I do not own Gallagher Girls.
I do not own the lyrics or music to Taylor, the Latte Boy.
I do not own Starbucks.

.Jonas, the Latte Boy.

There's a boy who works at Starbucks.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

"Liz!"

No. Not. Another. Day.

I refuse to leave my comforter. Dash my father's science meeting that I begged him to allow me entrance to.

"Elizabeth Sutton…"

Why the crap did it have to be an hour's drive away, anyway? I hate mornings. I am not a morning person, not in the slightest. My father poked his head in my bedroom door, and I hated the empathetic gleam in his eye. "I'll let you stop at Starbucks."

"I'm up, I'm up!"

Who is very inspirational.
He is very inspirational because of many things.

Alright, so maybe I loved coffee.

I know the statistics of that much caffeine in the morning affecting your health and growth hormones, but it's addictive. Not to mention it gives you a giant boost in the morning, which is always a good thing. I hadn't been to Starbucks since we moved to our new house two months ago, and my dad knew how much I'd been craving it.

So I pulled my frizzy, red-tinged, blonde hair into a messy ponytail and changed into strict business clothes. After making faces at the mirror to perk myself up, I skipped out to the living room. My dad shot me a grin and opened the front door for me. "Good morning, Lizzie. Sleep well?"

I stuck my tongue out at him playfully and said, "Yes, Dad, I slept wonderfully."

I walk in at 8:11, and he smiles and says, "How are you?"

So, we got to Starbucks.

"I'll wait in the car," my father announces. I look back; I'm already halfway through the car door.

"Okay, bye!" I chirp cheerfully and shut the door, prancing up to the inviting glass doors. I push them open, and the familiar smell of coffee and caffeine bowls me over. Oh, yes. Heaven must smell like this. I thought.

I didn't have to glance at the menu to know exactly what I was ordering -- I always got the same thing, here at Starbucks. The double latte. Mmm!

I scurried up to the counter, glancing around for the cashier -- he was nowhere in sight. I checked my watch: 8:11. We were going to be late to the meeting! I was just about to timidly murmur, "Hello?" when a head popped out from behind an 'employees only' door. A cute head. It was a boy, about my age, with a mop of straight black hair and big, blue eyes. A pair of glasses rested upon his nose, but they were adorable in a nerdy sort of way.

He grinned -- butterflies, flip, heart in throat -- and said, "Hi. How are you?"

When he smiles and says, "How are you?"
I could swear my heart grows wings!

"What can I get you for today?" he asked, and I realize I've been spacing out for a couple seconds. Oops. Embarrassing!

"Oh! I'd like the double latte, please." I managed to squeak out, pleased that I didn't stutter. Dang, this Starbucks worker was c-u-t-e! I'm sure even Macey, my friend from an old school and the master on all things testosterone, would agree.

"Sure," he said quietly, smiling and turning to fix up my order. It was done in what seemed like seconds; I couldn't tear my gaze away from the Starbucks worker. He handed me the latte, and when our fingers brushed and I felt an electric thrill -- Whoa. Chemistry much? -- I nearly swooned.

But, I didn't. Give me more credit then that.

I handed him the money, and he smiled as he took it and said, "Have a nice day."

Oh, I will…

I would definitely be coming back here…

So today at 8:11
I decided I should meet him
I decided I should meet him
In a proper formal way.

The next day, I woke up at the crack of dawn.

Okay, so what if I intentionally set my alarm for seven o' clock and left it too far away to hit the snooze button? In fact, I had to get up and throw it against the wall to make it stop -- what an amazing feat for one so tiny, right?

Yeah, I hate myself for forcing me to wake up that early. Idiot.

So I left a note for my dad, who was still sleeping, and took his car keys. He didn't mind; I used to do this all the time back when we lived in Virginia.

I was at Starbucks in minutes.

