Chapter One
It's raining as I pull up at the Morning Fix Café, a local coffee shop in Meadow Hills, New York. Shit! I forgot to bring an umbrella.
I gaze sullenly at the torrential downpour of rain clobbering my windshield. Maybe I should skip coffee today. The thought immediately puts a damp draft on my spirit. I'm a coffee addict. Every day, for as long as I can remember, I've been coming to the Morning Fix Café to get my morning fix. Not only is the location convenient, being just a five-minute drive from my home and another five-minute drive to my store, but these guys make the best coffee in the entire world. Getting a cup of coffee in the morning, before I start my day, has become a habit, and as habits go, any deviation can become a problem, a really serious problem. I can almost see my day going wrong, with me getting irritable, everything going missing, lack of concentration, memory failure, nothing getting accomplished, and... I can see the list going on and on...
"No, I got to have that coffee," I say aloud while inwardly reinforcing my declaration.
Reaching for my handbag, I hold it above my head for cover, and make a wild dash to the entrance, silently thanking my lucky stars that I was able to find a parking spot that was close to the entrance.
Not bad. Nothing a tissue can't handle, I think, assessing my clothes. Spying a clean napkin on a nearby table, I quickly steal it and pat myself dry.
Good job, Annie.
It's going to be a nice day after all. Soon I'll be on my merry way with a steaming, foaming, richly aromatic cup of coffee in my hand. An image of the delicious cup of mouthwatering goodness comes to my mind's eye, and eager to have it in my hand, instead of in my mind, I almost want to run to the counter. I glance at the counter. Damn it. There's a long line of people waiting to place their orders. This is going to be a long wait, I think in disappointment.
As I start to make my way toward the back of the line, my phone suddenly rings, stopping me dead in my tracks. Got to be my mom. Here we go again with the same old routine. My mom always checks up on me. She's so protective, always treating me like a child, even though I'm twenty-eight years old, and, I'd like to think, very much grown up.
I can almost hear her voice, heavy with concern. "Baby, did you eat your breakfast this morning?"
To which I'd reply, "Yes, Mom."
Then she'll follow up that question with, "What did you eat?"
I'll give her a long fake list. Buying my white lie, she'll then move on to my business. After I give her a rosy update, she'll then move on to her last and extremely bold question, the one that makes me cringe every single time.
"Any luck in finding me a good son-in-law?"
When the answer comes back in the negative, she'll scold me for a good few minutes, and then breathless, but calmer, she'll affectionately say goodbye. It's the same routine day after day after day until my response has now become automatic, requiring no thinking on my part.
As much as I've tried, I've never been successful in convincing my mom that I'm a grown woman, perfectly capable of taking care of myself and that I'll find a husband when I'm ready to share my closet, my bed, my bathroom, my car, my TV, my kitchen and… oh God, my business. Yeah, fat chance of that happening. It's not that I'm selfish, because I'm not, I reassure myself, it's just that I prefer things to be simple around me, with me not having to think about someone else's needs. Is he happy? Is he sad? Did I upset him? Does he like this? What if he doesn't like this? Should I tell him? What if he's in a bad mood? Yikes! Well…. maybe I'm a tad selfish.
But the truth is, no matter what I think or how I feel, at the end of the day, I'm always sympathetic to my mom's probing and scolding. I'm the only family she has. Like her, I don't have anyone else either. Ever since Dad died, we automatically cling to each other. Unfortunately, harsh winters have taken a toll on her body. Since she has aged, her body can't tolerate the cold anymore, and she had no choice but to move to Florida, the Sunshine State. But hey, even miles away, like an angel, she still watches over me, and I wouldn't trade these morning calls for anything else in the world.
I reach into my handbag for my cell phone. Where did I put it? I should get one of those handbags with several pockets. In that way, I could properly sort my life out and know exactly where everything is. Where is it?
Come on, Annie, you've got to hurry up. That old car horn ringtone isn't doing any good for you right now. It sounds like you have a choking rooster in your bag.
Darn it. I shouldn't have messed with my ringtone. Yesterday, after having lunch, I had some time to waste. Playing with the ringtones of my phone was how I spent that time, getting a crack at the funny ones, except now it wasn't funny anymore.
Where did I put that phone?
Standing in the middle of the coffee shop, looking stupid I might as well admit, I desperately ransack my handbag, not daring to look up. I know all too well the barrage of annoyed glares that must be coming my way. How guilty am I of doing the exact thing to those who are having trouble locating their ringing devices? I would center all my anger on their face, daring them to look me in the eyes. The irony of a taste of your own medicine.
Aha, got it! Thank goodness. Absentmindedly, I resume walking.
"Hi, Mom," I greet into the phone.
