We met in a Coffee Shop

The smells of the coffee shop engulf me as I walk through the door. I take a deep breath. Inhaling all the coffee grind smell, letting it out as a sigh. I always love finding a small non-brand coffee shop to experience. They always seem to have the best coffee, with the perfect balance of sweet and bitter. At least if you get a sugary latte like I do. 

Standing in line, I am distracted by their menu and trying to decide on if I want subtle flavors or powerful ones. Like a simple vanilla latte or my favorite mocha.

I’m also distracted from my surroundings, thinking about my next project. I have a blog post to publish as well as a new short story series to begin. I’ve been bouncing ideas around about the characters for a while and haven’t quite narrowed down the main inspiration for the overall plot. Tapping a pen against my thigh in time to one of my favorite songs playing rent free in my head, I feel a hand on my arm.
My head whips up to find beautiful brown eyes staring at me.

"Hi" a deep voice says, "can i buy your coffee?"

Still coming out of deep thought, I shake my head a bit to clear it and focus on who is talking to me.

Black hair, bit messy, strong angled jaw, scruff, and those eyes....

“what?” I responded dumbly. I know what he asked, but my brain is frozen and not able to comprehend that a handsome man is asking me a question, or even talking to me at all. 

He smiles at my obviously confused and dumbfounded state.
“I’d like to buy your coffee.”

"Um, sure" I say hesitantly, “thank you"

What am I doing? Letting a guy buy me coffee...and now that my brain is coming out of freeze mode, it’s getting way too over excited.

The line moves and we step forward to order our drinks. He gets a cold brew coffee and I order a shaken espresso with oat milk. After he pays, we step to the side to wait for our drinks. 

"Your’e welcome" he says with a smile. "I’m Zach"

"Lynn" I say in response, trying to smile but feeling nervous and sheepish and, gods, what the hell is wrong with me. A guy gives me attention, buying a coffee of all things, and I'm internally flipping out!

"Lynn" he says my name like he is testing it out and fuuuck it sounds good when he does.

I apparently need to make a note to get out more because getting this excited...even turned on, by his voice just saying my name is beyond ridiculous!

Our drinks are finished and grabbing mine I head to an empty spot in the cafe area and smile when I hear him follow me.

"Lynn, may I join you?”

"Sure, I wouldn't mind a little company" I reply

He smiles and damn it brightens his face making it soft and gentlemanly.

"Good" he replies and sits down across from me.

I take a sip from my latte, wanting to take a beat and try to calm down and think about this. I want to take a measure of him, and as someone growing into her divine feminine energy, I want to see if he is healthy in his masculine energy. Will he continue to step in and lead? Or will we stand off in a battle of wills?

I look over to him, staring into his eyes, and lift a brow. A challenge.

He smiles and chuckles in response.

"What brings you to a coffee shop this afternoon?" He asks, starting the conversion up.

"It's my favorite creative space to work" I say casually.

"Ah," he says leaning back, "what kind of work?"

"I have a poetry blog and write some short stories." I add. I might be working on bigger literary projects now, but poetry is what started it all and where my heart lies.

He lifts a brow. I smile. I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished so far as a writer.

Before he can ask more, I ask,

"What brings you here?”

"What about me?" He says with a cocky grin.

Gods… do I already like him? I shake my head and focus.

"What brought you to a coffee shop?"

"Other than coffee?" He asks sarcastically, raising his cup.

I roll my eyes at him. "Yes. Other than coffee”, I pause, “you know, I gave you a straight answer.”

His eyes seem to shine with pleasure at my response to his sarcasm and he nods.
“You did. So I suppose it would be polite to respond in kind.”
I nod affirmation and take another sip of my coffee with a sigh. The taste of flavors filling my mouth.
“This shop is closest to my work, and has the best cold brew “

“So a bit of a coffee snob?” I smile.
His expression shifts to one of dramatic shock.
“A snob?” he says, then takes a contemplative sip of his cold brew.
“If you consider a person who appreciated the elegance of flavor profiles in coffee and how they transfer to its cold equivalent…” he pauses a moment, a smile creasing his face, “the yes, I do suppose I am a coffee snob”
In response, I start laughing.
He is definitely a coffee person who knows what he likes as well as all the places that do it correctly. He probably even has specific baristas he goes to, ones that know exactly what he wants and how to make the coffee beverage to perfection. 

When I am able to calm down, we make eye contact. He smiles, his eyes amused at my reaction.
I blush.
“So,” he takes another sip of coffee, “ a writer?”
I merely nod, take another sip of my coffee. 

“poetry and short stories?”

“Yes,” I say slowly. I want to see where he goes with this. Most people are shocked, take basic interest, then drop it and move on to another topic. The basic shallow info, and no more.

He stares at me. Contemplating, maybe? Like he is trying to figure out my thoughts and why my answers are simple responses.
“What project are you currently working on?”

“Well, the primary ones are the poetry blog post I have to write, and new short story episodes to edit.”
“Hmm,” he considers, “what kind of poetry do you write?”
“um, well,” I pause to think for a moment. How detailed do I get? Do I pick a general type answer? Asking about what kind of poetry could mean style or content or…
I decide to pick a general answer and see how far this conversation will continue to go.
“Mostly freeform style”
“Interesting. Do you have anything with you?” he asks. “I’d like to read some, if that’s okay?”

I stare. Frozen in shock. Did he just say what I heard? He wants to read my poems?

Do I have anything?
I shake my head to stop the panic spiral and realize I do have my journal in my bag, but I also could pull up my blog site on my phone.
I settle for my blog. Its finished work that I purposefully published, rather than pulling out my journal which has more rough drafts and thoughts that I prefer to not share.
I pull out my phone and go to my blog.
“Yea, here are some of my blog posts” I say handing him the phone.
He takes it and starts reading. His thumb scrolling through the post and then seemingly clicking to another one, then another one.
I take a nervous sip of my coffee and watch his face for any reaction. I enjoy sharing my poetry with people, hearing their reactions afterward, but I enjoy the fact that I share electronically and am not present when people are reading my work. It allows me to not worry about their opinion and them to have the personal experience I hope they have when reading the words I share.
He looks contemplative, his face not giving anything else away.
Nothing. No other responses. Just a blank face.
Again, this is why I try not to share with people in person. My brain frantically overthinks all the possible things that he might be thinking about my work and therefore about me and especially all the negative ones.
he doesn’t like them, thinks you are a crappy poet, he doesn’t feel anything, what you wrote wasn’t anything new, he is probably wondering why you even write…on and on and on…

Until he looks up with a smile, handing me back my phone.
“You have a beautiful soul, Lynn.”

“Oh..thank you..” I say quietly, blushing again. “No one has ever put it that way.”

“It’s the truth,” he states, “ and I’d like to keep getting to know you.”
I smile.
“I’d like that too”

“Good,” He smiles back with a wink, “because I already put my number in your phone and yours in mine.”
Dumbfounded, I just stare at him, again. This seems to be my go to face with this guy. How many times is he going to shock me with what he says? Am I that out of practice talking to people who are actually interested in getting to know me?
“wait, you what?” I say looking down at my phone. I open it to my contacts. Indeed, there is a new contact with ‘coffee shop zach’ as the name, and a message to him from my phone with my name.
I chuckle, “coffee shop zach?”

“I wouldn't want to be confused with anyone”

“you wouldn’t,” I pause, “you may have noticed that there aren’t very many contacts to begin with.”
“contacts are for the most important people” he responds.