Long_Distance Coffee

by Emma Sterner-Radley

  Her eyes opened wide, as she found what she had been trying not to look for, Isabella’s username with a green dot next to it. She was online. Erin fist-pumped the air and opened a window to talk to Isabella.

  BlackVelvetBitches: Hey there, Ms. Writer. How are you and the lil’ stressed-out man tonight?

  Happily, Isabella’s reply came in right away.

  IsabellaMartinez1: We’re fine. Alberto has just fallen asleep after a little feed, and I am researching Germanic folklore. How are you?

  BlackVelvetBitches: Well, neither sleeping after a good meal nor researching weird stuff. I was actually stretching after a long session at the gym.

  IsabellaMartinez1: You had a client this late?

  Erin stretched her arms over her head and heard a faint pop from her rotator cuff as the tension let go. Then she bent forward to type again.

  BlackVelvetBitches: No, I was doing it for my own fitness, to work off some steam, and to digest the day a bit. Man, you wouldn’t believe the crazy stuff that happened today!

  IsabellaMartinez1: I’m a writer, Erin. I can imagine a great deal and believe a large amount of it. Try me.

  Erin smiled and began to reply.

  BlackVelvetBitches: Fine. You asked for it, lady. So, I have this client called Riley. Background: She trains with me once or twice a week, depending on when she’s been on an all-night bender and what shape she’s in the next day. She’s a social butterfly and a real free spirit, and doesn’t care what people think about her. Anyway, I had a session booked with her, and she showed up in a tank top and a pair of shorts that were so tight I wasn’t sure she could move in them. I didn’t say anything about it, obviously.

  Erin clicked send to make this long story readable and not just one huge block of text. Then she picked up where she left off.

  BlackVelvetBitches: We started working out, and I had planned a leg day for her. About ten squats in, those tight shorts ripped! It was so loud, like in a sitcom or something. She wasn’t all that embarrassed, though. She was just laughing like crazy, and then she just—get this—took them off, put ’em on the ground, and kept doing squats! I asked if she didn’t want to stop or go home and get another pair of shorts, but she just said that it was fine because her underwear was Adidas, so it should count as workout clothes! Can you believe her confidence?

  She clicked send again and took a breath. She didn’t want this to come out wrong.

  BlackVelvetBitches: And, yeah, the hipsters did say Adidas and weren’t too skimpy, but they were still, very clearly, underwear. Besides, everyone around us had heard the shorts rip and had watched her just pull them off and keep going. Several people stopped and stared. I tried to get them all to go back to working out, but everyone seemed totally stunned. In the end, the manager of the gym came over and asked her to put shorts or pants on before carrying on. Guess what she did?

  Isabella’s reply appeared right away.

  IsabellaMartinez1: Oh, I’m sure I couldn’t guess.

  BlackVelvetBitches: She said “fine.” Went to her locker and got her towel, tied it around her waist, and then walked back to me and asked if we could do something which wouldn’t make her drop her towel. I swear, she’s my hero for being so chill. BUT it did mean trying to find moves that targeted the right muscle groups while keeping her damn towel in place. We were watched the whole time, which is something I’m not a big fan of.

  Erin almost scoffed at her own understatement. She hated being stared at. It was the legacy of a child used to being surveyed and then ignored by potential adoptive parents. But Isabella didn’t need to know that.

  IsabellaMartinez1: I can see why not. That sounds like quite the farce. Are your sessions always so eventful?

  BlackVelvetBitches: Yeah, it was completely ridiculous. Oh, and it didn’t help that she kept telling me about her sexy date with this hot model between reps. Crazy! And no, they’re not.

  IsabellaMartinez1: This is so interesting. Training really has its own challenges and joys, doesn’t it? I’ve never spoken to a personal trainer before. Maybe you could tell me about your other clients today? Even the boring ones. I want to know what a day in your work life might look like.

  A little embarrassed by the attention, Erin gave an in-depth description of the clients she had trained that day. Forty minutes later, she had given every detail she could remember and, according to Isabella’s replies, made the other woman laugh loud enough to almost wake the baby at one point.

