He didn't really notice her, at first. He didn't think much of her when he first saw her, through the steam radiating from his blackest black coffee, her lips pressed together as she fiddled with her pen, flicking it about obnoxiously like some people do. His first glance was followed by another, and another, and then he busied himself with his own reading or whatever it was, not minding much when she left. The following day, however, he was intrigued to see her back in the same coffee shop, strange because she hadn't been until the day prior. She was wearing a skirt and a blouse, far more flattering than that mockery of a television detective's coat she'd been wearing before. And he took the opportunity, as her teeth and full, pink lips closed around the cap of her pen, to examine her. She became so much more with each tilt of her head or flutter of her eyelashes, so much more than his original perceptions. He would have shrugged her off as just another tube of lips gloss, just another tacky necklace, just another pair of, oh—she had a lovely pair of ivory thighs, as her skirt tucked itself away shyly when she fidgeted. But she smiled to herself at a particular something, and tucked a singular curl, brown sugar or honey-like, behind her ear, and suddenly, she was beautiful. She was captivating. And he sipped his coffee just a bit less peacefully than he had the day before, and the day before that.
Unfortunately, he found himself ready to leave before she was, today. He gathered his things into his beaten messenger bag, the faux brown leather buckles nearly falling apart, and headed for the door. He was jolted back as a loose strap on the bag snagged on a chair, and sighed, because of course this would happen. Of course he would nearly fall on his ass in a public place when he was already running six minutes late, dropping his notebook and a pen or two. He picked them up and straightened his jacket, but collided with someone as he turned again toward the door. He started spluttering apologies, quick and courteous, but stopped as his eyes became fixed on broken glass—or, diamond-like, gleaming flecks of bright light, scattered throughout the smallest oceans he'd ever encountered. Oh, but they were her eyes. She smiled at him, her pink lips having left the tip of her pen to rest, and tilted her head ever so slightly. "I'm so sorry," she uttered shyly as she examined something on the floor, which he was sure was relatively fascinating.
"No, no, not at all," he replied, with confidence. He flourished it with a smug smirk, nodding only slightly when her eyes flicked up at him. Her smile broadened, her teeth barely showing, and she straightened her back. Her skirt had resumed its job of covering her thighs.
"I, um," she said, trying to make sense of herself. She offered him her hand, wrapped around one of his prized fountain pens. "You dropped this," she told him, as if it weren't obvious. He didn't mind.
"Thank you." He grinned as he tucked the pen into a pocket inside his jacket. He pressed his fingertips lightly to his chest. "I'm Eli."
Her blue eyes widened only slightly, and she shifted from one black Mary-Jane to the other. "Clare. I'm Clare."
He nodded again, and she attempted to suppress a small chuckle. "Nice to meet you."
"Nice to... bump into you." Her nose crinkled as she giggled at her own joke. "Anyway, I'm..."
"Late," Eli said calmly, maintaining his grin. "I'm going to be late. But I'm sure we'll meet again."
Clare nodded, folding her hands. She lifted her chin a bit, as if she were experiencing some sudden burst of confidence. Or maybe she was just trying to match Eli's. "One way or another."
With a final bob of his head, Eli stepped past her and through the door, back out into the street. It felt more to him, however, like he was just now returning to Earth, after a small vacation to some other planet on which a girl could actually cause a feeling in his chest. He didn't have a problem with interacting with women. If anything, he was skilled in the craft. But this girl was somehow different. Something about her has actually sparked his interest, left him intrigued. He wondered if she was always shy, if she was bright and clever, what made her smile. He wondered if the silver cross around her neck held significance, what she had been reading that made her laugh. He found himself stepping along the concrete, recreating the lace trimmings of her blouse in his mind, the delicious crème color dancing and ducking in only slight contrast with her pale skin. He was curious. He was wondering. He was fascinated. If he didn't see her again, it would be a mistake.
Eli was greeted by the same perfectly-glossed smile four mornings each week, accompanied by the sound of shuffling papers or clacking computer keys. "Good morning, Dr. Goldsworthy," she chirped as he entered the doors. She locked eyes with him for only a fraction of a second before returning her attention to whatever were the contents of this classified blue folder.
He rolled his eyes. "I'm not a doctor yet, Fiona."
She looked up at him again as he paused in front of her desk. He leaned on the counter top above her eye level, and gazed dreamily at the ceiling. Folding her hands, she quirked an eyebrow at him curiously. "Can I assist you in some way, good sir?"
