Why Coffee Shops Shouldn’t Have Booths
“She’d be pretty hot,“ he thought, “were it not for that blue hair and those combat boots. Why does every girl these days think she has to save the world from men?”
“Look at that a-hole in his business suit,“ she inwardly laughed. ”It’s a knock-off. There is no way that putz can afford Brooks Bros.”
“My God! She’s drinking an espresso with a Monster chaser! She must be fried!”
”Hmph! A dude with green tea and a blueberry yogurt? What kind of guy does that? Must be gay... not that there’s anything wrong with that.”
”Her backpack is probably full of Antifa shit.”
”A hundred bucks says there’s a ‘Maxim’ in his briefcase.”
”Oh shit! She has a bar code tattooed on her wrist!“ He pulls down his cuff, glancing at the bar code tattoo on his own arm that he’d gotten when he was younger.
”Hmmm… Asshole’s paying with a “Black” card. Maybe that is real Brooks Bros.?”
Smiles. ”She’s talking to her mother! Reminds me, I’m supposed to change out Mom’s smoke alarm batteries.”
Smiles. “He’s playing Candy Crush! A suit guy like that!”
She pretends to not pay attention as he walks out. “Very hot.” She thinks. “The kind a girl wouldn’t mind running into again sometime. Too bad a guy like that wouldn’t be headed to the gym.” She picks up the backpack with her workout clothes.
”Very pretty,“ he thinks as he walks by her table on his way to the gym. “Independent, too. I really wouldn’t mind meeting someone like her… probably have nothing in common though”
Coffee Shop Crazies
"He's literally not even that cute." April rolled her eyes. I scoffed. She obviously has horrible taste in men if she doesn't find this boy cute.
"Yes, he is! I mean, he's literally the perfect guy. I can't even find the words to describe him." I sipped my coffee and lovingly stared at him.
"Well, if he's so cute, go talk to him."
"ARE YOU CRAZY?!" I accidentally shouted. Everyone in the shop turned their heads and stared. Including him. I had never seen him before but as soon as I did, I decided I was destined to be his one and only. His bride, his lover, the mother of his children. Is that creepy? I don't care if it is, it's the truth. If I only I could talk to him.
"Babe, just go up to him. Say hi, introduce yourself. Flirt a little!"
"I'm not you. You're a model, I'm a turtle."
"You're not a turtle. Go or I'm bringing him over here."
"Oh, I would." I hesitated. What if he rejected me? Then I'd have to walk back to our table in absolute embarrassment. Plus, he was on his computer. I didn't want to disturb him.
"Fine. You suck." I finally agreed. I guess I only live once, and this boy, he was my soulmate. We were meant to be. I got out of my chair and started to his table.
"Hi!" He looked up at me, his icy blue eyes piercing my soul.
"Hi? Do I know you?" His voice was deep, making me swoon. Just another perfect thing about him.
"Not yet. I'm Amaya. I saw you from across the room and honestly I couldn't take my eyes off you." What was I saying? Was I flirting? I was unfamiliar with this side of me. How was I doing this?
"Well, I must say, you are pretty good-looking yourself. I'm Chris, take a seat!" He smiled. His teeth were perfect. I swear this man was straight out of a movie, how in the world was he so perfect? And Chris, such a basic but sensual name. Maybe that's just me, but I think Chris is a pretty hot name.
"It's nice to meet you! I've never seen you around, are you new to town?" I asked. I was never very good at small talk.
"Yeah, I moved around a year ago, but I haven't really been in town too much. How long hav-
"CHRIS?! YOU LYING SON OF A BITCH! HOW THE HELL IS THIS?!" A woman stomped over to our table from the cash register. Chris's eyes widened.
"Melissa, it isn't what it looks like. I promi-
"YOU SACK OF SHIT! YOU'RE CHEATING ON ME AGAIN?! I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU! THAT'S IT, WE'RE DONE! I WANT MY CAT BACK!" The girl ran out of the coffee shop, Chris following yelling,
"Melissa, baby, come back!" I sat in shock, until I heard April laughing so hard, I thought she might fall over. She came over with our coffees in her hand.
"Come on, I wanna see how this turns out! They couldn't have gone far!" April and I darted out of the shop to see this mess of a relationship. I guess that boy was too good to be true.
