Every Girl's Coffee
England, 2020
She walks quickly past the window, her steps loud on the cobble, thick black heels, unusual for the bright spring they'd been having. But nevertheless, here they were, clicking the path relentlessly. My chair slides into position under, large mug steaming alongside a chocolate muffin. The coffee almost spills out of my clutching fingers, my eyes drop down, leaving the paned window. The liquid stains into my trousers, hot and soaking in. I want to leave my chair and my coffee and my muffin, leave everything where it is and follow her down the street.
Her hair swinging over her shoulders as her heels clap the stone, her eyes turning back ever so slightly to catch mine. Then the bell goes loudly as the shop door opens, the door of opportunity. She steps into the room, the scent of new coffee as she walks up to the counter to order. I turn back to my muffin, my sad little chocolate muffin. She must have some serious boyfriend behind her, but then again she looks too much like she runs her own business.
But as I peel back the wrapping on my muffin, I feel someone nudge me. "Would you mind…" I start to say as I turn to face her. My words stop, but I don't want to force them, then she sits down beside me, like nothing happened at all. She smiles sweetly over at me. Don't smile back, don't smile back. I smile back. I can't stop myself, her eyes they're frozen blue, reflecting in the damp glass. Her hair falls lightly over her shoulders as my eyes drag my glance towards her. She smiles again, it's a reflex, undeniable but there. When my eyes turn sadly back at the table, I feel her small fingers tap lightly on my shoulder. Then onto the table, she slips a crinkled, sprawled piece of paper, ripped in two places. Her phone number.
A list of those digits seemed an unworthy prize for my embarrassment, but here it was. Her phone number, placed cautiously beside my coffee; as she pulls on a long black coat and winks at me before opening the door and setting off the tiny bell over the frame.