Coffee, Tea, and Second Chances

By Abby )

NOTE: All content of this story is exclusive property of Abby, and republication of this content is restricted unless by permission of the author.

CHAPTER 2

It’s funny how you can be a completely independent person, capable of managing your own life, and then you go home and everything backslides into a status of “Yes, Mother.” I found myself in this situation one weekend at the beginning of March. Upon arriving home with my usual load of laundry, Mom decided to greet me with a warning that summer was soon approaching and that I needed to get a summer job. I looked out the window, watching the wind blow the dead leaves from last year down the street, and wondered what she was so worried about. I protested, saying that it was early yet and I had no time to do such things, especially with midterms a couple weeks down the road. Nothing could convince her, though. To her, it was vital that I save up money for school. I had been consistently reminded from childhood up to that point that no money would ever be donated to me from my aging, retired parents.

So the next morning, I tried to nonchalantly make my way out of the house, pretending that I had errands to run and people to visit. Perhaps I was a bit too nonchalant, jiggled my keys a bit too much, because I was caught and warned that I needed to apply for some jobs while I was out. I exited the house fuming. I was not about to find myself another dead end job where I was not appreciated and I came home with a bad back. I had on my resume a string of dead end jobs, one after another: fast-food, grocery stores, berry picking. I had just ended a job with the local library. I had thought I had found a place where I could be in my niche. However, my body gave up before I was ready to; it seemed that I had the joints of a seventy year old. It was not hard to conclude that another job of the same calibur didn’t make me excited.

As I drove down the road, I imagined myself in an ideal workplace, one where there was respect and my person and talent would be appreciated. However, I wasn’t looking for that job that day. No, I was looking for easy places that would be sure to give me applications so that I could bring them home and get my mother off my back. It was impossible to function with a guilt trip from Mom eating at the corners of my mind.

It was in this mentality that I scoured the streets of downtown, applying at every store that had a “Now Hiring” in the window. I had just come from applying at the Christian bookstore when I saw yet another hiring sign on the side of the busy road. I pulled over into parking, squinting at the business sign. An unfamiliar one, yet that was not surprising. Businesses in downtown frequently came and went, going out of business as soon as they started. It was a coffee shop, and a bookstore, apparently. The erratic font on the sign and the blue metal chairs seemed out of place in the picturesque town full of flowers and tourists. I honestly had never enjoyed a cup of coffee in my life, let alone make an espresso. But I was willing to try, should it come to that. So I stepped out of my beater car and stepped into the aromatic store.

Rustic wooden floors, freshly exposed from years under linoleum, complimented the red walls and old, tin printed cielings. It gave a sense of comfort to me; the atmosphere practically invited you to sit and stay awhile. I spent only a couple of seconds taking this in, however, because I was on a mission to get the application and get out of there.

Locating the bar and heading towards it, I noticed the dark head of a man bent over a book, elbows resting on the counter. My clogs clicked on the wooden floor and drew his attention, head popping up, eyes searching to make contact with the new customer. But as he stood up to his full height, I stopped dead in my tracks, feet unable to move. Everything about his appearance, from his dark chocolate hair to his wiry stature, screamed of déjà vu. He looked vaguely familiar, like every man I’d ever fallen for before, yet somehow very different. The neatly trimmed moustache was a dead giveaway, but it was something in his manner and a sense of honestly in his dark eyes that was more powerful.

“Hi. What can I help you with?” accompanied with an easy smile.

I had almost forgotten why I had come in. After stumbling over a couple of nonsensical words, I found my tongue and asked for an application. He turned around and grabbed one off the shelf behind him and cooly handed it to me. I thanked him, and, suddenly feeling a strong desire to actually apply for the job, I fished around in my purse for a pen. He graced me with a pen when I failed to find one of my own. Sitting at a table and stealing glances at him every other moment, I completed the application. I handed it to him, tremulously thanked him, and strode out the door, shaking my head.

I couldn’t get rid of this strange feeling, this sudden attraction. There was something about him.

God, are you trying to test me?

Author’s notes: I’m sorry that this chapter took so long, it’s just that I have to overcome nervousness everytime I write another chapter. But please, let me know what you think! Your responses are what make me continue 