"Aren't you going to be late?" I watch Lexi pause packing her backpack to put on lip gloss.
She waves a hand at the table we're standing at--we're advertising the ice skating club--and smacks her lips. "No, I have, like," she checks her watch, "oh crap, I have five minutes to get to class." She grabs her bag. "You'll have to take it from here," she tells me, blowing a kiss.
I make a face at her in response, and she laughs as she dashes across the quad, dodging tables as she goes.
I adjust the flyers on the table in front of me, waiting for the next round of classes to let out and release a new wave of students. There's quite a lot of people here already, seeing as it is the Fall Activities Fest and the weather is nice, but most everyone is attending their own booth. Or they're not interested. Or they're walking by and I haven't said anything.
Moral of the story is I'm not very good at attracting attention. That's Lexi's job.
I pick up one of the ice skates we have on the table. It's for figure skating, and it's Lexi's, so naturally it's coated in glitter. A pile of shimmery dust falls onto the table, and when I set the skate down, I notice it on my hand as well. I try and brush the glitter away, but it just sticks to my palm more.
"So, what club is this?"
I look up and into the face of a boy whose skin is darker than my own. His dreads hang across one of his eyes, and he picks up a flyer off the table, barely looking at me.
"Um, ice skating," I tell him, pointing at Lexis' skates.
He laughs. "Yeah, I thought so." As he meets my eye, though, he tilts his head. "Hey, have we met before?"
I rub my palms together, a nervous laugh coming out of me. I'm staring at a cluster of autumn leaves behind him, getting trampled by a group of freshmen. I think I would've remembered him. "No?"
The freshmen approach, and there's four of them, all blonde girls that probably just came from some sorority table. I can feel the boy's brown eyes watching me as I explain the club to them. He's stepped off to the side, but is listening.
I'm surprised, because most guys won't touch ice skating if it's not hockey. At least, not in a club form.
Two of the girls write down their info on the sign-up sheet, and I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear, smiling. Success. Lexi and I promised our club advisor that we'd get a hundred sign ups, which seems very ambitious to me. I think right now we're at thirty.
Make that thirty-two.
The girls drift away, and I look around but the guy from earlier has gone too. I can't say I blame him, looking around at the other tables. Most of the other clubs have cool stuff, like snacks or music or dogs (which is cheating, really) or, in one case, VR headsets. Granted, it is VR club.
The wind blows, and I slap a hand on the fliers before they blow away, but the sign-up sheet, which one of the girls must've pulled out of its clipboard, takes off. I follow it with my eyes as it swirls in the air, a blink of white amongst the orange leaves.
I grab Lexi's skate, chuck it on the stack of fliers, and head towards the paper, which just hit someone's ankle but they just kept walking, and now it's under someone's boot, and I almost bump right into someone else, and for a moment I lose sight of it. I stare at the pavement, but it's just crumpled leaves.
It's the same voice, and I startle.
The boy that was at the table before is holding the sign-up sheet, a small smile on his lips. It's enough to make me think he planned this.
"Oh, thanks," I say, but he's not offering me the paper.
He holds it at his side. "It was at Lucky L's, by the way," he says. And those words conjure a flash of images: his dreadlocks, a handful of playing cards, my friend Brie and a bottle of wine.
I press a hand to my eyes, temporarily mortified. Lucky L's, or Lucky Library, is what everybody calls the basement floor of the main student library. It's all archives and study tables and dark corners, and all the upperclassmen have stories of 'getting lucky' down there.
It's a good place to take a break from studying, contrary to other parts of the library, and my friends and I have visited once or twice. Not entirely sober. But we just like to go to chat and play cards.
I don't know why this guy was there that night though.
"I'm sorry, yeah, ok. I remember we played Hearts?"
He nods once. "Do you have a pen?"
Someone bumps my shoulder, and I step backwards to avoid being mulled by a group of Frisbee golf guys. He takes a step towards me in response. "Why?" I ask, a swirl of leaves building around us.
He points at the sign-up sheet, still in his hand. "Your spiel convinced me. I just ran into a friend and was gonna come back to sign up. Until the list found me, anyway."
"Right." I lead him back to the table, where no one is waiting, unsurprisingly. He picks up a pen and scribbles his name, and I try not to seem too obvious as I lean in to see what he writes.
