Rather shocked that such words had come from my mouth, and that I had been talking about Calum, I lifted the cup and sipped. Today was a day of revelations, each one more astonishing than the last. The aroma of coffee filled my nose, stimulating my laggard memory. I had known and fantasised about Calum for years, always at a distance. I never felt worthy enough to join his group of adoring females. One of our first dates had been walking along the beach in the evening. I had felt rich, beautiful; Calum had chosen me. And then he had refused to buy me an ice cream because he feared it might ruin my figure. I had always erred towards the plumper side, and to hear him say he loved my figure boosted my self-esteem. Except, he had not been saying he loved it; he had been telling me to lose weight. I clacked the cup back down. Part of me wanted to go back outside and find the pompous, rude—
“A girl like you shouldn’t know that frustration either.”
Frustration? What was he talking about? Oh yes. I squirmed in the chair. “What do you know about girls like me?”
He rubbed his chin slowly with a forefinger. “Clearly not enough. I assumed you to be lonely, and now I realise I may have got it wrong.”
But he hadn’t. Now I realised how lonely I was, how starved for harmonious company I had become. Pride forbade me to acknowledge this to him. “You do not seem to be the lonely type,” I said. “You claim I must be, yet if you have never been lonely, how can you perceive it or understand it in others?”
He tipped his cup to me. “Brava. But now you are making assumptions about me. What makes you think I have never been lonely?”
“You are very free with your opinions, whether you laugh them, speak them or look them.” He did not react. I searched his eyes for a clue. Nothing, so I continued, “I would think such freedom leads inevitably to loneliness or popularity. Since you are very confident in expressing your opinions to a total stranger, I assume that you must be popular, not lonely.”
“Have you never heard how you can be lonely in a crowd?” He pressed his finger into his cheek. The skin indented and an urge to kiss the dimple flooded me. I wrenched my gaze away, afraid he would see and know. When I had gained control of my emotions, I chanced another look. He was scooping up the remains of the foam in his cup, so either he had noticed my discomfort and was being gentlemanly in not showing it, or he was oblivious. I hoped the latter. There was silence between us for some moments and to prolong the conversation, I asked, “So, are you?”
“What, popular?” He gestured around. “Do you see me with a large company of people? Do you see me with even one other person?”
“No,” I said, “but they may have left before you.”
He heaved a sigh. “Very well. A friend of mine had just left, much to my relief. She wanted me to go on a blind date with an old school friend of hers. Badger, badger, badger. So I agreed just to keep the peace.”
Something caught in my throat. I would have loved to go on a blind date with this guy. Maybe I should join an online dating website. “A blind date sounds like fun. What are you grinning at?”
“You. Your face is so expressive. First, you frowned, then you shrugged, then you stuck your lower lip out in a pout. I don’t need to ask what you were thinking.”
“Why don’t you tell me if you’re so clever, and I will tell you if you were right.”
“Ha, I’m not going to fall for that one. No matter what I say, or how bang on I might be, you will tell me how way out I am, how erroneously wrong I was, how I’ve misjudged you.”
I sucked my lips in between my teeth and then released them again. “Let’s agree you cannot possibly know what I was thinking. So, are you going on the date?”
“Of course. Why not?” He ran a hand over his close-cropped hair. “It should be an interesting evening.” That naughty grin again. “If you give me your phone number, I will let you know how I got on.”
I gave him a steely look. “Earlier, you informed me that I didn’t like the phone.”
“I thought you might like to answer my calls.” He dismissed the comment with a wave of his hand. “If not, then I will text you. Come on, write the number on a napkin.” He rummaged around for a clean one and handed it to me.
I screwed it up and flicked it towards him. The paper ball skidded over the edge of the table. He caught it and unfolded it, making a great show of surprise. “You didn’t write your number. I must conclude either you do not possess a phone, something I find incomprehensible in today’s age, or you find me repulsive. Since the thought that I might be repulsive to you scares me to death, I must think you have no phone. Oh, I have it.” He clapped a hand to his forehead. “You, yourself, do not possess a phone. You have a company phone!” He flopped in his chair with relief and threw the napkin at me again. It landed in my coffee with a gentle splosh. “Looks like I have to buy you yet another coffee.”
