The Coffee Shop

by Lauren Hunter

  “Let me guess, six shooters at sunset?”

  “Well maybe I’ll let you off easy, this time.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Finishing off his slice, he rose, going over to her music collection.

  “Oh, don’t look at that.”

  “Why not?”

  She cringed.

  “Oh, now I have to look.”

  “All right, but please don’t criticize me for being eclectic.”

  “Eclectic? I’ve never heard anyone describe their collection that way before.”

  “Yes, well, you’ve never met anyone like me before either.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t.”

  “You promise?”

  He laughed. “This really bothers you doesn’t it, my looking at these.”

  “It’s just that I’ve been made to feel those things that give me pleasure are stupid, and I’d rather not have something enjoyable ruined with unpleasant memories. Or made to feel I am pathetic for enjoying them.”

  “Wow, you must have had some real jerks cross your path in the past.”

  “I guess you could call them that.”

  “Does that have something to do with why someone that looks like you would be sitting in a coffee shop drinking alone?”

  “Someone that looks like me?”

  “Oh.” He laughed self-consciously. “Did I just say that out loud?” She blushed, and he grinned to himself. “I won’t criticize, honestly.”

  “Well, okay then.”

  He flipped through the CDs, reading the names, nodding as he read silently to himself. “I like.”

  “Is that caveman for, you have a nice collection?”

  “Yes. You’ve got something from every decade dating back to the forties. And even some from, well, to be honest I’m not sure exactly when they are from, but yes, you have a nice collection.”

  “You seem sincere.”

  “What, you think I’d lie?”

  “If it meant impressing me, maybe.”

  “I guess you do know me.”

  She grinned, taking another slice, and he took a CD from its case and put it into the machine.

  “What’s new? How is the world treating you?” came from the speakers, and Annie closed her eyes and smiled sadly.

  Derrick came over and sat next to her. “What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, I love these songs. It’s just I find myself thinking of what that must have been like back in the war. Wondering if you’d ever see your loved one again.”

  “I’ll turn it off.”

  He went to stand, but Annie grabbed his arm and pulled him back down. “No, I want to hear it. There is just something so…I love that you chose that song.” They ate their pizza, and drank as they listened to the music. Annie lay back on the couch looking up at the ceiling. “I’m curious, why did you choose that particular CD?”

  “Not sure, it just sort of drew me to it.”

  “I find that if you have a large selection with a lot of variety, giving you a wide range of artists and songs to choose from, that what you choose to listen to at any given time says a lot about you. Your mood, your personality, it’s all reflected in your choice. So when you chose that, I was just wondering if you chose it because you wanted to listen to it, or because maybe you thought I wanted to listen to it?”

  He was quiet for a while, thinking on what she had just said, and he turned to her and looked right at her. “You know, you really do spend way too much time thinking about this stuff.”

  Annie gave him a glare of mock annoyance. “Is that your way of saying I need to get a life, Mr. Sloane?”

  “Not at all. You just need to be less — ”

  “Watch it.”

  He laughed. “I’m just — ”

  “I got this one, pulling my chain.”

  “Nice one.” He looked at his watch, seeing it was late, and he wondered where all the time had gone. Time spent with her rushed by.

  He stood. “I guess I better be going. You have an early shift tomorrow, don’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  Her reply seemed less enthusiastic than he had expected, and he wondered if she was starting to realize that perhaps the idea of stocking shelves and dusting vitamin bottles wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. “You okay?”

  “Hmm? Oh, I’m fine. Just tired I guess. I was up late last night, and when Angela called to see if I’d cover Amber’s shift, I hadn’t gotten a whole lot of sleep. And I guess it’s finally catching up to me. That’s all.”

  The music looped back and started again. “Oh, I guess that’s my cue to leave. We’ve already been here before.”

  “I guess.”

  She smiled, getting up from the couch, and walking him to the door, she leaned up against the wall and gave him a nod. “I had a nice time.”

  He wanted to kiss her, but he wasn’t sure if he should. And then he did, quickly before he could think about it. “Me too,” he managed to say, and he drew back, looking down at her mouth.

  She didn’t say anything, and he wondered if he had just made a serious mistake.

  Then she spoke. “Hmm, pepperoni.” Opening the door, she gave him a gentle shove out into the hallway. “Good night, Mr. Sloane.”

  He caught the playful tone of her words. “Good night, Miss Maddock.”

  Chapter Five

  Annie stepped from the limousine. “Thank you, Lawrence.”

  Pleased that she remembered his name, he tipped his hat. “Miss Maddock.”

  “Miss Maddock.”

  Annie looked to see the doorman smiling at her, the door held open for her convenience. “Thank you?”

  “Harold, ma’am.”

  “Thank you, Harold.”

  “Mr. Sloane has informed me you were given directions to his suite.”

  “Yes, he did.” She grinned. “If I get lost I can always call for help.” She pulled out her cell phone and shrugged.

  Harold laughed, and smiling, he too, tipped his hat.

  “My, such polite gentlemen, I must say I am not used to such treatment. You keep this up and it just might turn my head.”

  “I doubt that, Miss.”

