By way of a quick intro/author's note: I've been mulling this idea in my head since Damon bought the loft in Seattle. I love to write, but have traditionally stuck to reality, blog-type style writing. (ER nurses have some pretty great stories ;) ) I'm pretty green to the fiction-writing scene, but there's three things I do know well. Seattle, trauma, and well… bar tenders :) So I think this could be a little bit fun. I have the first few chapters written, so updates should be pretty regular. This first chapter is really more of a prologue, but in the interest of keeping my OCD at bay, we'll call it chapter one to coordinate with the chapter title/lists on this little website. All constructive criticism welcome. Is that dangerous to say? Haha! Well… let's jump in! :))))
I always knew I'd end up here. Like this. Or at least I'd like to think I did. There was a place near where I grew up that I'd pass every day on my way home from school. Ivy-covered saffron-stucco walls, a second floor balcony with delicate green wrought-iron casing, tall white latticed french doors, and flowing white drapes gave the aura of an embrace from a warm summer breeze. The space outside the building always smelled a little like blueberries and something my 8 year-old mind couldn't name, but that felt like absolution. There were shutters to match the dark green of the iron-wrapped stoop and Ivy trickled down from the ceramic roof tiles like Jiminy Cricket himself floated down with his umbrella tacking on ivy as he went. Ever so gently in a side-to-side pattern that was pure magic.
Every day I'd walk past and I'd dream. I'd dream that I was the princess that lived in this castle and the world below was my kingdom. I'd dream that as I stood on my fairy-tale balcony one day my prince would come walking by, glance up at me, we'd fall madly in love-at-first-sight and of course live happily ever after. That was back when I believed in fairy tales. Back before it occurred to me that maybe, just maybe, reality could be so much better… or worse.
As I grew older I realized my beloved balcony and ivy-coated castle was a coffee shop. Small white tables and chairs sat on brick-lined patios, shaded by magnolia trees that stood guard over the patrons below. At the right time of day, just after 5pm the sunlight hit those trees at precisely the right angle to cast a patterned-golden blanket on the sidewalk below. The evening breeze -as reliable as the sun rising each day- paired with the golden glow spoke to my soul in a way that I'm not sure I can adequately describe to this day. This coffee shop was my escape.
I could come here and be enough. I could come here and not be an orphan. I could be a girl who had parents that were still alive, or at least a girl who had foster parents that remembered her name. For an hour or so each day I could come and not worry about where I was going to live next week, or if I was good enough to stay at whichever house I was at. I could be a girl who was going places. Who didn't need to rely on a single other soul. I could come here for an hour or more every day and dream of my escape. Plan my exit strategy from a life of uncertainty and reliance on other people
When I turned 15 I applied for my first summer job. I worked in a 5x8 foot box without air conditioning making snow cones. It wasn't all that bad, it got me out of the house and most importantly earned me a paycheck. I allowed myself one treat from my very first paycheck. Everything else was put straight into savings. My dreams were going to take a lot of money in addition to hard work. But first? Coffee. I walked into my fairy-tale coffee shop, handed over five of my hard earned dollars, and walked out with a steaming cup of heaven.
I sat down on a little white chair at a little white table in that golden-hour sunshine, raised the mug to my face, smiled as the smell of sweet coffee beans and sugar drifted up my nose, and closed my eyes in a moan as the sweet concoction washed over my tongue and warmed it's way down my throat. It was the first time I ever fell in love if I'm being honest. I had fallen hopelessly in love with a vanilla-almond latte. I was a goner. Of course these days there are two or three extra shots of espresso added in the mix. I've cut down significantly since college. None the less, espresso and milk in combination is essentially the longest relationship I'd ever had.
Every happy memory from my childhood was on that quiet little street. Every piece of sunshine. Every dream that turned into a plan, I envisioned there. Every moment of zen and calm. My obsession with coffee shops started early and has never waned. There's a cork board hanging above my desk at home that's covered in a collage of pictures. Snapshots of me and random friends at coffee shops in cities all around the world.
There's only one pic missing. The polaroid I'm holding in my hands now. It's my favorite. Good looking couple, don't you think? Yes, that's me on the left staring a-gasp at the handsome laughing asshole sitting next to me. It's from our first date. And it's the exact moment I knew I was hopelessly, head-over-heels in love with Damon Salvatore. In short, I was fucked. Let me back up. We may have had out first date there but there's a bit more to the story.