  Happy with the way the conversation was going, Erin finished her tirade by saying that was surely enough about her day and asking what Isabella had been up to.

  IsabellaMartinez1: Nothing interesting.

  BlackVelvetBitches: Oh, come on. Something must have happened? Something about Alberto or about your writing? How is the fairy tale book coming along?

  IsabellaMartinez1: Hmm. Fine. Alberto has a rash on his neck, and I had to go out and get a cream for that, but I’m sure you don’t want to hear about it. I’ve gotten some writing done today but not as much as I’d like. I did, however, clean my little writing nook downstairs.

  BlackVelvetBitches: You’ve got a writing nook?

  IsabellaMartinez1: It’s my favorite part of the house. The desk is nothing special in itself, but it has the antique pen set that my father bought me when I left my job to write, and a gorgeous desk lamp I brought home from a trip to Tangier ten years ago. Oh, and a bookshelf for all my resource material and a few of my favorite novels.

  Erin was impressed to be talking to someone who had been to Tangier, mainly because her most exotic trip had been to Las Vegas. Although, she wasn’t sure where exactly Tangier was and hurried to google it before replying.

  BlackVelvetBitches: Your little writing corner sounds really pretty and cozy. You’ll have to take a picture of it and send it to me.

  This time the reply took a while to come in. Erin wondered if Alberto had woken up or if Isabella was pondering whether or not she wanted to send Erin photos of her home.

  IsabellaMartinez1: I can do better than that. I am going to go down and make a cup of coffee. If you like, I could bring the iPad and make a video call to you when we’re downstairs? Me and Alberto sometimes have video calls with my parents. That’s why I got Skype in the first place. It would be an easier way for you to see my desk and bookshelf. It would just be one-way video, obviously, so I won’t see you.

  BlackVelvetBitches: Yeah, sounds great! Are you bringing Alberto?

  Erin couldn’t help feeling excited to see some of this stranger’s home. She wasn’t usually this curious, but now she couldn’t wait to nose around a little. She had a feeling that she was about to see glimpses of a fancy house that cost as much to heat per day as her own monthly rent.

  IsabellaMartinez1: No, I can’t film and carry him.

  Erin’s brows knitted, both at the curtness of the reply and the contents of it.

  BlackVelvetBitches: But what if he wakes up? I thought you always brought him with you in case he wakes his dad up with the crying?

  There was a long pause before Isabella replied.

  IsabellaMartinez1: Well then, I suppose Richard will just have to wake up. I’m sure he will fall back asleep again soon enough.

  Erin raised her eyebrows at this change of outlook.

  BlackVelvetBitches: Cool. Go get your coffee, and show me where the writing magic happens!

  IsabellaMartinez1: All right. I’ll go downstairs and then call you. Hang on a moment.

  Erin watched the screen intently, as she took a few sips of her coffee. After a short while, a request to answer a video call from IsabellaMartinez1 came in, and Erin clicked the button to accept.

  Her laptop screen filled with the image of a dimly lit space. Isabella was clearly holding the iPad like a camera and filming the room. She walked toward a corner desk and bookshelf, showing Erin the writing area she had described.

  Squinting, Erin saw that one of the bigger books on the shelf was titled The Art of Writing in a la
rge, clear font. The others she couldn’t make out. She saw the antique pen set and the desk lamp from Tangier that Isabella had told her about.

  Then a quiet voice spoke. It sounded deep and sultry, but serious, and as smooth as melted chocolate.

  “Can you see? Is it too dark in here? The light is on in the hall, but I can turn on the one in here as well, if you’d like?”

  Erin found herself shaking her head before she realized that Isabella couldn’t see her. She cleared her throat and answered in a croak, which was as much due to being silent for hours as to being blown away by what she was seeing.

  “No, it’s fine. It looks really nice and cozy. You seem to have a lovely home.”

  Immediately, she wondered if she sounded like some 1950s housewife visiting her neighbor. “Lovely home?” What the hell, Black?

  “Thank you. I did a lot of decorating when I was pregnant and too restless to sit still and write. There isn’t a detail in this house I didn’t plan out meticulously. Anyway, I should make the coffee and go back upstairs before Alberto wakes up.”