The gleam in his eyes dared me to refuse. Another coffee. I had always loved the smell far more than the taste, and actually preferred tea. It was the sociality of coffee I enjoyed, the feeling of belonging, of taking part in a familiar ritual with strangers who were not so strange, after all. Gleefully, I said, “I don’t like coffee.”
Laughter erupted again. “Of course you don’t. Well, fortunately for you and me, they don’t just serve coffee here.”
Our gazes met and held. Something sparked in the air between us. Warmth diffused through my entire body. I tingled in places I hadn’t tingled for a long time. For a moment, my soul brushed his. Panicked at the connection, floored by how alive I had felt for that split second, I wrenched away. What would happen when we left this coffee house, would that be it? Would I spend my life wondering where he was, an awful “what if” haunting me?
“It’s getting dark.” He nodded at the window. “I would never normally spend so long here, especially on a Thursday. I should have had four coffees in all this time, yet I’ve had one. Huh.” He fixed me with a penetrating stare. “I’d like to drink coffee with you again.”
My lips felt dry. I would drink any number of coffees with him. Fling myself at him. Do whatever he wanted. Here was a guy that seemed to want to spend time with me. Except ... “Where are you going on the date?”
The brown eyes turned mournful. “The Robin Hood. I don’t usually have dinner as a first date; the idea of spending a couple of hours with someone hideous or boring terrifies me, but my friend–God Bless Her Soul–had already booked the table.”
“Is that her name? God Bless Her Soul?” He shot me a disgusted look and I chuckled. “You could always talk about yourself.” Calum did that very well. I used to find him charming but lately had become bored. Could it be that agreeable people talked very little about themselves, while the less agreeable talked as though they found themselves of unending fascination? I speculated as to what that meant, and found myself desperate to talk it over with this man I had fatefully bumped into.
“Talk about myself? How ghastly.” He shuddered. “I find other people far more interesting. Like you.” He peered at me.” I’m trying to work out what’s lurking in the depths of your sea-green eyes.”
“I thought you could read my every expression.”
“Expressions, yes. Eyes, no. Your eyes hide and reveal at the same time.” As if to make a point, he leaned across the table and peered at me. “Part of me is tempted to come around there and kiss you on those pouty lips, just to see how you react.”
I pretended not to have heard. I had no idea what to say to that. Well, I had a very good idea of what to say, but this was not the time or the place. He kept his gaze on me as I fiddled with my hair. It needed another cut, the layers were growing out.
Kiss, he’d said. This time I could not prevent the blush from rooting up my neck and all over my face. I must look like a stop sign. The need to escape and scrabble my thoughts back into line made me blurt, “Maybe we could meet here again next week. You could tell me all about the date, but I will buy the coffee.”
He winked. “It’s a date. Look at
that, two dates in one week! I must be popular, after all.”
We rose from our seats in unison. He was a good head taller. I imagined walking down the road with him, tucked into his shoulder. The yearning slammed into me so hard I fought for breath. Dizzy, I bent to grab my bag off the floor and as I came back up, I collided with his body.
He clasped me to him in a brief hug. “Thank you for spilling your coffee. You made my day.” Then he bounded down the stairs, out of my sight. I sank into the chair for a few minutes and closed my eyes.
~ * ~
Calum rang me that evening, but I didn’t answer. The third time, I flipped the phone onto the floor, tempted to crush it into the carpet. He rang all throughout the next day, and then the calls became more sporadic until they finally stopped. He appeared on my doorstep early Wednesday evening.
“Why don’t you answer my calls?”
Calum smelled good. He always smelled good. For a moment, I weakened. He pushed past me and into my tiny kitchen. I watched him poke around my preparations, fascinated at how differently I saw him. In one single day, last Thursday, Calum had morphed from handsome hunk to egotist. How had I not seen this before?
“You cooking dinner for me, babe? Lasagne? You know I hate that.”