I lift my head up. My vision gravitates to the coffee cup held out directly in front of me.
Too late!
For a split second, I feel the warmth of the cup against the texture of my skin before it disappears from the hand holding it. He steps back, but it's already too late. Hot coffee splatters on his white shirt, making its mark before the cup falls to the ground. He curses repeatedly under his breath.
My fight-or-flight gland immediately kicks into high gear. Taking the cue, my heartbeat doubles up, pushing blood rapidly throughout my body. My hand loses its functionality, and my phone slides out of my hand, lifelessly. It lands with a thud into the puddle of coffee that has pooled on the ground, effectively breaking into several pieces. Shit!
Slowly, I lift my head up. The spatters of brown coffee stain on his white linen shirt stare at me like angry eye balls, growing bigger and bigger by the second. I take a deep swallow, summoning the remnants of my dying courage before gazing up into his face.
My stomach drops.
The most intense, scorching gray eyes I've ever seen meet mine, and oh God, they're blazing down at me with fury!
You're in some deep shit now, Annie.
I wish I could die this very instant. My chest constricts, and the tightening rolls all the way down to the deepest pit of my stomach. Dear God, I pray silently, I know I'm not your worst child. I know I've cursed you a lot in the past—well I still do—but we need to settle our differences. I'll let you take the lead and show me we're buddies now. Grant me a wish and make me disappear. This man is really, really, angry. Please God. Anytime you're ready...
Fuck. Don't count on God.
Oh well, here goes nothing. My mouth opens, and I hear myself stammering painfully. "I... I'm so sorry. Please...I... I'm really, really sorry."
He squares his shoulders and continues to glare down at me, fury shooting out like tightly strung arrows from his eyes. Bloody hell. I've awakened the beast. I try to swallow the lump in my throat, but my airways must have shrunk because the lump won't even budge. From the corner of my eye, I can see everyone watching the debacle, and this morning happens to be the busiest I've ever seen this small shop. How nice. My cheeks heat up in humiliation.
"Damn it!" he cries angrily, yanking my attention back to him. He glances down at his shirt. "What's wrong with you? Don't your feet and eyes work together? Or is your phone call so juicy that you couldn't care less whose day you dump your clumsiness into?"
"I…I…" My voice dies in my throat. Fuck! This is unquestionably the most humiliating moment in my entire adult life.
"I what?" he roars, anger spewing from every pore of his body. "I close my eyes and walk? Is that what you're about to say?"
My eyes start to burn at the corners as they water up.
"Jesus Christ!" he curses again, gazing down at his shirt. "Unbelievably stupid!"
Yep. He couldn't have said it any better. That's exactly how I feel right now. Unbelievably stupid. I try to blink back the tears that are now pinching the sides of my eyes rather excruciatingly.
Don't cry, Annie. You're not a child anymore. No one is going to pity your tears.
No tears. No tears. I keep repeating to myself.
Despite my efforts, my voice cracks. "I…I'm really sorry, sir. It was an accident, and I'm really, really sorry. I was speaking to my mom and...and I didn't watch where I was going...and…and before I knew it...I... I'm so sorry..." I choke up, my voice finally collapsing.
Something flickers in his eyes. Whoa. Was it sympathy I glimpsed? Before I can think another thought, a renegade teardrop lets loose, rolling gloriously down my right cheek. I quickly lower my head, pretending to be suddenly interested in the pieces of my shattered phone on the ground, hoping he didn't notice the tear.
He noticed.
I hear him inhaling a deep breath, and then slowly, deliberately, he lets it out. Momentarily his voice sounds again, but this time it's calmer. I guess the deep-breath thing he just did soothed his anger.
"It's okay. Next time, please be careful. We're talking about hot coffee here."
I nod solemnly, suddenly feeling like a wild child being reprimanded by an adult. Small waves of relief start to surge through my body now that he has calmed down and I've survived this very humiliating moment.
"Thank you for understanding," I reply, and he nods his acknowledgement.
Bending down, I begin to gather the pieces of my broken phone from the ground.
"Here, let me help you," he offers, grabbing a napkin from a nearby table.
"It's…" I start to say it's not necessary, but after seeing the napkin already in his hand, I reply instead with, "Thank you."
He rests the napkin flat on the palm of his hand, and I carefully place all the dripping pieces of my phone into it.
"You know your phone isn't good anymore, right?" he says, eyeing me.
"Yes, I know," I reply with a polite smile. "But I just can't leave it on the ground."
"No, of course not."
I watch as he folds the napkin containing the pieces of the phone into a ball. The tissue quickly darkens as it absorbs the coffee.
"Here's your phone," he says with a hint of humor in his voice.
Reaching out, he drops the ball of damp napkin into my outstretched, open palm.
"Thank you," I reply.
