The line at the coffee shop is longer than usual today. The sounds of smooth Jazz and the aroma of commercialized, overpriced coffee fill the air. College students shuffle mechanically from station to station behind the counter, filling the orders that haven’t yet been paid for, while the little blonde at the register struggles to dwindle the line.

They have extra help today. They sometimes make the managers help when it’s this busy. Lucky for me, busy days mean He is helping. Today is different, though. There’s too many people behind the counter for him to be assisting. Still, he’s there, which is all that matters to me.

Every time I see him, he looks exhausted. His eyes seem sunken into his face, because of the darker skin underneath. His cheeks are not light, but they are a good deal paler and his cheekbones stand out sharply in the florescent lighting. And I’m sure it’s just the lighting. If I saw him outside, in the sunlight, he would look much different.

He’s talking to the girl behind the register, gracing her with the smile he hasn’t shown me any of the times I’ve caught his eye. I sometimes wish I could catch his attention when he’s smiling like that, just to have that unwitting grin turned to me. I would love even just a second.

I want to try, but I never do.

He would never go for me. I’m not obese, but I’m a far cry from skinny. My breasts are nice and large, a gene from my mother’s side, but my butt looks bad from any angle except when I’m bent, halfway or more, at my waist. Even then, my stomach has to keep me from being beautiful.

He wouldn’t dream of looking at me. His dark eyes would never grace my jean-clad legs with desire. He would never put those rough-looking hands across my back, down to the hem of my shirt and under.

There’s only one life to live, I’m told. But that doesn’t mean he has any extra to waste on me. I could certainly approach him and see, or I could save myself the embarrassment. I could grab my Caramel Iced Coffee and leave. I could leave and come back tomorrow, when he may or may not be here. I could spend another five bucks on the chance that we might meet; that he might notice me standing here.

He walks away from the work area and sits down at one of the artistically placed tables in the waiting area, where textbooks and notes have been scattered across the mural surface. I watch him for a moment, my face turned slightly away and my bangs hiding my gaze. His hands appear occasionally from behind a corner and I smile when I see the rolled up edge of his shirt sleeve. I can’t see him from where I’m standing, but the teasing glimpses manage to keep my attention.

I step forward when beckoned and order my usual small Caramel Iced Coffee. I glance back toward the table as I hand my debit card to the clerk. It’s annoying to wait today, when I could go stand near his table, look at him while he smiles and talks with passion I may never again see. He wouldn’t even notice me there, and there’s safety in that.
The card is handed back to me and I wander over to the waiting area. I have a much clearer view of my prey. His eyes are smoky and his top lip is much thinner than his bottom. It makes me want to bite that bottom lip. I smile and bite my own.

What if he did notice me? What if he’d seen me gaze at him, day after day? What if he’d seen me come to this coffee shop every day for a drink I’m not sure I even like? If he’d seen me come in, he’d have seen me contemplate that first sip as I walk out, forming my opinion. It’s the same drink, same recipe, every day. There’s nothing to think about. There shouldn’t be.

He looks at me and smiles, his dark eyes simmering. His eyes don’t look tired when they’re looking at me. They just look dark and steeping. Looking into those eyes, the smells of espresso shots and steam surround me. I smile back shyly, shaking on my feet. His eyes entice my senses, sight and smell mix into an entire world around me. Has life always smelled like coffee?

The person next to him is no longer talking; no one in the shop is talking. He rises from his seat, his eyes locked on me heatedly and his lips curving into the smug grin he’d had that first time we’d met.

I look up at him and feel as though I’m going to melt into a puddle on the floor, seep between the mosaic tiles and stain the grout Passion. His arms wrap around my waist and he steps up close to me. Sweet bliss, that I should be so close to him! I want to lift my lips to his, but I feel rooted to the Earth beneath me.

“I’ve been watching you.” He whispers, his voice smooth and heated, the sound so bittersweet that I want to taste that roasted bitterness on my tongue.

He brings his lips down to mine and I close my eyes in a daze. His lips don’t even brush mine, but I can taste the Caramel on his breath, the sweetness dissolving the hot strength that is Him. My eyes begin to flutter open as the sounds of the coffee shop begin to return.

“Small Caramel Iced Coffee.” The barista says loudly as the drink is pushed out onto the table next to where I’m standing. The people behind me in line look at me, and I hold my pose for a moment, head tilted up toward empty space.

He hasn’t moved from his schoolwork-covered table, talking happily with his coworker, and I’ve been puckered up for no one. I blush and grab my drink, hurrying out of the way of the other customers.

I start to head down to my office and sigh around the straw hanging from my mouth. I take my first sip and it tastes bitter today, like him.

I have to remind myself that I’ve never tasted him, and it leaves me bereft. My second sip is softer, more like caramel and the imaginary words he’d spoken. That coffee shop may well be the death of me.

I walk down the hallway to my office and hear my coworkers joke about low wages and expensive tastes. I pick back playfully and make a mental note to put some aside from my next paycheck. Love is expensive.