Sam had been watching her all morning.
Sitting at the high bar and across from her who was seated at one of the booths inside of the small diner, he could tell that she wanted nothing more than to drink from the small black cup that was now sitting directly in front of her.
With her head held high and her legs crossed directly at her heels, she glanced across the table at him before slowly reaching out for the cup.
Her back was straight and her shoulders were never slumping as she slowly began to lift the cup up to her fiery red lips. And he attempted to tear his eyes away from her, but it was far too late.
Her full lips kissed the small cup with her right hand wrapped tightly around it as if afraid it might fall to the floor and shatter into many pieces, merely to deprive her of her what she'd been longing to taste.
He continued to watch her intensely as she sipped, listening intently as if wanting to hear the small bit of liquid flow down and through her short stout frame from across the small diner.
Then he watched as she slowly peeled her lips from the cup.
"Ma'am," Sam called out to the waitress bypassing him.
"Yes sir?" The waitress stopped directly in front of him, pen and notepad in her hand as if ready to take an order.
"I would like to send another cup of tea to that table over there." He peered around the waitresses petite frame to get a better view of the woman whom he'd been watching the entire morning only to find her smiling over at him. "As a matter of fact," He smiled back at her. "How about you send a pitcher to her, on me?"
He only sipped premium coffee himself as he sat at the high bar, observing her.
He paid attention to the way she tapped her manicured nails against the top of the table as she looked down at the cellular device in her left hand.
Then he watched as her face lit up when the waitress placed a pitcher of tea upon the table, complete with ice cubes, sliced lemons, and parsley leaves.
Sipping some more of his coffee, he watched her from the corner of his eye as she did the most unusual thing.
She merely laughed and then said something to the waitress, causing her to take the pitcher away from the table.
He could feel his cheeks grow hot with anger as he turned in his seat to where the dark haired woman was no longer in sight.
He then reached into the front pocket of his button down and fished out a box of Marlboro.
Opening the box, he took a cigarette from the pack and put it up to his lips just as he felt a tap on his shoulder.
"She said she couldn't accept it." The waitress ripped his ticket from her ticket book and sat it next to his arm at the high bar.
"Thank you." He placed the box back into his shirt pocket, and then replaced the box with an engraved silver lighter.
He struck the lighter once, lighting the cigarette and putting it between his thin lips to inhale the chemicals that he'd promised himself he would give up numerous times before.
"How much tea d'ya think one woman can drink?" Sam removed the cigarette from his mouth, and looked to his side as he exhaled smoke into the air.
There she stood, the woman from across the diner, waving her hands in the air as if to fight off the fumes that were now dancing in the air in front of her.
The smile on her face was bright and from where she was standing, he could tell that she was a lot younger than she'd looked from across the diner.
She must have been at least twenty three to his thirty five.
"Well, I would have joined you myself if I were a tea kind of man." He laughed, putting the cigarette out on the countertop.
"I wouldn't have minded if you'd brought your coffee, y'know." She laughed lightly, and he could not help but notice how perfect and white her teeth were. "I promise, I don't discriminate."
When he only laughed in response, she stood on her tiptoes and reached for one of the napkins in the silver napkin holder.
Then she turned and placed her purse on the stool next to her, fishing for something.
When she turned back to him, she held a pen in her hand and she quickly scribbled something on the napkin.
"I'm on my way back to the firm, Mr.?" She paused and looked up at him.
"I'm sorry." Sam held out a hand to her, and she took it into her own. "I'm Samuel Evans." He enjoyed the feeling of her soft hand in his rougher one, "Everyone calls me Sam."
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Evans." She blushed softly, drawing her hand back. "I'm Mercedes Jones." She held the napkin out to him, and he took it, studying it. "My coworkers call me Mercedes, my clients call me Miss Jones, and my friends call me Mercy."
"Mercy." He spoke slowly, testing her name on his tongue.
"That's it." She grabbed her purse, clutching it to her side. "I get off at five. You should give me a call then, Mr. Evans."
"I most definitely will." Sam responded simply, watching the short dark complexioned woman as she started away from him and then out of the door of the diner.
He was used to it by now; the way women responded to his sending them drinks or slight glares.
It definitely still excited him, but he was used to it nonetheless.