Raindrops In A Teacup

Chapter One

The arresting aroma of freshly brewed coffee was a familiar and comforting lure in the doorway of Dolce Dal Cielo dessert café. The sweet, buttery waft of melt-in-the-mouth pastries hinted at the carnival of confectionary delights to be drooled over inside. A long glass counter full of visual feasts, cakes, pies, puddings, cheesecake gleamed and seduced. A coffee maker wheezed and fizzed. The staff in pressed grey aprons weaved expertly in between tables, smiling as they bustled to and fro, serving slices of Sicilin lemon cheesecake and pouring tea.

Rik rubbed a hand across his eyes, his finger tapping aimlessly on his laptop. He needed a refill or maybe a whisky at this rate. A woman at the nearest table was gorging herself on a rich chocolate cake. Her companion was sipping a tiny espresso. They were arguing over who hadn't washed the dishes the previous night, swiftly escalating to why he hadn't grouted the bathroom tiles in over a year. Pleasant enough restaurant conversation. Rik wouldn't have minded so much but the woman was lacking in table manners. She spoke with a mouth full of sponge and frequently sprayed crumbs across the table. Her partner must be inured to such behaviour, he didn't flick an eyelid.

Despite such company, Rik was reluctant to leave. The coffee was really good and he was comfortable on a plush seat near a heater. A pair of elderly women flanked his right. Over their apple tarts and tea, they discussed doctor's appointments, dentures and the private lives of their neighbours. It was difficult not to hear and listen to both couples. Usually he didn't mind the chatter around him, but today he was fast losing the will to breathe. It was not helping his writing. There was little inspiration to be found in domestic squabbles and pensioner problems 101.

Leaning forward, Rik squinted at his laptop screen in the vain hope it would improve his concentration. No, he just temporarily blinded himself instead. Damn LCD crystal clear display. He groaned and sat back rubbing his eyes. Amid the noise of the restaurant, a laugh caught his ear, a chuckle of merriment, light and fun. He blinked and looked around. She sat about five metres away behind other customers, but he had a direct line of sight to her when he leaned to the right.

Long, dark brown hair fell in wild curls casually clipped back over her ears. Black eyeliner rimmed her eyes, framed by pretty eyelashes. Her top was white with a lace collar and sleeves. His gaze dropped under the table. Not what he was expecting. She wore black combat boots with laces and buckles. He had been looking for some cute heels or pumps. But he liked it, intrigued even. A girl who dressed feminine and pretty but with some kick ass boots. Probably to crush men's hearts into dust or to kick them in the nuts when they overstepped the mark. Her legs were crossed and her elevated foot swung in time with the music playing. She was still laughing, her smile wide, her eyes bright.

Her friend's black hair was tied smoothly in a braid, slung over her shoulder. Yellow gold chandelier earrings glowed against the warm milk chocolate brown of her skin. She looked snug in her purple chunky sweater.

Cherry pie. The laughing girl was eating cherry pie. The golden pastry crumbled perfectly and the rich redness of the cherries was mouthwatering. She didn't eat it in delicate little bites, tiny amounts of pie balanced on the tip of her fork, dabbing her mouth with a napkin after every mouthful. Not like that other couple of young women making painfully slow work of their lemon meringue pies.

She had dug in and scooped up a mouthful. How she didn't smear cherry juice all around her mouth amazed him. He observed the slow blink as she savoured it. She had a cup of tea, complete with a quaint saucer and teapot which she poured expertly. Every time he had attempted to use a teapot, which was rare as he preferred coffee, the little lid always fell out and usually plopped into his mug, splashing his shirt with tea. Nightmare.