I lean back, pretending I never looked. Brad?
When I glance back at him, he's silently laughing. "You should see your face. My name's Amir, actually," he says, filling out a new line on the form.
Embarrassed again, I laugh and chew my thumbnail, a nervous habit I picked up from my mom. "Right. Good."
His eyes flit up at me, that nice warm brown, like the trees. "You shouldn't do that," he says, a faint smile still on his face.
"What?" He's looking at my mouth and my insides all turn upside down so suddenly I think I might need to sit down.
His smile just grows, and he lets the silence linger long enough for me to nervously raise a hand, about to chew my fingernail again.
"Your hands have glitter on them, and it's on your lip," he says, setting the pen down on the table.
I drop my hands and look at them. Shit, I forgot. I rub at my bottom lip with the back of my hand, which is glitter-free. I'm almost afraid to look at him. "Right, thanks. And thanks for signing up," I tell him, wondering where I can go find a mirror.
I notice he hasn't moved. "I hope I'll see you at club..." He sticks his hand out, his eyes flicking between the glitter on my hands and the glitter on my face.
I should be embarrassed still, but I smile and hesitantly reach out my hand. "Shani," I tell him, taking his hand.
He gives me a firm handshake. "I hope I'll see you at club, Shani," he says, then lets go.
I nod. He steps away, shoes crackling on the fall leaves, but looks back at me and waves. His hand shimmers with glitter.
Constance carefully arranged her baskets by size on the mat, her scarred hands moving nimbly among the brightly-colored wares. She warily watched the crowds beginning to form for the marketplace, anticipating the new day with about as much dread as she always did. She adored the basket-making, to be sure, but the selling of the baskets was to her equivalent to leaping into a sea full of sharks.
You're safe, she heard her mother's voice. Keep yourself covered and they won't hurt you.
Momma had been wrong. She had kept herself covered, her kerchief concealing her shoulders and neck and her headscarf hiding her unruly curls. He had come anyway, and that night—
Constance closed her eyes, breathing raggedly. Five years. Five years and you have to forget it. You can't undo what's been done to you. It's who you are now.
That night she died. She could never forget it.
And so she endured when the first customer, a burly sailor, made a lewd comment, so long as he bought a basket with money that would feed her slender frame. She endured when an irritable mother pushed her ogling son away, so long as she bought a basket. She endured when an old man propositioned her, his wrinkled hands reaching towards one of her reddish-black curls that had escaped from her scarf, so long as he bought a basket.
You're going to have a hard life ahead of you, little girl, Momma had told her with her last breaths. I wish it weren't so. You're too beautiful for this world, and it'll only bring you grief, but I know you'll be strong nonetheless, like your father was when he faced the sea monster and perished. You'll have to be strong.
Momma had been beautiful too, and it had killed her. Constance every day despised it. Beauty—beauty only brought death. Sometimes she would look at her perfect, earth-toned face and wish to take a knife to it, to slit the full lips, to slice off a piece of the symmetrical nose, to mar the high cheek-boned visage. But she never did, because she knew it wouldn't change anything.
Evening came and she had few baskets left. Others were beginning to pack up, and she thought she should too, but she wanted to get any extra penny she could. A tall man approached her stand, muscles bulging. A blacksmith, she surmised, noting his blackened hands and the burns on his arms.
"Going to stay the night, beautiful?" he asked, eyeing her with a clear intent.
"Which one would you like?" Constance replied wearily, ignoring the comment as usual and pointing to the four baskets that were left. "One is watertight, if your wife needs something to go to the well with."
"I need something to go home with," the blacksmith said, leaning closer. Constance smelled rotting fish in his breath, and she scrunched up her face. He laughed, reaching out a thumb and rubbing it against her lips.
"Beautiful. Just beautiful. Siren, you're calling me." He moved his hand downwards along her neck...down...down...
Constance felt her throat close up, her breath choking her. Just like that night. Just like...she couldn't move as he leaned in closer, his foul breath heating up her face. I was frozen last time, too. Frozen when her innocence was ripped from her broken body. Unable to fight. Why didn't I fight? Why don't I fight? Frantically she looked around the marketplace, but it was as if she was in that dark, lonely hut again, with the corpse of her mother the only witness to the violation being done against her. Nobody would help her. Nobody cared.
