She sees him every morning at 6:15am. He's always wearing a long-sleeved flannel under a bright yellow safety vest, always has his toolbelt slung low over his hips, and always has a smile for her as she walks past the little construction site on her way to her early shift at the coffee shop.
It's not a stereotypical construction site leer; she's had more of those than any sane woman should have to deal with. It's an 'I'm happy to see you' smile, warm and genuine. And she knows it's for her because she watched him one day last week from the bus stop across the street, hiding behind the bole of a maple tree decked out in its fall foliage and saw that he didn't smile at anyone else, just did his job with nothing but curt concentration in his eyes.
Not that she was looking. No, she was just waiting for the 9:56 bus to take her to campus for her 10:30 class. Not that she lost track of time thinking about those molten chocolate eyes, she had a Chemistry quiz that day and that's why she almost missed the bus.
But she smiles back every time she sees him. A warm, genuine smile.
His smile lingers in her mind each day. He smiles for her when she wears her favorite chunky olive sweater and knit beanie. He smiles for her when she's in sweats and a hoodie. He even smiles when it's drizzling and she's wearing a ridiculous banana yellow rain poncho and bright red rain boots.
She hates the morning shift, but she starts every morning with a smile.
Is this what falling feels like?
The next week she brings a 4-pack of coffee to the little construction site after her shift. Four cups of House dark, one larger than the others and with a little smiley-face doodle on the side, and a big wad of sugar packets stuffed down the middle. She's too shy to say anything, so she leaves it on the fence and hurries off to the bus stop. She peeks around the maple and sees him walk over to the cups and smile that warm, genuine smile of his. He picks them up and takes them in, after he grabs the bigger cup for himself.
The next day she brings a 4-pack of French Roast, one larger than the others with a jack-o-lantern doodle (it IS October, after all). The next day it's hazelnut, the larger cup covered in stars and exclamation points (she aced her quiz). The day after that is mochas, the larger cup with a weird flower clover thing.
She drew a heart on the cup, but freaked out and quickly changed it.
Is freaking out what falling feels like?
She has a rare weekend off. She works on her Poly Sci term paper and wonders why her notes are covered in weird flower clover things.
Monday is four lattes with a Charlie Brown-esque ghost on the big cup. She drew a heart in the foam, where it would be hidden by the lid. Not that she thought it'd make it; her hands were shaking like aspen leaves the entire time. She reaches the little construction site and finds a small bag with a smiley-face doodle on it where she usually leaves her coffees. Grinning, she grabs it and puts the coffees down, and looks inside to see a pair of giant chocolate chip cookies. She looks up and sees him, smiling and… blushing? She smiles back, blushes back, and hurries to catch her bus.
Is sharing smiles and blushes, doodles and sweets what falling feels like?
The next day is lattes again, another foam heart safely hidden within a cup with a smiling sugar skull doodle. This time there's a bag with a jack-o-lantern doodle and two slices of pumpkin bread inside. The day after the large latte with the foam heart in a cup with a scarecrow doodle is exchanged two chunks of fudge in a bag covered in stars and exclamation points.
Is two sweets at a time what falling feels like?
She spends the rest of the day convincing herself to ask him and find out.
But the day after at 6:15am he's not there. She works her shift and brings a tray of four coffees like she usually does, one bigger and sporting a big puppy doodle. No bag, but she leaves it anyway. The next morning at 6:15 the tray's still there, the big cup's still there (the little ones aren't, though), and she worries her bottom lip.
Maybe he took a sick day? Maybe his part of the construction was finished and he moved on to another job? Maybe she freaked him out by being too weird?
Is worrying what falling feels like?
Is looking forward to someone's smile, and the sad ache when you miss it, what falling feels like?
Maybe. All she knows is that her shift drags that morning, and she's seriously considering skipping class.
She barely looks at the customers as she takes their orders. She just wants to go home.
"Two lattes, please. And two brownies," her (finally) last customer orders.
"Good choice," she murmurs by rote. "Anything else?"
"Yes, could you, um, draw hearts in the foam like you usually do?"
That's an oddly specific request. She looks up to a fierce blush under a pair of molten chocolate eyes.
And she smiles. A warm, genuine smile.