting my elbows on the arms of the chair, until my book was in a place where I could covertly see Dane as I didn't believe it was him.
Then I realised I was no sleuth and Dane was quite clearly taken aback by my creepy eyes watching him over my book. Shit.
By this time I wished my burgundy armchair was made for a more social sitter, and I would be able to watch Dane get his drink at the till and then make his way over in the corner of my eye. He sat across from me and his eyes were locked on me. He took a tiny sip of his drink whilst his eyes were still locked on me. Eventually I stopped looking at my book with my face burning and up at Dane.
He took a bigger sip from his drink. "Hot." He eventually said.
He was right. Very hot. He was. Hmm.
"I know." I said. Which came out all squeaky and like I was a teenage boy with his voice breaking. I dog eared my book and sat it down on the coffee table that was between us.
"Hmm. You know that book, Kill Your Darlings by Terence Blacker, was made into a film."
"Was it?" I asked, humouring him. He bit onto his bottom tip.
"Did you see it?" He asked, leaning in.
"You know, I think I did." I smiled. "It had a very good actor in it, a Daniel Radcliffe." I giggled like a little girl. He sat back up chuckling in the cutest way possible.
"Dane DeHaan." He stuck his hand out, like a gentleman. I shook it slowly, he had huge, strong hands.
"Like I didn't already know. I'm Cara, Cara Lewis." I added
"Well, Cara, Cara Lewis. You're not like most girls I meet." And he raised his coffee mug as if to toast, I leant forward, pressing onto the bottom of my thighs.
"And why do you say that?"
"Well you haven't screamed yet."
"Yes I am managing well to contain myself." I said, laughing through my nose.
"And you haven't asked me to sign your bra yet."
"You know, I would, but this ones just so full of famous guy's numbers." I slumped back smiling. He grinned at me.
"So seen as you passed the first two tests. I was wondering if you were busy this Friday."
"Are you asking me out, Dane DeHaan?" He chuckled at me.
