Page 10 of Watching Ames

“Hi there.”

“May I ask who’s calling?” I laughed aloud at his question, watching as the stranger’s lip tilted up at the corner in a self-deprecating way, and I got the feeling that he didn’t joke very often.

“This is Ames, the owner of that phone. May I ask who’s answering?”

He made his way back over to my side, chin tilted down to meet my eyes as he told me his name. “Alex.”

“Well it’s nice to meet you, Alex,” I told him, genuine warmth in my voice as we hung up the calls and traded phones back. His almost-smile widened when I said his name, a flash of bright white teeth against the dark stubble smattered across his jaw.

“Nice to meet you, too, Ames.” He smirked as he said it, just a subtle curve of his lips, and I was stuck staring at his mouth, trying to decipher what was so amusing about his words. But my phone rang, jolting me from the standstill we’d been in for the last few moments.

“That’s my ride,” I told him, holding my phone up so he saw the contact photo for Bex, a picture of us smiling and laughing on a beach trip last year. “Thanks again for your help.”

“No problem. Maybe I’ll see you around.” Another smirk, another laugh in his voice as if he was telling me an inside joke but I’d forgotten the punch line.

“Maybe.” I shot him one last confused, thankful smile as I turned and headed back out the door and down the stairs, hoping against my better judgment that he was right.

Chapter8

Her

I didn’t havea morning off of work until a few days after the concert. Summer classes were in full swing at the studio, meaning I taught most mornings, and the mornings that June taught alone usually resulted in my sleeping in to make up for my late nights working in the studio. But all of myMorelpieces along with the giant dinner set ordered through my website had been thrown, which put me just ahead of schedule. On top of that, I had the morning off, which meant celebrating with pastries and coffee while checking emails and updating my website.

I stepped into the coffee shop, breathing in the smell of freshly-ground beans, senses taking in the familiar sights and sounds. I had spent a majority of my days in the small café when I was working for the accounting firm. My boss had been fairly lax about where we worked from, meaning most people opted to work from home.

But working from home meant that I was constantly alone. Peter was always working long hours at his firm or going on campaign trips with his father, meaning that even before our fight I had spent most days - and nights - alone. I considered adopting a cat for companionship, but Peter was allergic, so instead I started venturing out to local coffee shops in the hopes of being around people during the day to stave off the deeply-set loneliness that had started to eat away at me.

After some duds, I found this place downtown.Ironwood Coffee Companywas tucked into the outskirts of the city, only a few minutes drive from my apartment and tucked off any main streets. It was a gorgeous space, open and airy with wood floors and a bar that led around the front of the building so you could look out onto the street while you worked. The decor helped the coffee shop live up to its name, the tables made of stained wood and iron scattered throughout the space, handcrafted by one of the owners.

The shop was owned by a sweet couple who met at the same local university where I was an alumna. One of the owners had been a business major and his husband had gotten an art degree in metalworks. They met working at a major coffee chain, and a few years after they graduated and got married, they decided to put their degrees and their previous experience together to open the shop. The steampunk metalwork and design was courtesy of Delon while Adam ran a flourishing business using his degree, as evidenced by the line that almost constantly snaked out the door.

They had told me the story one morning, when business was slow because of the rain pouring outside and they were both working the counter. I had been coming in long enough for them - along with a few of the other regular baristas - to know my face and my order, and I’d spoken to them a few times, bonding with Adam over accounting and Delon over the pottery that had, at that point, still been a hobby. But that was the first morning they’d sat at my table and told me their story, leaving me misty eyed when the rain stopped and customers trickled in and needed to be served.

Their story was simple and sweet; no broken hearts or grand gestures. It wasn’t the story or how they met that was important but how they made each other feel; they supported each other through their degrees and afterward, and when Delon had brought up the idea of opening a business, Adam jumped onboard to support him. It was what I always thought about when I was here, the story of these two men turning their passions into their work, the idea burrowing into my brain between lattes and expense reports for work.