He retracts his hand, but as he does so, the strangest thing happens. The tip of his long fingers unexpectedly graze over mine. A sharp zing of electricity shoots through my body at the contact, as though his hand was electrified and somehow the charge escaped captivity when he touched me, zipping its way through my veins to inundate my body with a torrent of strange sensations. Shocked, I jerk my hand away. Bloody hell. My heart starts to beat faster, sending way too much blood to my cheeks, heating them up like a baker's oven working overtime on a hot summer day.
He must have noticed my reaction because he smiles.
"Are you okay?" he asks, studying my face with a curious look in his eyes.
I nod, and feeling like I should further emphasize the gesture to him, I say in an unnecessarily loud voice, "Yes, I'm fine."
A few heads turn our way, and my face flushes. He laughs. What the hell? He's having fun. Annoyed at myself for behaving like a schoolgirl, and at him for making me feel like a schoolgirl, I say confidently, "Look, mister, can I replace your coffee?"
"It's Michael and —"
Like I care.
"Okay, Michael…can I replace your coffee?" I give him a pointed look.
He does not answer. Instead, he stares intensely at me with those gray eyes, as if I'm a rare creature that suddenly piques his interest and he wants to dissect and analyze further.
Now that he's no longer angry, I can't help but notice that he has the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen. Contrasted with his dark eyebrows, his eyes not only look dangerously alluring but exude a strange hypnotic effect. They are piercing gray, with a tiny black ring at the very outer edge, caging the vast gray. They draw me in, and as if by some strange magical powers, I suddenly feel completely powerless, unable to tear my gaze away. Strangely, even my throat tightens, making it suddenly difficult to breathe.
For a spellbinding moment, we stand there in the middle of the coffee shop, looking at each other; him, in some deep thought, me, fixated, and admittedly looking like a dumb-ass teenager.
Slowly, a small smile curls at the corners of his mouth, shattering the moment and pulling me from his strange spell.
Get your shit together, Annie.
"Yes, you can replace my coffee," he says thoughtfully, and then, as if an idea has just come to him, he quickly adds, "but not now. I have to use whatever time I have left to grab a change of clothes."
Glancing at his shirt, I must admit the brown coffee stain looks awful against his white linen shirt. My eyes follow his movements as he reaches into his wallet and pulls out a business card. He hands it to me.
"Call me after lunch, and we'll talk about you replacing my coffee."
Taking the business card, I stare blindly at it. Inwardly, a thousand questions swirl through my mind. Call him after lunch? Doesn't sound like a good idea to me. Sounds more like a call to arrange a date, something I have no interest in doing, not now, not ever. Surely, he can't be that busy to spare a minute or two.
"It won't take …"
My voice trails off. Darn it. He's already gone. Now the ball is in my court, and I hate to have balls in my court, especially ones that can slowly eat away at your conscience.
What a day this is turning out to be. In a matter of minutes, I've managed to publicly humiliate myself, break my phone, and obligate myself to replace someone's coffee. I should have listened to my mind and suppressed that coffee craving.
Suck it up, Annie. There's no use in crying over spilt coffee now, is there?
Stealing his stress control technique from earlier, I inhale a strong, deep breath then willfully force it out. Hey, it works. After a few seconds, I feel like myself again. Dropping the card into my handbag, I tilt my chin up, silently telling anyone who's still watching me that I've gotten my shit together before making my way to stand at the back of the coffee line.
The salesperson at the counter glares at me. Oh God, I groan inwardly. She clearly did not get my "I've gotten my shit together" message.
Moments go by, and as the line in front of me slowly dwindles, the salesperson continues to send angry glances my way. She seems to be impatient for my turn to be served.
I sigh, wondering what beef she wants to score with me.
Several more moments go by, and as I glance idly at the lady cleaning up my coffee mess, the answer hits me like a light bulb moment. The lady that's now cleaning up the spill on the ground was earlier serving coffee at the counter. When I spilled the coffee, she had no choice but to leave the counter and go clean my mess. Damn it. Because of me there's only one person left to serve coffee at the counter.
Another vicious look from the salesperson at the counter re-confirms my suspicion. Yep. She'll make me pay for making her work extra hard to move the long line of increasingly angry and impatient customers. I have a strong feeling she'll top my coffee with some spit. How gross. Maybe I should skip coffee today altogether. Besides, I think I had enough excitement to last all day.
I quickly exit the line, and walk out the front door. Glancing at the time, I realize I have just enough time to make a stop at the cellular store to replace my broken phone.
Luckily the store isn't busy, and within a short space of time, I'm on my way to work with the latest edition of the iPhone in my possession, and the voice of my mom on the car's Bluetooth system.
Well done, Annie.
Life back to normal? Or so I thought…