Coffee in Common

by Dee Mann

  Prologue

  In the spring of 2004, a group of young Bostonians experienced the most incredible, life-altering month of their lives. I was privileged to observe much of what happened and to be able to fill in details after the fact so this story could be written.

  If you've read romance novels before, please put aside your preconceptions. This is not a "bodice buster" and it does not conform to any romance or romantic comedy "formula." Rather, with a modicum of literary license, it lets you follow events from start to finish as if you were the proverbial fly on the wall.

  If this could have been presented as a history or biography, you'd be reading about real people who you could probably Google or find on Facebook or Myspace. Unfortunately, despite modern culture's love of so-called reality entertainment, this story could only be told if presented as fiction.

  So, dear reader, I hereby fulfill my obligations and state unequivocally, with the fervent hope you will believe me, that:

  1. The story you are about to read is completely a work of fiction.

  2. Names have been changed to protect the innocent and the guilty.

  3. The characters, incidents, situations, dialogue, and story are entirely the products of my imagination and any resemblance to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.

  And, of course, legal, ethical, and moral considerations absolutely prohibit me from claiming that it all really happened exactly this way.

  But it could have…

  Part I

  WEDNESDAY, MAY 5, 2004

  7:40 AM

  Paul DiLorenzo and Roberto Tello stood in line at Coffey's Coffee as they did nearly every workday morning. It wasn't unusual to find the line of customers snaking around inside the shop and then stretching out the door, even on the blustery, frigid mornings that frequently passed for spring in New England.

  There were no lattés, or double mocha cappuccinos to be found at Coffey's. Seventy-two year old Gil Coffey didn't believe in trendy. For forty-nine years he'd been serving hand-made-on-the-premises pastry and bagels and the very best caffeine fix in downtown Boston, and didn't see any reason to change.

  Rumor had it that representatives of some large chains periodically bought Coffey's coffee, not to drink, but to analyze in an attempt to determine what made it so good. So far, they'd not succeeded.

  In 1994, when Starbucks moved into the area, one of Gil's employees took a marker to her name badge and became Barista Betty. Gil and the customers thought it a hoot. At the time, most folk in the area still thought barista was Italian for barkeeper. So Gil had new badges made for all the employees, a practice that now, years later, had become tradition.

  "…but there was no way he was going to strike him out."

  Paul was only half paying attention to his friend as he silently debated the merits of ordering one of Gil's amazing blueberry muffins versus a cinnamon-raisin bagel with cream cheese.

  "He hasn't struck him out in three years. So why in the hell would Francona leave him in there with the bases loaded?"

  "Maybe he had a hunch." He watched Barista Akina bring three cups to the counter for the girl in front of them.

  "No maybes. The guy needs his head examined. There's no way he should be managing a little league team much less the Red Sox."

  Paul enjoyed baseball and the Red Sox, but Rob was one of those fanatical fans for whom Red Sox Nation was created.

  Akina twisted the three cups into a cardboard carrier and asked the woman, "Will there be anything else today?"

  "Whatever you're giving away for free," she said with a grin as she reached into her purse.

  Paul was about to answer Rob, but instead whipped his head around and blurted out, "Hey, that's my line."

  Her eyes met his when she turned to see who had shouted in her ear. "Excuse me?"

  Paul could only stare, captivated by her dark brown eyes, the smoothness of her skin, the gentle slope of her nose, the whiteness of her teeth, and the way her lips seemed to make him ache. He sensed the color rising in his cheeks and felt his heart quicken, unsure if it was his embarrassment or her amazing eyes making him feel suddenly very strange and self-conscious.

  Finally he managed, "I ah, I'm ah, sorry. I said, ‘that's my line.' I almost always say that when someone asks if I want anything else."

  The woman's skeptical frown was followed by first one, then the other eyebrow arching to accentuate her disbelief. "You say ‘that's my line' whenever someone asks if you want anything else?"

  "No, no." He was so rattled he didn't realize she was joking. "I mean I always say that, what you said, when someone asks if I want anything else."

  Her simple, "Really!" made it obvious she didn't believe him. He turned to Rob in desperation. "Tell her. Don't I always say that?"

  Crap. That sounds so lame she must think I'm an idiot.

  There was no longer any doubt his face burned from making a fool of himself.

  Rob rolled his eyes and nodded as he turned to face the girl. "Yah, he does. He says that all the time."

  The girl added a wrinkled brow.

  Are these two working on a new pickup line or are they simply demented?

  "See." Paul tried to look hopeful.

  Akina cleared her throat. "That will be nine dollars and twenty-one cents please."

  The woman turned back, removed a ten from her red leather wallet and handed it over. "Keep the change."

  She dropped the wallet in her purse, picked up the tray, turned her head to smile briefly but dismissively at Paul and Rob, and headed for the door.

  The two stepped up to the counter. Rob ordered his coffee and perused the display cases filled with rich, moist muffins, flaky, sweet pastry, and assorted giant bagels. Paul watched the girl until she walked through the front door.

  No sooner had it closed behind her than he turned to Rob, then back to the door, then back to Rob, who'd glanced over in time to catch his friend's brief ballet and knew what was coming. He broke for the door, calling back over his shoulder for Rob to get him the usual and that he'd meet him at the office.

