She has these twin braids placed above her shoulders, near her breast. Her bright blue eyes shine with ambition, with wonder, and with bliss as she listens to the silent hums of the static radio and the clinking of the silverware and mugs. She breathes in the aroma of coffee and of tart and of pastries as she sits silently at the corner of the store, watching, as if peeling the characters off from a Jane Austen book.
He moves without that grace of a dancer his mother had as he spills the remnants of a previous customer’s coffee. His scowl becomes him as he mutters words filled with color and with vile as he wipes the brown liquid in a circular motion going in and out. He bites down his lip as he contains his temper and silently wishes for all of this to end.
She catches the messy blonde hair at the corner of her eye and she smiles, the corners of her eyes crinkling, the bosoms of her cheeks pinking. She clutches on the mug as she watches him like a schoolgirl, the butterflies in her stomach consuming her as her mind goes rampant once again.
He catches her gaze and he holds it like a treasure, his scowl fading, his brown eyes glacial. For once, he feels the world tilt behind him. He shivers as something new stirs at the darkest corners of his heart, as something bites back. He slips, and the spell is broken as his jaw collides on the bar table.
She giggles as she looks away and directs her gaze at the acrylic mess the Norwegian made as they pass by the café with their silly cars and their designer coats. She hears his oaths as she places her warm hand on her chest, willing herself to stop. But she doesn’t. She’s scarlet when she has finally stopped, and it was not because of free will, but because of the sound of porcelain against marble. She turns, and she’s greeted by his smile and his salute as he goes back in the kitchen. When she’s sure that he’s gone, she looks down at the cupcake and notices a note tucked underneath the plate.
“I love it when you blush.”
