A Meeting
Only a few cafes in the area kept their doors open this late, and those were only equipped with a skeleton crew, each individual counting down the minutes until closing and turning off that misleadingly welcoming sign brightening the darkness outside the door. Rachel was focusing more on the prospect of sleeping in tomorrow than on her task of cleaning the espresso machine when the little chime hanging from the door gave its customary cheerful jingle, warning her that she'd need to smile.
He had better not want any espresso, she thinks darkly. Turning and putting on her best glad-to-see-you smile, she wished the man who had just walked in a cheerful, if a few hours late, "Good evening!" He sincerity was helped by the fact that the gentleman wasn't hard on the eyes: rather handsome in a way, actually, with his neatly trimmed beard, black jeans and black polo shirt. He returned her smile with a smile of his own, wishing her a good evening as well, and asked for a cup of coffee, strong and black. Rachel didn't mind having to make a fresh pot. She was just thankful that he hadn't asked for an espresso.
Tom, coming out of the back room with an armful of supplies to refill the napkin and straw dispensers, the stirrers, the sugar and sugar-substitute packets and the spoons, furtively made a face at her. She shrugged with a wry look; Tom had just finished cleaning the coffee pot a few minutes ago.
"There you go, sir," Rachel smiled and handed the customer his cup and saucer. "Careful, it's hot," she cautioned.
"Just the way I like it," the gentleman smiled as he paid her a couple of crisp dollar bills. "Thank you."
He pocketed the change and went to take a seat at one of the smaller tables by the window that made up the side wall of the cafe, gazing out the window as he sipped his coffee, his back to the door. Rachel thought idly that the view from the back wasn't that bad, either, but her thoughts were interrupted by the cheerful jingle of the door chime yet again. Two customers within five minutes of each other, so late at night, was nearly unheard of. It wasn't as though this cafe was very well known, being an independently-run place that had just started last November. They were constantly competing against the chain coffee shops that dotted street corners, and that freak blizzard this past winter hadn't helped the new business any.
Tom, finishing replenishing the sugar packets, turned to glance at the entering figure, then shot Rachel a meaningful glance that said clearly, I've got this one.
Rachel smiled knowingly and went to take out the trash. She didn't blame Tom, really. The woman who had just walked in was beautiful, and she knew it. Just the proud way she carried herself bordered on haughtiness; Rachel thought she might be an actress. As Rachel went to the back room, she saw Tom flash the lady his best winning smile and ask if there was anything he could do for her.
When she returned, Tom was sulkily recleaning the espresso machine and the lady was sitting at the table with the gentleman who had come in a little while ago, dopo espresso macchiato in her finely manicured hand. Ah, so that's it. Figured. Rachel gave Tom a wry pat on the shoulder and thanked him for cleaning the espresso machine for her.
He had better not want any espresso, she thinks darkly. Turning and putting on her best glad-to-see-you smile, she wished the man who had just walked in a cheerful, if a few hours late, "Good evening!" He sincerity was helped by the fact that the gentleman wasn't hard on the eyes: rather handsome in a way, actually, with his neatly trimmed beard, black jeans and black polo shirt. He returned her smile with a smile of his own, wishing her a good evening as well, and asked for a cup of coffee, strong and black. Rachel didn't mind having to make a fresh pot. She was just thankful that he hadn't asked for an espresso.
Tom, coming out of the back room with an armful of supplies to refill the napkin and straw dispensers, the stirrers, the sugar and sugar-substitute packets and the spoons, furtively made a face at her. She shrugged with a wry look; Tom had just finished cleaning the coffee pot a few minutes ago.
"There you go, sir," Rachel smiled and handed the customer his cup and saucer. "Careful, it's hot," she cautioned.
"Just the way I like it," the gentleman smiled as he paid her a couple of crisp dollar bills. "Thank you."
He pocketed the change and went to take a seat at one of the smaller tables by the window that made up the side wall of the cafe, gazing out the window as he sipped his coffee, his back to the door. Rachel thought idly that the view from the back wasn't that bad, either, but her thoughts were interrupted by the cheerful jingle of the door chime yet again. Two customers within five minutes of each other, so late at night, was nearly unheard of. It wasn't as though this cafe was very well known, being an independently-run place that had just started last November. They were constantly competing against the chain coffee shops that dotted street corners, and that freak blizzard this past winter hadn't helped the new business any.
Tom, finishing replenishing the sugar packets, turned to glance at the entering figure, then shot Rachel a meaningful glance that said clearly, I've got this one.
Rachel smiled knowingly and went to take out the trash. She didn't blame Tom, really. The woman who had just walked in was beautiful, and she knew it. Just the proud way she carried herself bordered on haughtiness; Rachel thought she might be an actress. As Rachel went to the back room, she saw Tom flash the lady his best winning smile and ask if there was anything he could do for her.
When she returned, Tom was sulkily recleaning the espresso machine and the lady was sitting at the table with the gentleman who had come in a little while ago, dopo espresso macchiato in her finely manicured hand. Ah, so that's it. Figured. Rachel gave Tom a wry pat on the shoulder and thanked him for cleaning the espresso machine for her.