The beans crashed and pinged off the canister as she poured them into the machine. A few halting grinds later and the smell of fresh coffee filled her senses. It never ceased to give her a bit of a thrill as she felt herself come to life. Pouring it into the filter felt a bit old fashioned, but it was quick enough to brew that she just couldn't justify getting one of those fancy-pants new things that did 800 functions on its own. The espresso machine, on the other hand, now that was something she didn't mess around with. A smooth cappuccino was hard to beat.
The Gingerbread men were the last of the baking to come out of the ovens. She didn't need to use the heating much when they were constantly churning out all of their daily fare with several holiday add-ins. For any corner that went unheated, there was a great fireplace in the seating area. It always brought more joy to have it lit, especially during this time of year. Her mother always said, "There's nothing like a fireplace to warm your feet, or ambiance to warm your soul." One of these days she'd get around to putting that on a canvas.
The little corner bakery was all decked out for Christmas and had been since after Halloween. It was hard for her not to leave it up year-round. Christmas was always her favorite, but people were the type to gripe about even hearing a single Christmas tune before the calendar turned to December, so she impatiently waited. The wreaths on the doors had their ribbons, the garland along the edge of the counter swooped gracefully with baubles dangling every so often, and paper snowflakes dangled perilously from the ceiling tiles, a personal touch from employees and customers alike, everyone was welcome to construct their own and add it to the growing gallery. If only there was a little more room, a tree would look right at home in the corner nearer the fireplace, but that would take away precious seating space.
It was still early when the bell tinkled over the door. The morning rush didn't usually start for another hour.
"I'll be right with you," she tossed over her shoulder.
Her head was bent low under the counter, sorting out the last of the gingerbreads on display.
"Take your time," came the muffled response.
She popped up, placing the tray on the back counter.
"Goodmorning, now what can I get…" she turned to meet his eyes, and paused a beat. "…for you?"
It was him. THE neighbor. Suddenly her palms were sweaty. It was funny how she just always happened to see him from the window of her flat. At first it was just a coincidence, but after a while it became a habit, and what a beautiful habit it was. Maybe she should call it a handsome habit instead. She knew he lived in her building, but wasn't quite sure where. He was sort of an enigma to her, but captivating. The swagger, the suit….the way his hands wrapped around the papers he carried…his eyes…his voice. His voice…she realized she never actually heard his voice before, but she just knew it would be the type to hypnotize her…but…she was hearing it…
"Are you alright?" He looked concerned. He braced himself with a hand on the counter as he leaned towards her.
She shook herself. "I'm so sorry," she knew her face was an embarrassing shade of red, "I don't know wh…I'm so sorry," she stammered.
He chuckled softly. "You had me worried there for a moment."
His eyes crinkled just slightly around the edges when he smiled. God help her, he smelled of peppermints. And his cologne, sweet Jesus.
She shook herself again. "I'm afraid you're going to have to tell ome that order again," she laughed, ducking her head trying to hide her blush.
"A cappuccino, please," he smiled.
That rumble. It sent a thrill right through her. She was right when she imagined his voice all along, and now that she was experiencing it she'd need the help of all the angels to keep her standing.
"Right! One cappuccino, coming right up!"
She glanced over her shoulder as she tended the espresso. He was shuffling slightly, taking in the pastries and cookies.
"So," she started, "how's the weather?" Thankfully she still had his back to him so he didn't see her wince, chiding herself for being so uncreative.
"A little chilly, not too bad. I don't think it'll rain today, so there's that."
"Oh that's good at least," she scrambled to think of something else to say before put the finishing touches on his order. "So, you're off to work then?" She nodded at his folder.
He hummed. "Bright and early, or dark and early, rather."
"Oh yes, I do love this season, but that's one of the things that brings me down. It's hard enough to get up so early, but when you're awake before both God and the sun are, it feels extra hard," she turned back and placed his cup on the counter. "Can I get you anything else?" Just stay a little longer, she thought.
"Uh…what do you recommend?"
"Well, you couldn't go wrong with a gingerbread. They're pretty amazing if I say so myself," she whispered the last part and was rewarded with the smile she was gunning for.
"Then how could I refuse? I'll take one gingerbread as well."
"Perfect!" She grabbed a bit of waxy paper and bent to take one from the display. "Ah! Blast!" In one of those movements that always made her question her coordination, her hand bumped against the top shelf and the little leg snapped off, tumbling onto the tray. She brought her victim up onto the counter, resting him on the bag he was intended for. "I'm so sorry, I'll get you a new one."
"No, no, that's quite alright. He'll do just fine, I'll manage."
"Are you sure? It'll just take a second."
"I think it makes the poor bloke more relatable." He shifted back a step and tapped a cane on the stones and offered a wan smile.
She hadn't noticed it before then. In fact, she'd never seen him with one at all before in all the time she'd been observing him. It wasn't the right time to press him about it, that felt too personal. Instead, she offered a thin smile and started to pack the little man into the bag and shrugged when she picked up the little leg.
"Oh snap," he said. He smirked at her. "I'm so sorry. I don't know where that…that's something my niece would say," he chuckled.
She couldn't help but giggle. It was official. She found his laugh infectious and she was already craving more time with him. John Bates, she noted on his card before she passed it back to him across the counter.
"These snowflakes are different," he gestured up at the paper creations.
"Uhh, is that 'different' in a good way?" She tossed quick air quotes before popping a hand on her hip. She wasn't sure if she should be offended by his wording or not, but either way it sounded like a challenge.
"What? Oh! I'm sorry. I'm such a fool. I like them, I do. They're unique," he stammered.
"It's alright, thank you," she grinned. "You're not, by the way."
"Not…not sorry?"
"A fool," she gasped, she resisted the instinct to reach for his sleeve.
"I knew what you meant, I'm just having you on."
The breath she was holding came out in a rush. "That really wasn't fair. You should make one of your own now as punishment," she teased. It was hard not to find herself flirting a little, despite the hour. There was just something about him, it was so easy.
"Maybe next time," he said softly. He took one more look at the ceiling before sighing. "Thank you for this," he lifted the cappuccino like a toast.
"My pleasure, come again soon. I expect you to keep your promise and add your snowflake to the gallery."
His eyes sparkled as he turned for the door. The swagger was still breathtaking, even more so up close, but the cane added a touch more of something. Sophistication, she thought to herself. A certain, 'je ne sais quoi.'
The bell tinkled once again as the door closed behind him, interrupting her reverie once again.
"Je ne sais, quoi, Anna? Who are you?" This time she voiced it out loud and it sounded even more ridiculous.
She could chalk it up to all the time spent observing him that she felt such a strong connection, but she had a feeling that there was just something about him. Now that she'd spoken to him, there were so many more layers to her musings and for her to uncover. If he kept his promise and came back, of course. It's not as though she couldn't orchestrate a meeting with him to look like an accident, but she didn't want to appear too eager, even though that's exactly what she was. The cane was an interesting twist. Where did it come from? Why did he need it? His mild self-deprecation seemed so automatic, like a habit to think down on oneself.
I have to get to the bottom of it all, she thought.
A handsome habit indeed.