Feeling a giddy rush, I stepped out of the car slowly, shutting the door and making sure I locked it like a good girl. Today…I had to talk to that worker. The fate of my coffee pleasures depended on befriending -- more than befriending! -- that yummy Starbucks employee!

So today at 8:11
when he smiled and said "How are you?"
I said "Fine, and my name's Lizzie,"
And he softly answered, "Hey."
And I said "My name's Lizzie,
and thank you for the extra foam!"

I crept up the to counter.

There were a few other nobodies, slouching against the walls or typing away on laptops, scattered around the cozy Starbucks. The cashier, like before, was nowhere in sight, but this time he appeared from the back swiftly.

"Hi. How are you?" he began, another slow smile lighting up his face.

"I'm fine, thanks. My name's Lizzie," I grinned as he filled my double latte -- he didn't even have to ask what I wanted! He remembered! How sweet, right? Oh, jeez, he couldn't get any more perfect, could he?

"Hey," he murmured.

And he said his name was Jonas,
Which provides the inspiration for this poem:
Jonas the latte boy,
Bring me java, bring me joy!
Jonas the latte boy,
I love him, I love him, I love him

"I'm Jonas."

Jonas. Instantly, the name was inked onto my brain -- Jonas. I'd never, ever forget it. Every time someone mentions the name, my Starbucks sweetheart will be the first person I think of, and--

He handed me my latte, and I flashed a dizzy smile. "Thanks for the extra foam."

He grinned at me, cheekily, and winked one of his sapphire eyes. Ooh! I cradled my coffee as I walked back out the door, blinking like crazy, as if I'd just stared into the sun. Nah, the sun has nothing on Jonas…

I drove home in relative silence, still dazed that I actually talked to him without swooning or getting lost in his eyes -- that was a giant accomplishment. Score one, Lizzie.

I didn't drink the latte.

I guess it just slipped my mind -- by the time I remembered it, I had to dash back to the car and sling it into my arms, the cup reduced to a sopping mess. Oh, well, I thought as I scrubbed latte of my father's cup holder, It was worth it.

Well I'd like to get my nerve up
To recite my poem musical.
He would like the fact it's musical
Because he plays guitar.

The days after that flew by.

I drove down to Starbucks every morning, and chatted with Jonas until I had finished my latte. I told him all about my father and his science projects, which I firmly supported, and he shared with me his favorite foods -- Chinese rice and lemonade.

Jonas was on summer break; he would start his senior year in August, just like me. It turns out we would be going to the same school -- Jefferson High. What are the odds, right? (Approximately forty-nine to one) Well, I was sure happy.

One day, he let it slip that he played guitar.

I nearly choked on my latte. "You play guitar?" Hot much? How much more perfect can Jonas get?! "That's amazing. Are you any good?" I asked, smiling up at him, unable to help the blush that crept over my cheeks as he shrugged modestly as he wiped down the counter.

"Oh, I'm alright, I guess. My mom -- she signed me up for lessons, before the accident, and I didn't have the heart to ditch."

His mother, I had learned, passed away in a car crash three years ago. It was sweet he'd taken up the guitar for her; if I were him I'd be too heartbroken to leave the house.

"Oh," I murmured, and the conversation moved on.

And today at 8:11,
Jonas told me he was playing
With a band down in the village in the basement of a bar.

"I joined a band."

The statement was sporadic, and caught me off guard. I tucked a lock of red-blonde hair behind my ear and said, "What?"

Jonas continued, fiddling with cash register. "They needed a guitarist, and I liked the stuff they were playing. We've…we've already got a gig, tomorrow night. D'you want to go?" he asked sweetly, glancing up at me with those bright blue orbs from underneath his lashes.

As he smoothly flipped the lever to prepare my double latte,
But for me he made it triple! (And he didn't think I knew)
But I saw him flip the lever, and for me he made it triple,
And I knew that triple latte meant that Jonas loved me too!
I said, "What time are you playing? And thank you for the extra skim!"

I couldn't speak.