"Leave me alone," she cracked out, pulling away. The blacksmith only laughed further, stepping over the mat, taking her by the arm, brushing his filthy lips against her ear.
"I can't leave such a pretty girl alone."
Constance closed her eyes as his hands reached up towards her hair. A tear ran down her cheek, salty like the sea behind her in the docks. Leave me alone. Please, leave me alone.
"Leave her alone!" came a shout, snapping like the sound of a gunshot.
The blacksmith froze, releasing her. Constance slumped to the ground, reliving that night, feeling the rough touch in places where it shouldn't have been, her screams silenced by the ruthless soldier's aggressive kisses. I should have died. I should have died with Momma. Why didn't they kill me? I would rather have been killed.
"Hey! Hey," the voice continued, as a gentle, cautious hand brushed her arm. "Miss, are you all right? Please, answer me."
Constance opened her eyes a crack. The hut was gone. The smell of her dead mother was gone, as was the smell of the man.
She met the ocean when she looked up. His eyes were blue like the sea when the sun shone upon it, a blue that she loved to look at because it reminded her of being a child and playing in the sand when both of her parents still lived. For a moment she wanted to becalm herself in those blue depths, but then she remembered where she was and looked past them to the face that held them.
Scars. That was the first that she thought when her eyes moved from his. Four ragged scars, one across his forehead, one across his nose, a small one on his neck, and the worst—puckered and raised and disfiguring—stretched across his face from right cheekbone to left jaw. It should have frightened her, but it didn't. Maybe because she saw the quiet resignedness in his eyes, the resignedness of someone who has seen suffering—felt it—and has grown accustomed to questions and stares.
"Pirates," he said quickly as an explanation, brushing his fingers over the scar with a wry smile. "Had a bad run-in a few years back and they didn't like my attitude much. Don't worry, I'm not one of them. Are you all right?"
"Y-yes," Constance murmured, stare going from the scars back to the sea-blue eyes again. Men frightened her. All of them...except this one. Perhaps it was the tender way that he looked at her, or the way he held himself—as if he was the least of all and he didn't care much, or he was used to it—but he didn't frighten her. He doesn't want power. That's why. He doesn't want to hurt and kill and destroy. Only to help.
"Here," said the young man, holding out a hand. "I can take your baskets, if you want. Buy them, that is. So you don't have to carry them back. Or, if you need somebody to walk you back so you're all right, I could do that too."
Constance swallowed, eyes darting to the outstretched hand (it was strong and calloused from gripping ropes; he was a sailor). Hesitantly she took it.
"My name's Wes. Wester Channing, that is. My da named me for the wind that was blowing the day I was born aboard his ship. And yours?"
"Constance," said Constance.
The young man smiled, and for the first time in a long time Constance smiled back, something warm fluttering in her chest that for a moment made her forget the pain of the past, and have hope for the future.
The sun's glint was flowing between my blinds, filling my room like an indoor swimming pool. My room has slowly been corrupted by layers of papers on my desk, cut out shrivels and papers laying off the edge soon to fall. That's what happens when a person like me has an idea at midnight making a deranged sleep mess I will certainly not be remembering doing. The alarm I had set on my phone forced me to fully power my mind to wake up even though I didn't want to. A sudden glow had arose from the once bright as fuc* but not this bright had originally shown. Dust from god knows what starts to blur around the light beams hitting certain objects or structures in my room. I then see a woman arise from the spot that I thought was vacant aside to me, thank god it isn't anymore, her face is so perfect. The jawline was razor sharp, she had these heart shaped lips with the sheer tint that makes anyone's eyes drift away into them. Her collar bones were nearly hard to miss, being they are broad. Her short brown hair fluttered around her face, so I never fully can tell her exact description. But one main pointal feature I could pin onto her was her eyes. Her eyes were this dark but not pitch dark brown eyes, and they had this glow. I had never seen anything like it, after looking for a bit I started to gaze out into her eyes, I felt at peace. That was something I realized in the moment I hadn't felt in ages. Something about this woman seems too perfect. I feel at home, like this would be a scene with butterflies floating in and out of the window with birds chirping and some random chimes someone left outside and forgot it annoys half the neighborhood. I tried not to fall for her touch but it was so blatantly repulsive that I hadn't felt in years, I was drawn to her. I couldn't even see her full face and I was drawn to her. Who is she?
