Black Coffee, Blue Eyes

We meet for coffee.

I’m wearing a long navy dress and dark lipstick. He’s in a shirt just tight enough to hint that he’s in shape.

We order. Both black coffees. I like him already.

The barista smiles at me knowingly. This is my regular spot. She’ll have questions for me tomorrow. I won’t mind dishing. Little did I know at the time, how much I’d have to dish about.

We sit in the alley turned urban garden. It’s a gray summer night and we’re lit by soft yellow and pink twinkle lights above. Boxes of flowers flank the bench I choose. He sits down. Boldly close. This bodes well.

I’m struck by how blue his eyes are. Like my ex’s. Bright. Alluring. Addictive. Here I am, replacing one drug with another. Lust is the ultimate high, the ultimate distraction.

He’s relaxed with a calm, quiet confidence. There is nothing overtly sexy about it but... there is something undeniably sexy about it.

We talk career goals which seems oddly intimate. We discuss where we want to travel. Our ambitions and travel lists line up.

The coffee is hot and we’re both drinking quickly.

My eyes float over his lips. I’m pulled into a daydream: what would it be like to kiss him?

I've been caught in my daydream. He smiles with a playfulness in his eyes. He’s got great crows feet framing those intoxicating blues. A man who smiles often.

I finish my coffee. He takes my cup and our hands graze. It’s orchestrated but it sends something electric and hot through me. His hands are strong, warm. The part of my brain for fucking lights up and imagines those hands on my breasts. Yes.

He returns. I stand up and extend my hand. That part of my brain has taken over. His eyes spark in surprise.

“And where are you taking me?”

“You’ll see.”