-1Debra picked at her chocolate muffin, studying the man standing behind the counter. Amy was talking about something Debra probably should be listening to, but Amy's talk flowed almost constantly, did she really expect Debra was going to listen to everything? She broke a piece of her muffin and started crumbling it between her fingers. Who was this mysterious man? His hair was short and curly with a golden tone to it. The thin rims of his glasses shimmered in the sunlight streaming in from the window, and made his eyes stand out. She thought they were deep blue, but she couldn't really see from here. His nose was straight and just perfect in size. The corners of his mouth were twitched up, like he was constantly smiling, yet there was something sad about him. She could see it in his eyes. He was lonely. He had a beard, if you could call it that - from his upper lip, round his mouth and accentuating his chin. Skinny, tall, well dressed - he looked misplaced in the somewhat shabby coffee shop, taking orders and making coffees, serving muffins…
"Debra?" Amy woke her from her trance-like state.
"What…?" Debra felt dazed, like those deep blue eyes (or so she thought) had hypnotized her and Amy had snapped her fingers. It was like waking out of a dream.
"Never mind," Amy said. Debra must have glanced in the handsome misplaced coffee making man's direction, because Amy spun around in her seat and stared at him for a while.
"Amy!" Debra hissed. "I know you and discrete don't go together, but at least try to be less obvious!"
"You are excused," Amy said, ignoring Debra's comment.
"For what?"
"For not listening," Amy said and started whisper and giggle like a school girl. "He's cute! Pity your stuck with that-"
"Keep your comments to yourself, thank you!"
"But your always-"
"Yes, but Ray is my husband, and mine to… whatever." The end of the sentence melted away as Debra once again found herself looking at the handsome misplaced coffee making man. What was his name? Something handsome and sophisticated, like him. Maybe Joshua, or Jonathan or… Oliver. That was it, his name must be Oliver. She liked the sound of that.
"Yes, he is quite mouth watering," Amy giggled. "I'd love to ask him out."
"Well, you're married," Debra said in an attempt to snap out of it. "And so am I. We both have kids…"
"Hey, a girl can dream, can't she?" Amy said and shrugged. "I've got to get a move on, Wendy needs a lift from school to swimming, and then Jenny needs one to her riding lesson… life as a mother, you know." Amy got up and swung her hand bag over her shoulder. "See you later," she said and gave Debra something that resembled a hug, Debra still sitting down.
"See you," Debra answered and settled in to her chair. Handsome misplaced coffee making man, also known as Oliver, was sitting on one of the barstools reading the New York Times. He was just getting better by the minute.
She got home after the kids, much later than she would ever get home after being out with Amy, and had to start cooking at once. Among the clutter of toys, various math sheets and history books and piles of Sports Illustrated (why couldn't Ray try reading the Times for once?), she sliced lemon, counted out chicken filets and measured up rice. In the making of her infamous lemon chicken, a door opened and closed and the man of the house (or so he thought) hung up his coat and put his briefcase on the table.
"Hey, cucumber face," he said. Debra laughed at the stupid nick name, a new invention of his. "Why is my dinner not on the table?" Debra laughed again and picked up a piece of raw chicken.
"There," she said. "Drive yourself to the hospital." Ray faked a laugh and picked up a copy of Sports Illustrated. Debra watched her husband flick through the magazine over and over again while she put the chicken in the oven and poured rice into the boiling water. She cleared her throat and said, "Have you ever considered reading something else than… you know, try something new?" Ray didn't look up when he answered.
"Need to stay updated… Work… You know," he said and studied a girl wearing a yellow bikini that was probably two sizes too small for her. "Very important business."
"Oh, yes, I can see how a blonde girl with a fake tan is important for you to be able to write about football and baseball," Debra said and set the clock to twenty minutes and sat down at the table with her husband. Ray gave a half-hearted laugh and continued reading, now studying a girl in a red bikini that was probably three sizes too small for her. Debra shook her head and started setting the table. "Could you…?" she said and Ray lifted the magazine for her to slip a plate underneath. Forks, knifes, glasses, salad, rice, chicken. The table was ready, Debra took her apron of and hung it up. "Ray, could you get the kids?"
