As soon as I stepped in, a whiff of dark roast coffee and cinnamon wafted against my face. I held myself against a wall and looked around the store: It was like something out of an Architectural Digest, like a massive Barnes & Noble and Starbucks all in one, but better.
The first level featured beautiful black bistro chairs and tall iron-wrought tables with touristy-landscape photos engraved into their tops. The café was in the back, and a see through kitchen with state of the art coffee machines and state of the art double ovens stood right behind it. To my right was a glass wall that extended down the entire store, where hundreds of pastries and pies sat in a lovely display.
Behind the black railings that guarded the upper level, I could see plush leather couches, rustic tables, and floor to ceiling bookshelves.
I whispered “sober” to myself one more time and walked towards the counter. I was halfway there when a gorgeous man in a brown leather jacket looked up at me and smiled.
Whoa…Who is he?
I clumsily smiled back.
Out of nowhere, a woman brushed past me—nearly knocking me off balance, and sat down at his table.
Of course he wasn’t smiling at me. I should have known better… This wig makes me look like a wet mop.
I approached the counter and the barista beamed. “Good afternoon ma’am! Welcome to the awesome world of—”
“Spare me. I need a Venti Frappuccino: One pump caramel, one pump white mocha, two scoops vanilla bean powder, and extra ice with two espresso shots. I want caramel drizzle under and on top of the whipped cream, two dashes of chocolate chip coffee creamer, with melted cinnamon flakes lightly mixed in. And I need it double cupped.”
She blinked.
“Am I speaking Spanish? Do I need to repeat myself?”
“No ma’am,” she turned around and began to work.
I took out my wallet and snuck glances of the leather jacket guy here and there. He turned to the side and I realized that he was the type of guy I used to dream about, the type of guy that didn’t used to exist in Fayetteville.
His hair—dark brown and lustrous, was perfectly parted above his thick and furrowed eye brows but a few errant strands fell right above his ocean blue eyes. His pearly white teeth showed each time he laughed and his full lips were well-defined and inviting—so inviting that I wanted to walk over there and kiss him. Just like that.
I was sure I’d be doing him a favor: He could brag to all his friends about kissing a celebrity and I…I wasn’t sure what I would get out of it unless he was an amazing kisser. If he was, maybe he’d agree to come back to my hotel to finish what we started. I was sure a night with him could keep my mind off my first scandal.
I wonder how good he is in bed…He looks like the type that likes to take control, like he could— Stop it! What the hell is wrong with me? He’s just a regular guy…A non-celebrity…
I heard his deep laughter again and turned around to examine him once more. I tried finding a flaw, any flaw—an outlier eyelash, an uneven hair line, an untamed facial hair—but I couldn’t find one. Not a one.
He was perfect.
He looked like he belonged in Hollywood, like he could give all the other heartthrobs a run for their money.
He noticed me watching and smiled at me, raising his eyebrow.
I tried to pretend I was more interested in the picture that was hanging above his table, but out the corner of my eye I saw him lick a wisp of whip cream from his upper lip and my entire body quivered.
I turned back towards the barista and saw that she had yet to produce my coffee. “Why is it taking you so long? Are you confused? It’s not like this place is crawling with customers!”
“I’m sorry ma’am. I’m going as fast as I can,” she added a caramel drizzle to the top of my drink and handed it to me. “Your total is $5.85.”
I handed her my credit card and she swiped it. Then she swiped it again. And again.
“Um, do you have another card, ma’am?” she practically whispered. “My system doesn’t recognize this one.”
“It’s a black card. Every system recognizes it.”
“I’m sorry. Ours doesn’t seem to… Do you have cash maybe?”
What is she trying to say?
“Swipe the card again,” I crossed my arms.
“It’s still giving me the same error ma’am,” she handed the card back to me and lowered her voice. “There’s an ATM outside if you want to check—”
“I can afford the damn drink! I don’t need an ATM! I need you Fayetteville people to get with the times and—”
“I’ll pay for it,” leather jacket guy handed the barista a ten and flashed his smile again, nearly melting me on the spot.
Say thank you…
“I hope you don’t expect me to say thank you,” I grabbed my Frappuccino and stormed away.
I lifted the handle on the exit door, but it didn’t open. I leaned into the door with my shoulder but it wouldn’t budge. I kicked at it a few times, and then I stepped back and lunged into it, cursing when it showed no resistance.