My previous self would have mumbled an apology, scooped out the meat sauce into a pan and turned it into a ragout pasta sauce. I was not that person anymore. “I am not making dinner for you.” I smiled sweetly. “I will not make dinner for you ever again.”
He slammed his hand on the counter. “What the hell’s the matter with you? I had to cancel the table at the Peacock because you refused to answer my calls, and now you’re making dinner I hate.”
I smiled. “I wasn’t making dinner for you, and I’m quite sure the table didn’t go to waste. I expect you took your pregnant girlfriend.”
His mouth opened and closed like a fish.
“You’re bleeding.” I nodded towards his finger.
“Damn. Your stupid knives.” He examined the cut. “You’ll have to take me to the ER. I can’t drive like this, and it looks like I need several stitches. This is all your fault.”
I heaved a sigh, covered the half-assembled lasagna, and drove him to the ER. And saw him. The guy from the coffee house.
Horrified, I buried my head in the magazine. He could not see me here. Not with Calum. The doors opened, and I mumbled something about the loo and dashed out the entrance, almost colliding with a girl in a wheelchair.
I sat in the car shaking. My heart pounded so erratically, I thought I’d have a heart attack.
~ * ~
That night I barely slept. I dropped my head onto the pillow exhausted, and all I could think about was him. Funny how something, or someone, can be so real in one part of your life, yet when you are operating in another part of your life, to see that same person comes as a shock. Like a ghost.
Thoughts of him had consumed my waking moments and invaded my dreams. Sometimes I indulged the fantasies; other times, I pushed them so far I all but forgot him. When I awoke the following morning, I spent twice as long in the shower and agonised for an hour over what I should wear. I wanted to look sexy, yet not look as though I made an effort. Something suitable for work. Not the black skirt. To slip once would be misfortunate, to slip twice...well, as he had said, he would run far. Besides, I couldn’t wear it. I hadn’t wanted to wash it.
Since my early teens, if a good-looking boy had winked at me or given me a half-smile, I had instantly put him on a pedestal and worshipped him from afar. If one of these guys actually spoke to me, I’d turn into a puddle of mumbly goo.
I made a face at myself in the mirror. The mistake was putting Calum on a pedestal, thinking he could do no wrong. So enchanted by his apparent acceptance of me, of my very being, I had been blind to the real Calum.
The eyeliner smudged. Ugh, beautiful. Great big smear on my upper eyelid. Well, at least it matched the twin pools of sleeplessness beneath my eyes. I cleaned my eyelid and then took care with the new mascara I had bought. It was supposed to give the effect of false lashes. Not that I had ever worn false lashes. I did have some idea of what the mascara should do for my woefully short lashes, but it took three layers before I was even slightly impressed.
About to add a fourth coating, I paused, hand arrested in mid-air. I wasn’t preparing myself for Calum, but for a guy who had seen me at my hellishly-embarrassed, coffee-splattered worst. And he still wanted to talk to me. My self-esteem, long since bashed into a hole, bloomed like a desert flower. In the mirror, I watched my back straighten, my posture improve and my whole face lighten. I looked younger. Incredible what a boost of self-confidence could do to the appearance. I thought about the presentation I had to give that morning and mimed it to my reflection, fascinated. The mascara wand caught the mirror and smeared black paint in a long streaky line. Gah. I put it away and scrubbed the glass.
I tugged my figure-hugging grey trousers on and examined my cream blouse. The design of it concealed my belly, while the neckline plunged in a way that made me feel sexy. Would he like it? Would he even be there? Enough! This guy was a friend and nothing more. Platonic zing. Did such a thing exist?
I finished work late. With no time to check my appearance, I parked the car and managed to find a space near the coffee house. Heavy clouds threatened rain. I’d left my umbrella at home so I ran to the coffee house, telling myself it was because I didn’t want to get wet.
Inside, a steam-fogged mass of humanity and noise enveloped me. Normally I hated claustrophobic coffee, but today was different. Feeling bold, I ordered two cappuccinos. Confident I wouldn’t trip over my trousers, I carried the tray up the stairs. Light-headed with anticipation, I gazed around the crowded room.