  His reply made her smile, and she hoped others in the building were as kind and respectful to him as she had just been. For such a nice man, she hated the thought of him being ignored or abused. And riding the elevator up to the penthouse suite, she took the key from the keypad and stepped out into the hallway just outside Derrick’s door.

  Bringing her hand up to knock, the door swung open before her. “Oh!”

  “Sorry. Did I startle you?”

  “Just a bit.” She laughed that she had jumped. “How did you know I was here?”

  “Oh, Harold called up to let me know you were on the way.”

  “Harold?”

  “I asked him to. I hope you don’t mind?”

  “No. No, not at all.” She laughed again. “For a second I thought you were psychic.”

  “Oh, and here I thought I was doing such a good job at hiding that fact.”

  She stepped past him into the suite. Before her were fourteen-foot ceilings and hardwood flooring, everything around her black and white and glass. “Wow!”

  Derrick laughed. “Yeah, that’s pretty much the reaction it gets from most people.”

  “Most people? Are you actually telling me there are people this doesn’t impress?”

  “Well, those of the same income bracket, I guess.” But then he remembered she had a healthy bank account herself, but had chosen to live simply. “Or I should say those that have similar suites.” Derrick cringed. “How about I start again? Can I get you a drink?”

  “Sure.” She slipped her purse off her shoulder, his key still clutched within her grasp. “Oh. Your key, sir.”

  “Oh. That’s okay. You can keep that.” He was staring at her, his finger up, his mouth open, but not saying anything.

  “Um, okay. Was there something you wished to add to that?”

  He laughed uncom
fortably. “Sorry, I…” But then he cleared his throat, pressing his hand to his stomach. “You may want to come to dinner again, and it would save me having to give it back to you.”

  She grinned. Nice attempt at a save, Mr. Sloane.

  He motioned toward the living area. “As for that drink, would you care for some wine?” He tapped his forehead. “Oh, that’s right, you don’t drink wine, do you? Can I make you a cocktail?”

  “Do you have the ingredients to make a virgin chi chi?” His face scrunched up, and she could see he wanted to say something, but was finding it difficult. “Or perhaps not?”

  “No. No, that’s fine. Sure I can do that.”

  “I suppose that sounds…”

  “What?”

  “Oh, nothing.” She regretted asking.

  “Come on through into the kitchen.”

  She followed him, and he motioned to a set of four chairs lined up before a raised counter.

  “Let me guess, Derrick’s place.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, sorry, the chairs like that, it just reminded me of a bar.”

  “Oh, so you have actually set foot inside a bar then?”

  For a second, Annie stared at him. “The way you said that just now. If I hadn’t, would that make me.” She paused.

  “Make you?”

  “Something to be avoided or, I don’t know, laughed at.”

  “No, oh God, no. I never meant anything by that. I was just kidding around with you.”

  She pulled back one of the chairs and sat on it, looking at him over the counter. “Yes, if you must know, I have actually graced the inside of a bar a couple of times.”

  “Oh, and when was that?”

  “When my underage cousin dragged me there.”

  Derrick laughed. “She sounds like fun.” For the briefest of seconds, she was hurt by his comment, but she smiled and looked to the counter, drawing her hair over her ear.

  “I can give you her number if you like.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “What I said just now. That was really insensitive of me. I was trying to impress you with my humor and wit, and it just came across as callous.” Drawing his hand across his face, he shook his head. “I’m doing it again. Trying to say all the right things and clumsily saying all the wrong things. So, I apologize for being a moron.” He shrugged. “How’s that?”

  She smiled. “It’s okay. It looks like you are planning on making something here.”

  “Yes, I am going to make seafood fettuccine Alfredo.” He motioned to the stove, various ingredients littering the countertop next to it.

  “You have done this before, right?”

  “Why do you ask that?”

  “No reason,” she answered.

  “Oh, no. You don’t get away with making a remark like that, that easily.”

  “I just didn’t realize that cooking was one of your many talents.”

  “It’s not. How did you know?”

  “You seemed, I don’t know, uncertain.” She was sure she made him nervous. “Hey, I’m a lousy cook. But between us, maybe we can make this work. How does that sound?” She moved over next to him, looking at the ingredients laid out before her.

  “If you insist. And, yes, I suppose I could use all the help I could get.” He pulled out the recipe he had printed off the Internet and propped it up against the wall at the back of the counter. “Wait a minute.” He turned to face her. “Weren’t you supposed to cook me a meal the night I came over?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ve just admitted you can’t cook. So, what were you planning on feeding me?” He took a step back. “Let me guess, you were going to bring home something already cooked and put it into dishes as if you’d done it yourself.”

  “No!” She gave him a playful shove. “Although, that is a great idea. I’ll have to remember that. No, there is one thing I am good at, probably because it’s not that hard to make, and I’ve done it so many times.”

  “Let me guess, macaroni and cheese?”

  “How did you know?” She grinned. “No, it’s a dish my mom used to make. I used to help her and…anyway, let’s see what we can do with this recipe here.”

  “You’re not going to tell me?”

  “I’d like to keep it a surprise.”

