Liam
I blew it off when she told me no, like it was no big deal, but if I’m being honest, I’m a little hurt. This beautiful woman told me no? Why? I’m not sure, but I don’t do well with not getting what I want. I see this as a challenge, and I’m guessing she will be.
When I first saw her, I got distracted watching that ass move, but now I’m staring at her profile as she makes my coffee and gets me a donut. She almost glides as she prepares my order, clearly comfortable in her environment, and based on her saying it’s ‘on the house,’ I’m assuming she’s the owner.
“So,” I start, “what’s up with the cats?” She pops her head up and cracks a smile before returning her attention to the milk she’s steaming. “Oh.” She laughs. “I went to this vintage store one time and fell in love with this random cat painting.” She pours the milk before gesturing with the container at a painting on the wall opposite us. It’s an old-looking cat that looks like it would eat me for breakfast. It’s wearing a scowl and is dressed in a tux. I’m so overwhelmed by everything going on. “And because they’re fucking awesome.”
“Well, okay then.” I chuckle. She whips out a rag to clean up some spilled milk and I decide to blurt one of my many random facts. I like to read shit that fucks with my mind and trips me up. “Did you ever think that you can’t clean everything?" She stops what she’s doing and so slowly cranes her neck to squint her eyes at me like I’ve done something fucked, but I haven’t even finished my sentence yet. I let out a yelp and drop down below the countertop. I hear a little laughter and peek over the edge to see the most beautiful and contagious smile I’ve ever seen. She’s cracking up laughing, holding her stomach from the force.
“What is your issue?” she says, wiping her eyes.
“Oh, you tell me, you fucking superwoman. With that look, I thought you were gonna shoot lasers at me.” I wink and she rolls her eyes. I don’t even care that I still don’t have my coffee. I could sit here and bug her forever and never get tired of it.
“You didn’t answer me.”
“What?” She looks confused.
"I asked, ‘Did you ever think about how you can’t clean everything?’” She cocks her hip out and throws an arm on it to emphasize the look.
“All you can do is make something else dirty. It’s an endless cycle of making something dirty to make something clean and this exact thought process is the reason why I fucking hate laundry.”
She looks at me, dumbfounded.
“Anyways, can I have my coffee?” I ask with a smile.
“Oh shit, yep. Here you go.” She hands me my coffee and I take a sip. Holy fuck, it’s delicious.
“Wow, this is amazing.”
She smiles at me and I’ve decided that as long as I live in Isle of Palms, I’m going to make it my mission to make her smile.
“Speaking of laundry. Have you ever thought that if you wear your underwear inside out, the entire universe is wearing it and not you?”
“Get out of my coffee shop, ,” she says with a laugh.
Ah, that laugh again. Yep, I’ma need her number.
“Okay, okay,” I say, throwing a hand up in surrender, “but I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Oh God,” she groans. “Please don’t.”
“Too bad, Java. This coffee is too good and I never got my donut…”
“ Fuck ,” she groans. “Here, let me get it. I don’t know where my mind is today.” She starts scrambling, but I stop her as I retreat backward toward the front door.
“Nah, girl. Stop. I’ll be back tomorrow for one of these”—I lift my coffee cup—“my donut, and your number.” With that, I dip out the door and walk back home. I take a moment to stand there and drink another long pull of my coffee. This shit is really good, and I just got myself another project I don’t have time for.