"Yeah," he said and took a deep breath. "Geoffrey, Michael, Ally, dinner's ready!" Debra gave him a skeptical look. "What?" Ray asked and looked innocent.
"I could've done that myself," she said and sat down. The kids came crashing down the stairs and sat down at the table. "Ok, hand med your plate," she said and got four empty plates thrown at her. She sighed and started filling them with food, handing them each back to their owner. She filled her own plate and started eating. Is this really how I want things to be? she pondered as she chewed on a piece of lettuce.
She went back to the coffee shop the following day. Handsome misplaced coffee making man, also known as Oliver, was working today. She bought a bran muffin, two chocolate muffins, a cup cake and two large cappuccinos of him, spending more money in one go than she had for the entire week. She took a table close by, close enough to hear his voice. It was like bathing in honey and milk - smooth, deep and simply beautiful.
On the third day, Oliver wasn't in. Disappointed, Debra bought a cup of black coffee to go, and left the shabby coffee shop.
On the fourth day, Amy was with her again.
"I don't see why you want to come here," she kept saying. "It's so shabby." Debra said it was cheap, but Amy didn't agree. Debra admitted it was a stupid lie, since the prices were probably higher than any other place around here. Amy shrugged, took a long time to decide, and seeing the queue grow bigger and bigger, with a lot of angry people, Oliver opened another till. Debra planned to float over to him, looking dashing (she had heard that expression on a British TV-show) and make him notice her. What was she thinking? On the way over, she tripped on a barstool, just barely keeping from falling flat on her face by grabbing a plate with a pile of pastries, crashing the whole thing to the floor. He noticed her, alright, just not the way she wanted him to. She couldn't stand his amused eyes watching her stumble as she picked up the pastries, so she left in a rush and almost forgot to say good bye to a bewildered Amy.
On the fifth day, Debra didn't go, afraid that Oliver would remember her as the clumsy woman with no control over herself.
On the sixth day, she couldn't stand not looking at him. He was, after all, perfection in her eyes. Not like the husband she had, who was now lying on the couch with a beer in his hand, watching football on TV. She made sure there was lunch for Ally and Michael (Geoffrey had gone out to skate board with his friends), put some make up on and made sure she looked descent. Dropping her keys in her handbag, along with a cell phone, mirror and lipstick, she said, "I'm going out. There's lunch in the fridge for the kids, just warm it in the microwave." She got some kind of response from Raymond, but someone did something and before she knew it he was screaming at the television set in pure frustration. "I love you too, see you later," she sighed and closed the door behind her.
"I'll have…" she studied the menu, taking as long time as possible to decide. "A large cappuccino, and a chocolate muffin." Handsome misplaced coffee making man, also known as Oliver, smiled his constant smile and put a muffin on a plate.
"The cappuccino will be a while," he said. Debra jumped, not thinking he would talk to her, and instantly hoped he hadn't noticed. It was hard to tell, seeing he almost sort off smiled. "If you sit down, I'll bring it to you." Debra smiled and nodded, and noted a warm, fuzzy feeling somewhere around her chest area. This is not good, sensible Debra said. This is not going to end good. Debra hushed her alter-ego and went to sit down, caressing the warm, fuzzy feeling against her better judgment.
"One large cappuccino for the lady with brown hair," Handsome misplaced coffee making man, also known as Oliver, suddenly appeared with a cappuccino in his left hand, and an espresso in his right. "Is this seat taken?" Debra shook her head in awe. "So, I'll just…" he started and sat down in the chair across from her. "I'm David," he said and smiled. David! It was even better than Oliver. She smiled back at him, noticing details she hadn't seen before. How the skin around his eyes creased when he smiled, how his hair was streaked with a few graying hairs…
"I'm Debra," she said and took his outstretched hand. "Nice to meet you."
"You too," David said and sipped his espresso. "I've been watching you." Debra was surprised at his honesty, and decided to be as franc as him.
"And I've been watching you," she said.
"You've been here every day this week," he said. "And you always order the same thing."
"I easily make new habits," she said.
On the sixth day, Handsome misplaced coffee making man, also known as Oliver, but whose real name was David, asked Debra out. And Debra said yes.