Sofas all taken. Shame. The idea of sitting wedged next to him tickled my nerve endings. I squinted through to the other room.
Not there. I checked around the corner. No.
Disappointment rocked me. He forgot. He didn’t want to come.
I stood there, numb, staring at nothing. Was there something wrong with me? I might not be skinny or beautiful or rich, but I had some worth. Didn’t I?
Someone jostled my elbow and I blinked to see two teenage girls push past me with their mocha-latte-caramello-raspberry-besprinkled beverages. Well, I didn’t know that for sure but they smelled fruity and sweet. They whispered to each other and one turned to peer at me, her cerulean eyes vivid in a face otherwise starkly bland.
Pity. I hated pity.
I would not be pitied. I was a successful, motivated purveyor of organic cleaning products and good at my job. No matter that my dream was to run a pet sanctuary. So what, that this one man had not bothered to turn up to have coffee. He was not obligated.
A table next to the wall freed up as a man a few years older than me shoved back his chair and got up. His neat, shoulder-length dark hair hung in clean, thick locks. Nothing worse than a man with long, thin hair that hung in greasy hanks and thinned to points at the ends.
I frowned, trying to work out where I had seen this guy before. He caught me looking and indicated the table with a smile and a nod. Plastering a look on my face that said it was perfectly normal to want two coffees, I weaved through the other tables and set the tray down. A spicy, lemony scent drifted towards me as Mr. Suit moved past. Mmm. “Thank you so much, Mr—”
He’d gone. I craned over my shoulder to see a pretty brunette greet him with a lengthy smooch.
With a sigh, I sank into the coffin-shaped faux leather chair. If I put two together and lay down, I could pretend I was dead.
“Well, I have good news to share, and here you are looking glum!”
I shoved upright. Blue jeans, dark green tee with the slogan Spooning leads to Forking. His grin stretched from ear to ear. The smell of leather blew over as he dumped his jacket on the back of the chair. Then the meaning of his words penetrated my dense skull. Good news? My stomach roiled. I wanted to hear that his date had been a disaster, that
he’d wished it were me sitting opposite him at a snug table for two hidden in the corner. I imagined him staring into my eyes, telling me I was the love of his life—
“Sorry I’m late.” He wiggled his seat further from the gangly youth and his girlfriend seated behind. “We’re short-staffed at the hospital, and I had to stay an extra three hours. I came straight here, couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing you.”
Unable to think of a decent retort, I pushed the rapidly cooling coffee towards him. “So, tell me your good news. How was your blind date?”
He leaned forward and steepled his fingers. “Let’s see. Becca is beautiful, amusing, eats more than a lettuce leaf at dinner and she loves Grey’s Anatomy.”
I swallowed too hastily. A little went down the wrong way and I coughed, banging my chest. “Grey’s Anatomy? You like Grey’s Anatomy?”
He sorted through the different sugars and sweeteners I had collected and picked the brown sugar. “Of course I like Grey’s Anatomy. I am an ER doctor at the hospital. The whole show has me in stitches.”
“Haha.” Cross for some reason, I said, “I hate Grey’s Anatomy.”
He set his cup down so hard coffee sloshed over the side. “What?”
I pointed to the mess and grinned, delighted. “You spilled.”
“Your fault, though.” He gave a crooked smile and held out his hand. “Napkins, please.”
I handed him the couple I had and got up for more while he mopped.
“You hate coffee, yet you drink it,” he said thoughtfully as I returned. “You hate Grey’s Anatomy, so do you watch it?”
I cleaned the saucer. Our hands collided as we reached for more napkins. I froze. My mouth went dry. “Only when there’s nothing else on.” Calum hated the show, so I had lost the plot a long time ago.
He drew a quick finger along the length of my hand. “I find it very hard to believe you dislike Grey’s Anatomy.” He dumped the wet napkins on the tray. “Every girl I know has the hots for Dr. McDreamy.’
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