Café
when people forget the little things in life, it's left to others to remind them.
Two Valentines drabbles for doro, bonne saint-valentin ~
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He walked into the closest establishment that served drinks and looked quiet, and because he wasn't really looking where about he was heading, as the phone conversation (he was sure he was speaking French at that moment in time) he was engaging in was rapid and extremely complex, with the client throwing the fucking language at him with technical terms he only barely understood in his home language. Honestly, learning multiple languages all at once (almost all European ones too, damn Latin) made his head spin.
He almost let out a thankful sigh when he noticed the French client slowing down with his words and getting vague in his sentences. Finally, having a full half an hour talk over the phone wasn't going to do his arm, his ear, his voice any favours. Then, the moment he was longing for finally became reality – the French man was beginning to give him promises to visit and to tell him to tell Father than he would be calling and would expect the man himself rather than his Father's secretary, and he lead him on to nearly there promises, just to be polite.
Rolling his shoulders and letting out a stray sigh after he placed the cursed device down, he raised his hand for service. Perhaps a nice hot caffinated drink would just about pull him through the day, and he had found that the coffee in most places in Milan was excellent, better than most places in most of the other European countries, not that he was surprised. It was Italy after all, the mother of coffee.
He massaged his throat after finding it horribly dry. That French bastard would certainly pay for that. No one, he would repeat, no one would waste his precious time without a good, valid reason.
However, he could admit that he didn't even notice one of the servicemen lead him to a seat. He marvelled at the fact – his brain was marvellous, amazing indeed!
A petite young woman came over to his table, face a little flushed, dressed in simple attire – a simple black dress, tights and a white apron over the dress – cocked her head and asked what would he like before taking out a small notepad and pen out.
He placed his hand on his chin in deep thought, but finally decided on a latte with a slice of almond cheesecake to go with that. The girl nodded, and fetched him a glass of water without asking.
The man raised an eyebrow at this.
"Do you usually give glasses of water out to costumers like that?" The man asked in his accented Italian, catching the waitress off guard.
"Oh, our barista asked me to do so for you." She then paused, and he allowed her to finish, while thinking how unprofessional she was being, even though the thought was a little critical and harsh – she looked merely eighteen. "Actually, it was his lady friend. We're a little short handed today since our barista was caught up in a little accident, so he had asked his friend to come along. It was her direct words to 'serve the young man over at the window a glass of water, he must be thirsty'."
The man closed his eyes for a moment and nodded. You didn't really have to be too observant to tell – he was massaging his throat a moment ago.
"Is there a chance to meet the barista's... assistant later on? I must give her my thanks." The man looked up at the young woman, who's flush was growing redder and redder.
"O-Of course, mister!" She bowed, and went off with his order as he was left staring out the window.
The coffee shop he was in actually had quite an old charm, which he appropriated to the fully. He did notice the grand piano that sat in the middle of the large establishment, and the fancy lamps, canvas paintings, delicate furniture, and they all appealed to him. This place was quite a find, actually. He noticed he was quite far away from the main city, as the scene outside the window was foreign.
He barely noticed the china plates land on his tables, and the gentle whisper of 'enjoy' in the French that he was speaking not too long ago. His eyes widened when he noticed this and turned, but found no one but the occasional waiter standing or taking orders.
He then sighed and patted off imaginary dust off his shoulder before looking at his order. Surely, the cappuccino and the slice of cake was there, but it was... a little different. On his latte was a heart shape, and beside his cup, was a piece of paper with 'Bonne Saint-Valentin' written on it in lacy French. Also, placed next to his slice of cake, was a small chocolate heart.
He looked at his order with a baffled expression before his eyes lit up, and he laughed at himself, ignoring the stares that the Italians gave him.
He had forgotten that he was stuck in one of the most romantic European countries known, Italy. And a French girl was reminding him.
Ah, great.
He heard a brief chuckle from behind the counter, and caught a glimpse of shiny golden hair before it escaped into the kitchen.