Nervous In A Coffee Shop

• Breanne Spencer, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2009

I’m nervous.
Breathe. Breathe.
I wipe my sweaty palms on my faded denim jeans.
Calm down. This should be easy. I’ve done it hundreds of times already.
I walk out my front door and head down the street. Each step taking me closer to what could be a life changing hour. The moment I find my true path, my destiny. The one time my future will finally look clear.
Or he could be another failure.
After a few minutes that seem to go on for hours, I reach the door of the coffee shop, late as usual. The same coffee shop I visit every day. The coffee shop I visit every day, that I now can’t bring myself to enter. I notice someone waving at me from inside. Cathy, my usual waitress, is pointing with large gestures at table seven. My table seven, that is currently occupied by a large, hulking man about twenty-two years old.
I sigh. Why is this so hard? I try to check out the guy through the windows, but the tint obscures my vision. I sigh again, this time in defeat and push on the door. Not even the familiar door chime gives me confidence, and I turn my back on my table as Cathy hurries to my side.
“This guy’s a hunk! Where did you find him?”
“Through a friend at work. Is he hot? I don’t want to turn around.”
Cathy’s answer comes in the form of spinning me around and giving me a shove towards the table. Finally, I have no place else to look, and I study the man with educated eyes. The first thing I notice is his size: he is huge! The delicate coffee table looks as if it could be crushed at any moment by his incredible figure. Don’t get me wrong, he isn’t by any means fat, but I can tell by the cramped way his body is folded under the table that he is tall and unbelievably muscular. A mob of messy brown hair, badly in need of a cut, perfectly frames a strong, clean-shaven jaw line and deep set brown eyes. His skin is tanned and he has large, masculine features. He wears a basic green t-shirt that emphasizes his bulging biceps and too-low dark jeans. He is, undeniably, absolutely gorgeous.
When I reach the table he stops tapping his fingers, looks up at me and smiles. I feel my knees go weak and lean heavily against the table for support. He has a perfect smile, straight white teeth and soft-looking, sensual lips. He stands and holds out a hand to me. I slip my hand into his, and he speaks in a deep, slightly suggestive and amused voice.
“Hey, I’m Adam and your hand is freezing”
I find myself smiling easily “Victoria, and your hand is actually quite warm.”
As we look into each other's eyes for a moment, sharing a smile I wonder if this might be the best hour of my life.