"Fiona, I do recall you told me a few days ago that I owe you a coffee."
"Oh, oh, I was only joking..." she said, waving her hand.
He quieted her with the slightest shake of his head. "No, you were right. And if memory serves, you enjoy vanilla lattes with skim milk and a caramel drizzle."
Not waiting for her reply, Eli presented her with a paper cup, and she beamed even brighter, clapping her hands together once before taking it. She stood up from her chair to give him a delightfully awkward hug, over the obstacle of the counter between them, and cooed, "You're such a sweetheart, Eli, really. What would I do without you?"
"I don't know," he muttered against her ear, "What did you do before I showed up?"
Without a response, she shrugged and straightened her skirt as she returned to her chair. She started to work again, but sighed with exaggerated annoyance as he continued to playfully make eyes at her. "To work with you. The customary flirting has ended for the morning. Shoo."
"Helping people one hour at a time..." Eli said under his breath as he walked away from Fiona. She didn't hear him, and he smiled to himself as he boarded the elevator. Most of the time, his brief interactions with Fiona were the highlights of his work day. And normally, he would still be picturing her gleaming smile and her excellent taste in clothes, her sparkling eyes and her dark chocolate hair, the graceful movements of her hands and the elegant shape of her body. Today, however, as he stepped into the metallic box rising on cables, his admiration of his coworker was clouded over by someone else. Someone far more mysterious, far less familiar. He was too busy thinking of Clare to wonder if Fiona would ever repay him for the coffee.
As the elevator halted, Eli made his way to his office, unlocking it and stepping inside with a deep breath. His beaten old bag fell alongside his desk as he pulled out his planner, organized carefully day-by-day, with names written in ways unreadable by anyone but himself. He pulled his work phone from his bag and clicked it on, happy to see he hadn't missed any calls. Registering that his first appointment was in ten minutes, he closed the planner and turned his phone off, pulling out his computer and his notebook. Everything was in order by the time the first client of the day arrived.
His first session was with a young man he'd spoken to before. This was their third meeting. Not surprisingly, he didn't take very well to Eli the first couple times they spoke, but by now, he was more at ease. He even smiled a few times before he left, and thanked Eli this time. They shook hands before he walked out the door.
Eli glanced at his planner once, and again when he read the name. Clare Edwards. He shook his head and nearly laughed to himself as the thought crossed his mind of the girl from the coffee shop. He straightened his clothes and began rolling up the sleeves of his powder blue, button-down shirt when a knock came at the door.
"Come in," he answered, and looked up a few moments later.
Her jaw dropped before his did. Partly because he had been trained in the art of controlling the expression of his emotions, and partly because his eyes connected with hers belatedly. She covered her mouth as she began to laugh. "Well, isn't this funny," she said softly, with disbelief.
Eli nodded, and chuckled. "Maybe a little."
"One way or another, right?" Clare said, letting the door click shut behind her.
"Apparently." He smiled and motioned toward the couch. "Please, sit."
She placed her purse beside herself as she folded against the soft cushions, and Eli realized he shouldn't be thinking about her thighs. And he shouldn't be tracing her curves to check the accuracy of his memory. She returned his smile as he lowered into his chair. "So, Dr. Goldsworthy..."
He couldn't help but laugh. "Call me Eli, please."
"You're quite young to be a doctor, aren't you? You can't be more than twenty four."
"I am twenty four, actually," he said, straightening his back and trying not to use too many hand gestures, "And I'm not really a doctor, yet. I'm still working on that."
"Ah," she replied simply. This reaction didn't surprise him anymore. Eli knew the fact that he was young and still learning and training unnerved people. Honestly, he felt sorry for these people, because they probably all had some lingering voice in the back of their mind telling them he wasn't the best option. She cleared her throat, and grinned again, but smaller. "Well, I'm Clare, as you know, I'm twenty three years old, and I work as a journalist for a local paper. I grew up near Toronto, with my parents and my sister. My parents got divorced while I was in high school, and my sister was away in Africa for... a really, really long time, I guess. I graduated fine, good grades and all, and started attending University. And here I am."
"Here you are," he repeated. He had to mask his confusion. What on Earth was this beautiful, charming, and seemingly well-rounded young lady doing in therapy with someone in training? What, was she a placebo?