A Market Meeting

Part 2

John was out and about on the chilly November afternoon after an attempted coffee date with a girl he met online. Unsurprisingly she didn't show up, and John was realizing the online dating scene wasn't doing him any favors since it usually resulted in disappointment and eating or drinking alone. He wanted more than anything to make a connection, to find someone to share his life with, but every time he put himself out there and risked slight vulnerability, he was rejected and returned more damaged than before. Not wanting to wallow in too much self-pity, he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his khakis, wishing he had brought gloves or a scarf or something to shield him against the wind that had suddenly picked up. He decided to pop into the open air market close by, knowing they had a good selection of coffees and teas. 

He slowly made his way to his favorite coffee stand, and ordered a coffee with one cream, no sugar. He paid and was handed his coffee a moment later, thankful to have something warm between his hands. He turned, and started strolling through the crowd, people watching, checking out vendors, and what he had done wrong to deserve being alone forever. After 15 minutes or so, he had reached the opposite side of the small market, and the crowds had begun to dissipate. He went to turn around and head home, bringing the slightly cooled down coffee to his lips, when his shoulder was suddenly struck with a force that sent his coffee tumbling from his hands and down his front. "OI!" he exclaimed, eyes darting to find the source of the force, his eyes finally landing on the tall, well-dressed man to his side. John momentarily forgot that his front was sopping wet when he looked into the striking face of the man who had run into him. He had a pale, angular face with high cheekbones surrounded by dark curls, but the most captivating were his eyes; had the most intriguing eyes John had ever seen. They were clear, somehow simultaneously light blue and jade green, but more importantly, his eyes brimmed with inquisitions, observations, and mystery. There was something in them, something John couldn't quite read. "Watch where you're headed, mate, this was my favorite jumper!" John managed to spit out after he briefly lost himself in the man's gaze. The man shook his head ever so slightly, tousling his jet black curls as if to re-position them after the collision. "On the contrary, you should be thanking me that now you have a decent excuse to rid yourself of that atrocity." John's jaw dropped ever so at the jab against his fashion choices, albeit that was not the first time someone had insulted that particular jumper. Surprised, and slightly hurt by the lack of remorse this man showed, John decided a little guilt was in order. The man was clearly trying to rush off somewhere, but John held a firm hand out and said "I'll have you know my gran made this for me right before she passed, you git." Within seconds of the lie flying out of his mouth, the mysterious man's eyes narrowed and quickly darted up and down John's front. "Right, well, I do apologize but you'll have to forgive me, as catching drug traffickers is of slightly more importance to me than spilling coffee with one cream and no sugar on a jumper that was clearly purchased roughly 8 years ago, been in storage for 7, and only recently discovered after going through likely, your father's unwanted clothing items." Bloody hell, John thought, how did he know that? John had indeed only recently acquired this sweater from a discarded bag of his father's clothes after he had passed. Wanting to keep something sentimental, he settled on the outdated but comfortable sweater that still smelled like his recently deceased father. He stood there, gaping at this man who had unwound his lie in a mere moment, unsure of what to say next. He decided to focus first on the absurd notion of drug traffickers at the market. He had been coming to this market for months now, and thought himself a decent judge of character and a keen observer. Never once had he noticed anything off-kilter about this market, nor any of its vendors. "Traffickers at Marylebone Market?" John questioned, "That's the most rubbish thing I've ever heard, what, did they stuff cocaine in the carrots? Shove amphetamines in the apples? And what are you doing trying to catch drug lords, you don't exactly look like the police?" His attempt at lighthearted alliteration along with his invasive question was met with a slightly inquisitive glance, then the man's eyes darted behind John, catching a glimpse of something beyond him. "Precisely," the man jeered, muttering about being a consulting detective and how John should be glad he even apologized in the first place as he brushed him off, intent on continuing his mission in the market.

 John stood there, frozen again, still wrapping his mind around this encounter; how could this man have possibly caught his lie so quickly? And how the hell did he know his coffee order? And what the hell was a consulting detective, were there really drug traffickers here? His heart was racing and he has so many questions he wanted to ask, it was only when he felt the cold from his wet jumper settle onto his skin did he regain the power to speak. "Wait, hold up!" he called, turning to try and follow the man to get answers, but by the time he had come to his senses, then man was already gone. John was freezing, but decided to stall a bit longer trying to find out where the man had gone. After a few minutes of searching through the rapidly decreasing crowd, he felt a shiver run deep into his back, and decided to return home and let the whole situation go for time being.