  “Oh, so you’re planning on inviting me over for dinner again?”

  “I’d considered it.” She waved her hand. “I did promise you a dinner, and you wound up having pizza instead. Let’s face it, I was a terrible hostess.”

  “You couldn’t help it. You could have told Angela no, but you wouldn’t leave a friend in the lurch like that. I admire that about you.”

  “You, admire me? One of the most successful men in the country has admiration for a health food store clerk?”

  “Didn’t you say you just stocked the shelves and dusted?”

  “You would bring that up just now, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yeah, I would.”

  She sighed loudly and shook her head. “Give me that recipe, sir.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He handed her the printout.

  “Okay, it says here to cook the fettuccine.” She lowered her voice. “No, I’m going to eat it raw.”

  He grinned at her sarcasm, and she looked away.

  “Oh you just heard that?” But then she laughed, bringing her hand to her mouth. “Forgive me for saying this, but sometimes the instructions they put on things like shampoo…Please tell me people don’t have to actually read them to figure it out?”

  Derrick burst out laughing.

  “That was awful of me,” she apologized.

  “No, it was funny.”

  “No, that was, oh, I am not normally like that. I don’t go around saying things like that. I don’t know what came over me.”

  “Probably the same thing that has come over me since you walked in the door.”

  She wasn’t looking at him, and an awkwardness came over her.

  “But when you think about it. Who do they get to write those instructions? I mean, when do you ever meet anyone that says, you know those instructions on the shampoo bottles? I write those.”

  Annie tried not to laugh, but the harder she tried not to the more she couldn’t control it.

  “Now I get it.”

  “What?”

  “What you were saying before, about being in a church…and laughing.”

  “Oh, you remembered that?”

  “Of course I did. I remember everything you said.”

  She took a step back. “Okay, I don’t know if that’s sweet, or creepy.”

  “It’s sweet. Very sweet.”

  “You don’t have like, oh, I don’t know, a closet where the walls are all covered with photos that have been taken of me when I didn’t know I was being photographed, do you?”

  He looked guilty and looked away from her. “How did you know?”

  For a second Annie wasn’t sure how to take that, but then he grinned.

  “Oh, you’re terrible!” she exclaimed.

  “Sorry, I just couldn’t resist.”

  “Yes, well, we’d better get cooking this meal if we plan on eating tonight.” She saw he already had water in a pot on the stove, and she looked for the knob to turn on the burner.

  “Here, allow me.”

  “Do you have a timer? I like to cook the pasta exactly twenty minutes. If you like it more al dente then you can take out half before that. I personally hate it too al dente. I know we are said to overcook, and over sauce, our pastas. But to be honest, I think just the opposite of those who do it the other way. They undercook and under sauce their pasta. I guess it’s all in what you’ve become used to. Anything other than that just doesn’t seem right somehow.” She turned to see him staring at her. “Oh, I’m babbling aren’t I? I’m sorry. I don’t — ”

  “No, you aren’t doing anything wrong. As far as I am concerned, you could never do any wrong.”

 
She turned to face him. “Isn’t that a line from a book, or a movie, or something?”

  “If it is, I have, as of now, taken ownership of it. How does that sound?”

  She opened her mouth to reply but paused. “Okay, if you insist.”

  The water had started to boil, and gathering a handful of fettuccine she dropped it into the pot. Grabbing the saltshaker, she gave it a generous shake into the water. “I know some people put a bit of oil into the water, so the pasta won’t stick, but I never do. It’s fine without it, and I figure I don’t need all that extra oil in my system. And a bit of salt helps to give it some flavor, at least I hope it does.” He was staring at her again. “Oh now what have I said?”

  “Oh, for someone that claims to have no talent when it comes to cooking…”

  “What?”

  “Al dente, over cooking, under cooking, over saucing, under saucing?”

  “Well, I never said I was stupid, just physically inept when it comes to the mechanics of it all.”

  “You mean like two left thumbs?”

  “Now you see. Where does that expression come from? Did someone just decide one day, man, if I had two left thumbs I would be a total spaz.” She gasped. “Oh, I just did it again. I am a horrible, horrible person.”

  “No.” Derrick burst out laughing. “Annie, you are not.” But then his expression became serious. “Excuse me, but did you just call me stupid?”

  “What?”

  “You just said, that when it came to cooking you weren’t stupid.”

  “Yes.”

  “So?”

  “Look, we are both lacking in the culinary skills department. We have already admitted as much — ”

  “Yes, but you actually seem to know something about cooking, whereas I am a total dolt.”

  “When you think about it, which is worse, knowing how to do it and not being able to? Or, knowing nothing about it and not being able to do it? It would seem to me I would rather admit I know nothing about it, and then it doesn’t come as a surprise when I totally mess it up.”

  “So, now you’re saying I am going to totally mess this up.”

  “Okay.” She sighed. “We are going to follow the recipe, and as long as we do as it says then I’d like to think it won’t be a total disaster.” She grabbed a timer from the shelf and set it. “Okay, we are supposed to sauté the shrimp and scallops in one tablespoon of oil for three to five minutes.”