What was it about this woman that drew me from a single glance after waking up? The first person I see in the morning never gets a gloating look of admiration, they would probably get some sas and a layer of cuz words as I foret how to walk or something stupid. A layer of memories I can't put into an image or phrase recollected into my head, it felt like I had known her for a lot longer than 2 minutes. But how could I have known someone this close to see them the way I do. She has an oversized band T shirt, but It felt like I had seen her on multiple occasions. Will I see her again? I hope I do.
Soon, I will meet the one I will marry. My mother layed my white dress over my bed, its ruffles and spread out making it look bigger than it is. The sleeves drape off my shoulders and the neck dips into a V shape and my collar bone is showing more than I accept for my self. My shoulder blades are showing and my neck feels bear. Flowers are sewn onto the ruffles and torso part of the dress, the dress trails on the floor behind me when I walk. Mrs, Sanna tightens my corset the air in my lungs gets pushed out with every tug she makes at the strings. Mrs. Sanna clips my diamond necklace on my neck, its my favorite. There's one small diamond its carved into a heart shape in the middle of a smooth silver heart. My mother said she’d bought it for me when I was a newborn, as long as I could remember it was in a glass case until I was old enough not to lose it. The thought of losing it made chill run down my spine.
Mrs. Sanna has been with me since before I was born while my mother was pregnate with me taking care of my mother and all of her needs. The cold silver on my skin cools my nerves to an extent. My Mother and Father have arranged a marriage for me, it is to benefit both of our families. My mother told me that hes my age and is extremely handsome, she explained that they own a taxing company and their family owns alot of land. The only reason i agreed to meet him tonight was because my mother told me our family isnt doing well financially. I”ve been debating Wheather or not to accept his proposal if it comes. Mrs.Sanna puts her hands on my upper arms and squeezes them as if it say i’ve got this.
Mrs.Sanna Picks up the part of the dress that trails on the floor and lifted them into her arms making it look like freshly washed sheets. I lead the way into the hallway and turned to go down the stairs. Voices emerged from the dining room by the bottom of the stairs to the right. My nerves shot back up and my heart beat hard in my chest. “One foot in front of the other love.” Mrs. Sanna whispered in my ear. She spread the part of my dress she held along the top of the stairs behind me so the when i walked down the stairs its spread out behind me. I reach the middle of the stairs but stop and breath and begin walking again. Five sets of eyes lan on me as i walk over to my father and mother. I try to stand tall with a smile on my face, i step in between my parents and curtsiy slightly.
A tall blond man stands in between two people who must be his parents, his black suit makes it look like we’re getting married to day. He smiles and bows, his form like his father standing behind him. As he stands back up he takes my arm, i don’t realize whats happening until the music of the walts comes on. His hand on my back makes my blood heat up, my hands find their proper places and we begain to dance. His smile grows into a smirk and the hand on my back drops to a lower spot. My heart drops as he pulls me closer in to his hips still spinning as the second chorus starts. My now un-easy footing i start to lack behind his, the end of the song is my favorite part so i try to foucase on that.
At the end of the song i curtsy slightly and uncomfortabley, and head back toward my parents. Mom has a pleased look on her face, and my father smiles at the mans father. “ Oh dear! We forgot to introduce you two!” The man had followed me to my parents, the man smiles. “ Hello love, my names William Gray. You are?” “Annabeth Silver.” I look into his eyes with disgust, his smile mocks me. He looks at his father than at mine. “ I accept your proposl. I would like her hand in marriage.” Shock waves through me. My father stands straight as he takes Williams fathers hand and then williams. ‘We will set a date for the wedding.” my fathers smile beams over my. He puts his hand on my shoulder as if to steady me. “ no “ my voice brakes through williams loud laugh. Everyone looks at me. “I will not marry him. He’s.. .” I start but can’t finish. My fathers face is ashen, my mother lets out a small gasp. “You will marry him, you don’t have a choice.” “No!’ I pick up my dress and run up stairs. I will not marry that pervert! never!