  Out on the street, he performed another dance, twisting left, then right, then left again, finally catching sight of her in the morning crowd. She was walking slowly, gracefully, and he could not help but admire the gentle curves of her very feminine form as he hurried to catch up. Her dark-auburn hair shone in the morning light, swinging back-and-forth across her shoulders in a gentle counterpoint to the sway of her softly rounded hips.

  "Excuse me," he said, touching her lightly on the left shoulder.

  She glanced back, then stopped and turned toward him, her face filled with curiosity.

  Paul realized he had no idea what to say. Something was drawing him to this attractive stranger, but whatever it might be, it was not providing any dialogue.

  "Hi. I'm Paul. I, ahh, well I couldn't let you go away without talking to you. I mean, I'm, well…"

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  The woman's curiosity morphed into mild amusement at his continued fumbling.

  He took a deep breath, let it out, and shook his head, not wanting to believe he could be acting like such a dolt. He felt like he was fourteen again, facing Susie Quan, the girl who gave him his first lesson in rejection.

  "Wait. Please, let me start again. I swear I'm not usually this much of a loser around women. My name's Paul. Paul DiLorenzo. And you are…?"

  "Wondering how often you stop girls on the street to make yourself look foolish." Impatience mixed with the amusement in her eyes.

  He grinned at her quickness. "Thankfully, this is the first, and please let it be the last, time."

  As before, he found her eyes hypnotic, even though they were now almost laughing at him. He shrugged.

  "
I really don't make a habit of accosting women on the street. It's just that, back there in the coffee shop was the first time I've ever heard anyone else use that line. I've been saying it since I was a teenager and when I heard you, something sort of clicked. Then, when you turned and our eyes met, something clicked again. I know it sounds crazy, but as I watched you walk out the door, this feeling came over me that I had to come after you, that I had to get to know you or I'd miss out on someone…something really important."

  "You mean, like, the universe or God or something was telling you to chase after me?"

  Clearly confused, Paul replied, "Well…I don't know, but, yah, I guess."

  The woman chuckled, shook her head, and asked, "Does this line usually work for you or are you trying out new material today?" Without waiting for a reply, she turned and resumed her slow stroll down the sidewalk.

  She's blowing me off. Why the hell am I acting like this? What is it about this girl that has me so off-balance?

  He hurried to catch up, desperate for a miracle, a way to salvage this mess.

  "Wait. I mean, can I walk with you. Walk you to work or wherever you're going? I really don't ever do this…you know, approach someone on the street like this. But what I said back there was the truth. Please. I won't even ask your name. If you don't think I'm worth a chance by the time we get to your building, or wherever, I'll leave and you'll never see me again."

  She paused and appeared to weigh his offer. Then, with a playful half-smile said, "Okay. It's a deal. You have until we get to my building. Go."

  She started walking slowly again. Paul kept pace on her left, feeling hopeful again.

  "As I said, I'm Paul DiLorenzo. I'm an associate editor at Davis Phillips publishers, and…" He turned his head to stare at her as they walked. "…I can't believe how attracted I am to you when I don't know a thing about you. My…"

  They'd traveled about 30 feet when the woman stopped and turned to face him.

  "Well, here we are," she said, interrupting him.

  Huh?

  He'd expected to have more time to make an impression.

  "Thanks for walking me," she said as she started toward the office building behind him.

  Completely crushed, Paul could only stand there, frozen and speechless.

  A quick glance at his face as she passed startled her, but she continued toward the building. Shoulders slumped, Paul stared after her, a poster boy for total defeat.

  She reached for the handle, pulled open the door, then turned and stared at him for almost twenty seconds, her gaze hard and appraising. Then her eyes softened and she said, "I usually have coffee at lunch, usually around 12:30." She started to turn away but glanced back again, smiling.

  "And my name is Jillian."

  10:01 AM

  Davis Phillips Publishers, the nation's third largest producer of beautiful coffee-table books that no one ever reads, occupied the fifth floor of the nine-story O'Malley Building on the corner of Tremont and Winter Streets, across from the northeast corner of the Boston Common and two blocks north of the Heritage Building into which Paul had watched Jillian vanish a few hours ago.

  Paul shared an office with the three other members of his team, his best friend, Rob Tello, team leader Thomas Driscoll, and the recently hired Priya Kumar.

  "Geez, I hate those meetings," Paul whined as he and Priya walked away from the conference room. "Sixty minutes of my life wasted. You'd think…ah, who cares. Let's go get coffee."

  "Shouldn't we tell Tom, first?"

  "Nah. He won't care, as long as we bring him some."

  Passing by the company coffee room, they headed for the elevator. Neither saw any reason to drink brown sludge when Coffey's was only two minutes away.

  The ride down had been silent, but as the elevator doors opened to the lobby, Priya asked, "Mind if I ask you a personal question?"

  "I don't know. About what?"

  "Rob."

  "Priya, trust me, you don't want to go out with him. Besides he's…"

  Her laughter echoed off the marble walls. "Lord, no. It took me about two minutes to figure him out. Besides, remember my first day?"