  Suddenly, instead of showing the room, the iPad’s camera was focused on Isabella’s face, and Erin could see a brunette who was frowning as she quietly muttered, “Can I hang up without losing the chat?”

  She saw Isabella’s hand move around the camera and guessed that she was pushing different parts of the screen. She wondered if Isabella had tried to turn the camera off and instead reversed it to film her face, but that thought vanished from her mind as quickly as it had arrived. Erin knew she should answer Isabella’s question. But she couldn’t. In fact, she couldn’t even remember what the question had been. Her brain was too fried by what she was seeing.

  The woman on the screen was drop-dead gorgeous. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, but her eyelashes were long and dark and framed a pair of brown eyes that changed from espresso colored to latte as they caught the light from the hallway. Isabella’s jaw, cheeks, and nose were all unusually symmetrical, like a classic movie star. There seemed to be a little cut above her top lip. Those lips looked as soft as silk. In fact, all of Isabella’s olive skin looked incredibly soft.

  Erin tore her gaze away from the features, but only long enough to see more of Isabella. Cascades of sable-colored hair fell to her shoulders, and below, Erin could see a collar of what looked like gray pajamas.

  She was staring openmouthed, and Erin closed her jaw so quickly that there was a loud click of her teeth. Luckily, Isabella was too preoccupied with her technical difficulties to notice.

  “I think I’ve found it. I’ll hit this button, and I should hang up without closing down our chat window. I’ll go make coffee, and I’ll talk to you when I get back upstairs,” Isabella said.

  “Um, you don’t have to close it down quite yet. I mean, unless you want to.”

  With a frown, Erin bit her lower lip. How could she be this pathetic? This was a stranger who was probably straight and certainly in a relationship, and here she was, jumping through hoops to keep the camera focused on that beautiful face just a little longer. She cursed herself for being so ridiculous.

  “Oh. All right. I can show you the kitchen, I suppose,” Isabella replied politely.

  Erin could tell from the motion of the camera and the sounds of quiet steps that Isabella was walking to the kitchen. The camera angle was still reversed, and in the light from the hall, Erin watched her features.

  She couldn’t help but squint and have another look at Isabella’s lips. The little outline above her upper lip was a scar, not a cut. Without thinking, Erin spoke out loud.

  “How did you get that scar?”

  The camera stopped, and Isabella looked down at the iPad with a look of horror.

  “You can see me? I thought the camera was on the other side?”

  Erin froze. Her lost thought about Isabella not knowing she had reversed the camera was indeed right, and she hadn’t spoken up about it until now. Shit!

  “You mean you didn’t know the camera had reversed? Um, I think you turned the camera around to yourself as you were trying to figure out how to hang up without ending the chat. I did wonder about that, but I forgot to ask you. I’m so sorry, Isabella.”

  Instinctively, Isabella’s hand flew up to smooth down her hair. She was frowning fiercely.

  “I see. How do I turn it back? I wasn’t really ready to be on camera tonight. I must look dreadful.”

  Erin’s mouth decided to, once more, exclude her brain from her reply and blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

  “You kidding me? You look like a freakin’ goddess!”

  The woman on the screen rolled her eyes but couldn’t quite hide a smile.

  “That’s very kind of you to say, but it’s obviously a white lie. I’m a breastfeeding mom in my pajamas, without makeup, who hasn’t slept properly for weeks. The bags under my eyes probably have bags of their own.”

  The dark shadows had been obvious, but those eyes were so beautiful. They’d drawn her gaze away from pretty much everything else.

  “If I looked half as good as you when fully prettied up, I’d be ecstatic. Stop complaining, and go show me that coffee.”

  Isabella relaxed visibly.

  “Fine. But first tell me how to turn the camera.”

  While Erin explained, Isabella followed the directions until the camera no longer showed her face but the floor at her slipper-clad feet.

  Erin forced herself not to sigh with disappointment, then she scolded herself for objectifying her new friend. She remembered what her ex, Katie, had used to say, “Straight girls are friends, not food.” It might be a bit crude, but the message was clear, and it was one Erin needed to keep in mind now.