I change into my riding clothes and climb out my window into the tree thats been there since i was young. I run toward the forest and don’t stop until i can’t move. I sit down by a tree, noticing i put on my red riding boots with my purple riding pants. I lean back on the tree but i don’t rest on a hard tree i fall trough it. I wake up falling twisting in mid-air my riding clothes disintegrate and a black dress appers long behind me like my white dress but more flowey than the white one. I flip up right on a branch, i flinch at how high i am. I find a near branch and climb down to the ground. My eyes catch everything at once, blue grass, the tree leaves blue, the trunk orange, the sky purple.
A noise comes from the trees, breaking my trance. I lerk toward the noise making sure not to make a noise. Four men surrond a man with a bloody lip, his smirk fades when he sees me. His eyes flick back to the man holding him by the throat, his smirk come back. “Sorry boys but i gotta split. See ya later gators!” He soultes at the man still holding him and brakes free from him. He moves faster than light toward me and grabs me and drags me away, I try to fight my way out of it but i can’t his grip is to tight. He stop in a clearing of blue grass, wild flowers grow in green and orange here.
“Why we’re you there? How long we’re you watching? Whats your name? How did you get into the forest?” I look at him with a blank expression, His face sharp and thin. His hand on my hip makes me flush. He’s tall and has a broad form, His muscles show through the black shirt he wears. “Wow” I say under my breath his smirk comes back. “Thanks i work out alot, But don’t think you won’t get away without answer’n me.” I smile slightly “Okay.”
When I met Ivianna, I despised her. A lowly peasant, with no set home. Sharing a bed with her siblings. How could someone as prestine as me love a simple low life like her.
But the more I saw her, the more intrigued I grew. How could a girl so poor be so halcyon? When I, Gwendolyn, chatelaine of the county, was so miserable. I was boiling with rage at the thought of her.
I was walking through the forest when I heard a crystalline voice. The murmur of an angel. I crept closer and lo and behold, the saint was none other than Ivianna. She was bathing in the spring. Her face that used to be a total bore was now a sight for sore eyes. Her curly dirty hair, now shiny and soft. Her body normally hidden under dirty rags was as fair as any.
I was twitterpated. I struggled to find a word to describe what was happening. In her silhouette I could see all I ever wanted. A casual, peaceful and joyful life.
Sadly, I never saw her again.
I don't believe in love at first sight, but love at last sight.
Wabi-sabi: / ˈwa biˈsa bi / PHONETIC RESPELLING. noun.
Wabi-sabi:/ ˈwa biˈsa bi / PHONETIC RESPELLING. noun. a bi / PHONETIC RESPELLING. noun.
a Japanese aesthetic concept that finds beauty and serenity in objects, landscapes, designs, etc., that are simple, imperfect, and impermanent.
One Kiss Too Short.
The sweet late September air felt like something out of a Hallmark movie. Valentina didn't know whether she should be happy that the air finally starting tasting like cotton candy and fairs or that summer was officially over and her days of soaking up the sun were long behind her. Still, she knew that as the days would become shorter, so would her temper for acting happy, and so Valentina made her way over to the beach that stood a couple of feet away.
The waves lapped at her ankles, lazy, inconsiderate of the fact that she had jeans on. She felt at peace, the moon just out of reach, the sun shying away from it, painting the sky with shades of pinks and oranges. Sitting down where the water barely skimmed her toes, she was able to relax, listening to the sounds that accompanied her own artistic expedition. Her relaxation was short lived though, a laugh stumbling through her thoughts, blocking out the pink and orange rays that were coating her skin. A women about Valentina's age was walking up to her, off balance as if she had one too much to drink.
Just before she was about to reach Valentina, the mystery woman slipped on the sand and fell into Valentina's lap.
"Oh!" She tried to push herself off but ended up only grabbing sand, "I am so sorry. I didn't see you sitting down here."
Up close the woman was even more beautiful, the dying rays of the sun were encompassing her as if she was a goddess. That Zeus himself had held up the sun, keeping it still for a moment to bless everyone who looked upon her.
"It's alright. Do you need help to get up?" The woman nodded and Valentina gently pushed her off her lap, stood up and extended a hand. Gingerly taking it, the woman smiled and Valentina would have melted right into the sand if it wasn't for the cold water keeping her afloat. This woman's smile was brightening. Simply brightening.
"I'm Katerina but most people call me Kat."
"Most people call me Val."