  Paul grinned and nodded.

  "I was just wondering how long you've been friends. It's pretty clear you knew each other before working here."

  "Oh yah, we go back to high school. We were best friends. Played ball on the same teams, dated cheerleaders, did stupid stuff together.

  "We sort of lost touch after high school. I was going to Tufts and he ended up at Florida State. Then just before the end of his freshman year, his dad landed a great job near where the Red Sox have spring training, so his parents moved south." He laughed. "While all the other kids were heading to party places for spring break, Rob was watching the Red Sox every day at training camp."

  Priya shared the laugh. "I can see that. He does seem to like his baseball. So when did you connect again?"

  "About three years ago, not long after I started here. This girl Jody in accounting brought him to the company Christmas party. I tell ya, Pri, it was like I'd just seen him the day before."

  "That's the hallmark of a true friendship," she said, walking through the door Paul held open for her.

  "I guess so," he agreed as they approached the end of the short line. "He was teaching high school English at the time but hated the politics and bullshit. So when his predecessor announced she'd be resigning when her baby was born, I got him to apply for the job." He laughed again. "I think a lot of women in the company rue the day he started."

  "Why? He seems like such a nice guy."

  "He is. But you've only known him since he started going out with Lisa. You wouldn't know it to look at him, but he's always been a wicked player. In high school, he developed this kind of…mystique, I guess, as a party animal and chick magnet. Girls seemed to find his personality and charm and sense of humor irresistible despite his looks. I probably shouldn't admit this, but the best part of being friends with him was the leftovers."

  "Leftovers?"

  Paul nodded, looking sheepish. "The friends of the girls he went out with, the ones he broke up with after a few weeks, you know what I mean?"

  "You called them leftovers?" Offense blazed in her eyes, but he was saved from having to answer when Barista Manny asked what he could get for them.

  Four minutes later, as the door to Coffey's closed behind them, Priya punched his arm hard enough that he almost dropped the cardboard cup holder. "Leftovers! What is it with men and their need to objectify and demean?"

  She stomped off, leaving him rubbing his arm as he hurried to catch up.

  "Priya, I'm sorry. That's what we used to say in high school. We were stupid kids with too many hormones. Come on, don't be angry."

  An hour later, Paul was still getting the silent treatment, much to the amusement of Rob and Tom.

  Priya glanced at him.

  I suppose I should let him off the hook. After all, it was a long time ago, and he is such a gentleman now. And I guess I was really taking out on him all the crap from other guys.

  Tom clearing his throat drew her eyes across the office to the desk that faced hers. She took in his familiar round freckled face, bushy orange-red hair, and trim but stocky five-foot eleven-inch build.

  He could change his name to Mahatma Chang or anything else and you would still know he was of Irish descent. Rob, on the other hand, has that everyman look. He really could come from manywheres.

  Her eyes returned to Paul as she let her thoughts drift back to her first day at DPP.

  * * *

  Priya was very nervous. She had arrived early but stayed out of the way until all three guys were safely at their desks. Then she walked in, closed the door, placed her bag on her desk, lifted her arms over her head in a swimsuit pose, and said, smiling, "Good morning, guys. Let's see a show of hands. Who wants to see me naked?"

  The men were stunned into silence. They stared, unblinking, unmoving, like clichéd deer transfixed by the bright
headlights of an oncoming car. She stared back for a few seconds then started laughing as she pointed to each in turn and said, "Liar, liar, and liar."

  Her laughter relaxed them a bit and Rob's hand inched up slowly until it was above his head.

  "Ah," she said, "an honest man." Slowly, she shook her head from side-to-side, turned to face him and said, "Rob, it will never happen. Ever." Her hands moved to indicate her attractive, but conservative business suit. "This is as close as you will ever get to seeing heaven."

  Shoot. That sounded awfully conceited.

  "Look guys, I had to leave two really good jobs in the past year because the men I worked with either wouldn't take me seriously or couldn't keep their eyes, and other parts, to themselves. I'm good at what I do, and this seems like a really nice, friendly place, but I came here to work, and that's all I came here to do. If that's going to be a problem, please tell me now before I get comfortable in the job."

  Her new coworkers were grinning broadly. Tom stood and gave her a slight bow of appreciation. "Well done, ma'am. Well done."

  * * *

  In the three months since then, she'd never once caught any of them looking at her in anything but a friendly and professional way. Even when the office banter turned suggestive, or even sexual, she was just one of the team.

  She sighed, decided it was time to forgive Paul, and tossed a paperclip at him to get his attention. "So what happened with the girl this morning? Did you get lucky?"

  Paul grinned, happy things were back to normal, then glared at Rob. "I should have figured you'd start blabbing the minute you got here." He turned his attention back to Tom and Priya. "To answer your question…oh yeah…I was on my game."

  "Sure you were," Rob jeered, remembering his performance in the coffee shop. "Did you get her number?"

  "Number, ha! Who needs a number?"

  "He struck out," Priya said. "He got nothing and now he'll be getting nothing. Poor Paul."

  Tom snorted his agreement, holding up his right hand with thumb and forefinger forming an ‘L'.