Jonas filled up my latte -- wait, no, that's more than I ordered, hold on! -- while my thoughts buzzed around in circles. Did he just sort of ask me on a date? Oh, holy crap, where's Macey when you need her? C'mon Liz, you're supposed to be smart, close your mouth and think of something to say!

He handed me my triple latte, and I murmured, "Thanks for the extra. What time are you playing?"

He beamed, and my knees buckled a little. "I'll pick you up around seven tonight."

He said, "Keep the $3.55,"
because this triple latte was on him.
Jonas the latte boy,
Bring me java, bring me joy!
Oh, Jonas the latte boy,
I love him, I love him, I love him

"Great," I chirped as a smile spread across my face. I pulled a five dollar bill out of my pocket, smoothed it out, and handed it to Jonas. He surveyed it, then smirked. "Keep your money, Liz. It's on the house."

I used to be the kind of girl
Who'd run when love rushed toward her.
Till finally a voice whispered,
"Love can be yours,
If you step up to the counter and order."

My dad noticed I was too happy.

"What's up, Lizzie-beth? You've been prancing around the house all day." he informed me casually, keeping his eyes glued to the physicist papers he was editing. I twirled around his mahogany desk, sighing.

"I have a date tonight!" I squealed, clapping my hands together. With the sweetest, cutest boy this side of the equator: Jo-nas! My father's head snapped up suspiciously.

"With who?" he questioned tensely.

Had my father met Jonas? No, he'd stayed in the car when I first arrived at Starbucks. That was a shame; I think they'd get along well -- that is, if my father didn't start rambling about scientific theories again. (Don't ask; you do not want to know.)

"The boy who works at Starbucks. Jonas."

To my surprise, my dad burst out laughing. "Seducing him for free coffee, Liz?"

I clapped my hands over my mouth, mortified. "Dad! Of course not!" What did he think I was, some rebellious, cold-hearted jerk? Sheesh! I thought he knew me better…

Jonas the latte boy,
Bring me java, bring me joy!
Jonas the latte boy,
I love him, I love him, I love him

I attended Jonas's first gig, and many more after that.

When he quit the band to go to college, I was insanely proud of him. As his girlfriend, I knew hard it was to make that decision; he loved the band. We both got accepted into Yale -- the only downside to this was Jonas would have to give up his job working at Starbucks. This was a let-down for both of us; him because he loved the job and me because that's where I first met, and fell in love with, my boyfriend Jonas.

We graduated college with degrees in quantum physics -- me -- and computer design -- Jonas. He drove me back down to that little Starbucks the next day, and I was ecstatic.

I didn't know the cashier, and Jonas paid for everything, but it still smelled like heaven and I still ordered the double latte. Jonas took my hand and lead me to a booth in the back, where it was still and peaceful.

I sighed, content. "It's so nice to be back," I murmured to myself, fully aware of the goofy smile on my face. Jonas played with my fingers idly, glancing around the nearly-empty coffee shop. He cleared his throat, and, pulling at his tie awkwardly, muttered, "Lizzie?"

Uh-oh. "Yes?"

He sighed.

What the… Jonas swallowed loudly and stood up, taking both my hands as he turned to stand in front of me. "Elizabeth Sutton…"

I couldn't help the hot tears that stung my eyes -- NO. I cannot cry. He isn't breaking up with me! Right? -- and Jonas's sapphire orbs widened when he saw them. "Liz, I love you." He sank to one knee. "Will you marry me?"

Oh.

"Yes!" I threw myself in his arms, and he hugged me close with a beaming, bright smile. I grinned, euphoric, as he slipped his mother's ring on my finger and I squealed. Ohmygosh, this is amazing!

Just wait until I tell my father I'm marrying the latte boy!

So many years my heart has waited,
Who'd have thought that love could be so caffeinated?
Jonas the latte boy,
I love him, I love him, I love him.
I love him, I love him, I love him.