"Val and Kat. I like the sound of that." Valentina was close to proposing, her insides felt as if molten lava was poured over them, she felt light headed, giddy, and every goddamn emotion that she could manage.
As if her own thoughts seemed to be conjured in Kat's mind, she swayed, her knees buckling.
Valentina frowned, "Do you need help getting back home, you seem drunk."
"If you can, I'd appreciate it. I've only had two- or was it three- something drinks tonight."
Valentina draped her arms around Kat's shoulders, leading her up the sand bank, towards the town. She waved over a taxi, helping Kat in before sitting next to her. After forcing Kat to give her address before she fell asleep, the taxi surged and starting the long drive.
The car was quiet as Kat laid her head down on Valentina's shoulder, but to Valentina, it felt loud. Her heart was going to burst out of her chest. She didn't know how to react, she didn't want to move but she felt as if she needed to move.
Kat didn't say anything as Valentina unlocked her door and got her situated. Not even a see you later. Just silence.
And as she left in a taxi back to her own house, Valentina felt her own heart leave with her. She had fallen head over heels in love with a woman who could only be described as cold rain on a warm day. She was something people took for granted until they had her, and once they did? They never would let go, especially Valentina.
One Red Tulip
"One rose-berry tea coming right up!" I exclaimed. I swung to the other side of the kitchen and put water into the shiny copper kettle. I put on my gardening apron and went out to the back door, gently plucking rosebuds from the bush. The roses smelled beautiful that day. I took a moment to breathe in the warm and fresh spring air. As I trotted back inside, I pulled out the cutting board and gently chopped the rosebuds into fine, little pieces.
I put the rosebuds in the kettle along with a couple of cranberries. The smell of the tea brewing was darling. The one thing I love most about working here is the aroma. The honey, the cinnamon, the lavender drying along the walls.
I began to daydream, wishing to own my own shop when I'm older. Maybe even having my own husband, calling him the love of my life. I spun around, my dress flowing and spinning as I did so. Once I find that man, he would be dreamy, I'm sure. He would hold my hand and make scrumptious bread to go along with my tea. He would be sweet and kind and great with kids. Everything you need in a man, really.
The scream of the kettle snapped me back to reality. I began to pour the water into a separate teapot and say a spell as I did so, as was tradition. "Bring love to the one who drinks this." I softly spoke to nobody in particular. I brought the teapot and matching teacups to the table. There, a soft girl about my age sat.
She was quite breathtaking. Her light green eyes reminded me of leaves. Her hair was a gentle strawberry blonde pulled into a loose, messy bun. Yet, what stood out to me most was the freckles dabbled along her skin. "Why, thank you!" she said with a smile. There was a gap between her two front teeth but there was a part of me who found it... charming? Adorable? Precious? I couldn't quite think of the word.
"I must say, I love your dress!" She said, I stood there a little surprised. "My dress? Thank you, I made it myself." She chuckled to herself a bit, "Maybe you'll have to show me your ways." She hesitated for a moment before continuing, "And this tea smells darling!" This time it was my turn to chuckle. She was so sweet and joyful. "I would love to sit and chat, but I have customers to attend to." I said shyly, nodding in the direction of the cervitaur* waiting at the counter. She nodded understandably and I went over to the counter. I pranced over the counter and took the cervitaur's order.
Yet, as I was making his tea, I couldn't stop thinking about her. I always believed that some people were destined to meet by fate. Surely, if that was the case then fate would make it so I would see her again. She seemed like a kind, young lady anyways.
As I glanced at her, I realized that she was no longer there. A few coins had been left on the table. I had walked over and started to clean up as I realized that she had left one single head of a red tulip. This was universally known as the symbol of love. Much how you would bring your mum a bouquet of red tulips or plant them in your garden to bring you love. I rushed out the door, just in time before she would be completely out of ear shot.
"Excuse me, Ma'am! Who are you?"
She turned around, gave me another gap-tooth smile, and then walked away. And holy Aphrodite, I was in love.
*a centaur but where the horse-like features are replaced with those of a deer.
She sees him standing in a group of guys, and of all of them he stands the tallest and strongest.
His voice, so soothing, overrides every other sound.
His eyes, blue as the ocean, blue as the sky, the prettiest blue eyes.
His heart so kind and loving.
His embrace so warm and comforting, a safe place, a place to call home.