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Falling in Love at a Coffee Shop
by Psychotic
I leave my apartment, locking the door behind me. I'm wearing my usual work attire: a button-down shirt, a tie, and dress pants. I'm heading down the stairs and into the parking lot, getting into my Volvo.
Eight-twenty-six.
I turn on the radio once the car starts up. It's on that classical channel, the one that only calm, yoga-goers seem to listen to. I'm not a yoga-goer, but the soft sounds make me feel a bit better about heading to an awful job.
Eight-twenty-seven.
I pull out of the parking lot and into the street. I wave to old Mrs. Luman, who smiles and waves back. She's always sitting outside when I leave for work.
Eight-twenty-eight.
I can almost see the small shop that I'm heading to. That amazing coffee shop at the end of the road, tucked into a corner where no one can see it. I have no idea why it isn't more popular; they make amazing coffee.
Eight-twenty-nine.
I park the car along the side of the road and turn it off. I sit for a moment before getting out and putting some money in the parking meter. I lock the car and walk away, heading to the scratched and old glass doors of the coffee shop.
Eight-thirty.
The little bell on the door jingles as I open the door. I always get there at exactly eight-thirty; I've never been late. The young woman at the counter waves in a friendly manner. I smile at her. She's very pretty, but I don't think she knows she is. She has lovely chocolate hair and eyes, richer even than the coffee I'm now drinking.
Eight-thirty-one.
I sip my coffee and sit down at the cushy armchair in the corner. The girl smiles and shakes her head. She knows that I always sit in the same spot every morning, always have the same coffee to drink, and always arrive at eight-thirty. I don't know her name, but she knows mine.
Eight-thirty-two.
I would really like to know her name, I think. I'm a bit too much of a coward to ask her what it is, though. We have had a few words, but nothing too personal. I never took the liberty to ask her what her name was, however, and she never bothered to tell me.
Eight-thirty-three.
The girl starts to wipe down the counter and I stand up. I always leave when she starts to wipe the counter. She looks up and smiles again, saying a farewell. I wave to her and say goodbye back before opening the door -- jingle, jingle -- and going back to my car.
Eight-thirty-four.
I get into my car and start it up. The station is still on classical. I pull out of the spot and drive off. I need to get on the highway to make it to work on time, that stupid, horrible job.
Eight-thirty-five.
I look in my rearview mirror as I drive away to see the girl from the coffee shop standing outside and waving me off. She holds my forgotten coffee in her hand. I had forgotten it? There's two new occurances in my usually boring, dull life: the girl waving me off, and me forgetting my coffee.
Eight-thirty-six.
Is this a sign?
I grab my tie and pull it on. It just won't go on right! I groan and drop it, letting it hang there, half-tied, and pull on my shoes. I grab my keys and rush out the door, forgetting to lock it behind me.
Eight-twenty-six.
As I run inside the car -- it's raining, great -- I splash in a puddle. Now the whole left leg of my dress pants is wet. I turn on the car once I'm in, and bump the radio dial in the process. The music blares out in an awful sound that makes me cringe. I quickly turn it off and am afraid to turn it back on again.
Eight-twenty-seven.
I pull out of the parking lot and into the street. I start to wave to Mrs. Luman, but she's not there. She's not outside where she usually is. I want to stop and see what's going on, but I can't.
Eight-twenty-eight.
I can see the coffee shop as I speed down the street. I'm running a bit late. This time, however, the door seems covered in something dark and the girl is standing outside the shop, her hands folded in front of her.
Eight-twenty-nine.
I park the car along the side of the road and turn it off. I instantly get out and forget to put money in the meter. I rush up to the girl and ask, "What's wrong?"
Eight-thirty.
The girl looks up at me and says, "The coffee shop's been closed down. When I came in to work this morning, this is how I found it." She looks back down at her feet, but not before I see tears in her eyes. It shocks me that she was just as attached the shop as I was.
Eight-thirty-one.
I decide something that may be a bit drastic. I pull the girl into my arms and kiss her head. "It'll be okay," I said, even though I doubt it myself. Holding her in my arms, though, seems to begin pushing those doubts away.
Eight-thirty-two.
I would really like to know her name, I think. It's time I asked her. So I say, "What's your name? I'm Edward. Edward Cullen." She looks up at me and smiles. "Isabella Swan. Bella."
Eight-thirty-three.
I know that I'm running late, but I ask, "Do you need a ride? I can give you one, if you'd like." Bella nods and I open the passenger side door for her. She gets in and so do I and then we're off.
Eight-thirty-four.
"It's over there," she says, pointing. I turn down the street and continue on. "Will I ever see you again?" she asks. I glance over at her, but she's not looking at me. "Of course you will," I say. "You can give me your number. I'll have to call you. I would love to see you again."
Eight-thirty-five.
I pull into the parking lot of an apartment building she says is hers. She hands me a slip of paper with her cell number written on it and leaves, saying goodbye. I wave and drive off.
Eight-thirty-six.
I'm going to be extremely late for work, I think. Well, I'll get fired from my awful job, and I'll be able to find a new one, a better one.
Eighty-thirty-seven.
Yes, it is a sign.
I was inspired by the song "Falling in Love at a Coffee Shop" by Landon Pigg. Very good song! I suggest you listen to it.
Review and be happy!
Psychotic Female of Many Names
03.10.08
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