It burrowed so deep that in between work assignments, I started posting photos of the pottery I threw at the studio in my free time. When that gained traction on social media, I opened my business and allowed the possibility of online orders. One of my first was for a set of matching coffee mugs for Delon and Adam, who had given their “loyal customer’s small business” a shoutout on all their social media. Which, in turn, had generated my first wave of customers.

All of this to say, I was basically obligated to come to the store at least twice a week to pay my respects. The line moved quickly, my order already ready by the time I reached the counter, blowing a kiss to Delon as he worked the espresso machine. I paid and made my way over to the bar edging the walls, setting my laptop on the lacquered wood. Bex had gone to visit some high school friends who were still local and in the midst of graduate degrees, so I was alone and motivated to catch up on some emails for the business side of my small business.

It took about an hour before the shop filled up, seating taken over by college students meeting friends and businessmen taking a mid-morning coffee break. A shadow suddenly entered my peripheral vision, giving my stomach a small jolt even as I heard the chair pull out next to me. The nervous flip to my stomach was more surprising than the fact that someone was settling into the chair; there was always limited space in such a busy place, and I never minded brushing elbows with strangers. I scooted my laptop a little closer to my side of the counter, making sure my things weren’t taking up too much space.

But as I re-settled back into my work, a familiar voice caused my head to whip up in the direction of the newcomer. I stared straight into the dark eyes of the stranger from the concert, Alex, as he sat in the chair next to me, turned sideways so his knees were almost touching mine. I almost felt the heat of him through my thin leggings, and I tried to keep from rubbing my knees together at the unexpected thrill of excitement his closeness brought. My tongue was tied, and I felt momentarily embarrassed by how effortlessly this almost-stranger seemed to take my voice away.

“Are you stalking me?” The words blurted out, meant as a joke but falling heavily between us when I couldn’t quite push out the laugh I had planned to follow the question. Alex had been at the concert, the same concert my admirer bought me tickets for. He happened to be at my favorite coffee shop at the same time I was. I tried to relax my brow, feeling it furrow as I tried to add up the evidence like some sort of private eye. Though the fact that I never considered him as a possible admirer the night of the concert only proved how shit I would be in that type of occupation.

Alex didn’t seem to notice my pondering as he responded, smirking as he told me, “I happen to like this café. Been coming here for months. I’m sure if you think really hard about it, you’ve seen me here. In fact, we may have even spoken before.” He said the last sentence with a wink and it hit me: we had spoken before, here, months ago.

* * *

As usual,I had gotten into the café right around the early-morning rush, barely making it a few feet in the door until I ran into the end of the queue. I had only moved up a couple spots when I heard a short burst of traffic and felt a cold gust of late winter air as the door opened behind me. Someone stepped into place at my back shortly after, their heat almost engulfing me in the small space despite leaving an appropriate amount of distance between us. After a few moments of waiting, I felt a gentle brush against my ankle, looking down to find a folded hundred dollar bill sitting next to my feet.

The woman in front of me had already moved up while I hadn’t been looking, so unless the money had flown backwards, it had come from the man behind me. He looked like a businessman, all sharp lines, with a finely-tailored suit covering a body that was likely molded by hand by a personal trainer. I always hated speaking with these types; their condescending tone and mansplaining grated my nerves, and even though I was tempted to keep the money solely to avoid speaking to him, I turned around anyway.

“Excuse me,” I reached out a hand and rested it on the forearm of the man. He had been clean-shaven, with shorter hair then, short on the sides and sticking up straight when compared to the slightly-unruly waves he sported now. More so, he was more closed off when we had first met; no almost-smiles or jokes making him seem friendly. He didn’t look like the smiling type but rather like one of the busy businessmen who came through, ordered a coffee - black - and then returned to their corner offices to yell at assistants and underlings all day. His gaze was focused on his cell phone as he typed out a message, eyes only flicking up when my palm touched his jacket. “I think you dropped this.”

Surprise lit up his eyes before he reached out to take the bill from me. He assessed me for a moment, tucking the money back in his front pocket without a second look, as if the money was inconsequential for him. “Thanks.”

I rolled my eyes at his surprise, calling him out on it. “You don’t have to look so surprised.”

---