  Erin fought down any thoughts about how attractive Isabella was and just focused on getting to know her. She started with observing the kitchen that Isabella wanted to show her. The floor in the kitchen looked like marbled tiles—pretty but cold. She understood why Isabella was wearing slippers.

  After a second or two, she heard Isabella whisper a walking commentary.

  “So this is the kitchen. As you can see, I went with dove-gray units with fully integrated appliances and white and gray floor tiles to match.”

  Damn that voice was lovely. Erin could listen to just about anything spoken with that satisfyingly warm and deep sound. Erin closed her eyes and listened with a happy smirk. Then she snapped herself out of it. This was not being friendly.

  Isabella was still talking. In her reverie, Erin had missed some of the details about the kitchen. Hopefully, nothing too important.

  “And this cabinet here is where the coffee resides.” Isabella said, while using her free hand to open a cabinet that showed neat rows of dry foodstuffs.

  She picked up a bright-red foil package with black lettering that was difficult to read, especially in the semi-lit kitchen. Erin could just about make out the words Azúcar Negra in a slanting font.

  “Never seen that before,” Erin said.

  She was whispering too, nervous that her voice would echo in Isabella’s stylishly minimalistic kitchen.

  “Well, as I said, it’s worth every dime. Pure coffee heaven and fair trade too.”

  “Awesome. How do you take it?” Erin asked.

  “I believe all good coffee should be drunk black. In my opinion, milk and sugar is only for horrible coffee that needs to be diluted.”

  Isabella put the bag of coffee grounds on the counter and struggled with the iPad.

  “I’m going to place this on its stand on the counter while I make the coffee. You can enjoy the view of the kitchen. Considering the money we spent on it, I am happy that more people get to see it.”

  Erin looked around to see as much as the camera angle allowed.

  “Don’t have many guests, huh?”

  “Not a huge number, no. I tend to prefer the company of a few close friends, and Richard’s friends seem to have stopped flocking to the house. Probably because I kept telling them off for dirtying up the p
lace. They’re all outdoorsy, like he is,” Isabella replied with a certain tension in her voice.

  Erin guessed that she had hit a sore spot and retreated back into safer territory.

  “Does Richard drink this luxury coffee too?”

  “No, he doesn’t like the taste of coffee. He says people are crazy to drink something so bitter. He prefers herbal tea. Lemon and ginger seems to be what he favors these days.”

  Erin frowned. “No caffeine? Dude’s hardcore. How does anyone adult without caffeine? If you can’t have it for medical reasons, fine, but by choice—whoa. I mean, even my health-nut colleagues drink green tea, which has some caffeine in it.”

  Erin wondered if she was supposed to have heard Isabella’s sigh.

  “He says that his job is invigorating enough for him, and he doesn’t need what he calls ‘a crutch.’”

  Erin couldn’t hide a derisive scoff. Then she froze. She was in the rudeness danger zone now. She relaxed when she heard Isabella give a little chuckle and say, “Yes, exactly.”

  Something warm buzzed in the pit of Erin’s stomach. That little laugh, it sounded so damn attractive and musical. It was like the notes bypassed Erin’s ears and went straight to her belly.

  Isabella was a woman who didn’t appear to laugh a whole lot, and Erin had just made her chuckle. She almost felt a bit of a high. That aside, she wished she didn’t sense the sadness that emanated from Isabella.

  Erin rubbed her furrowed forehead. She wanted to ask about the relationship between Isabella and Richard. So far it didn’t sound very happy or very romantic. But even she wasn’t socially clumsy enough to just come out and ask what was going on there.

  The sounds of coffee being brewed stopped, and the quiet spluttering of the coffee pot took over. Erin desperately thought of what to say while she chewed the inside of her cheek.

  All her ideas stopped dead, when Isabella stepped in the way of the camera. She was clearly moving to get what Erin assumed was a cup out of the cupboard. She saw a full-body view of Isabella. She had been right about the gray pajamas. They looked shiny, maybe silk.