They say that love is a funny thing. It is true that it can happen at anytime and for any reason. As can lust and passion. Case in point is what happened with Amy. It might have had something to do with the day being Valentines and maybe the pheromones were just thick in the air, but whatever happened it hit hard and fast.
I was there waiting for my order to be filled and I started to look for a seat. It was a busy day and there were no open seats. I started to look for a table to share. This is when I spotted Amy sitting alone reading a newspaper. I had seen her at this Starbucks before, but really never paid much attention to her, or must had been preoccupied. Today though, sitting just right next to the line, there was just something else there that drew my attention to her. Maybe it was her figure that I never noticed, that dark sexy hair, or maybe it was that perfume, or body wash that I smelled around her. I do know what actually sealed the desire was those eyes. I will never forget the deep brown sultry eyes.
I picked up my coffee and then added a rose that they were selling on the counter, paid for my order, turned, and took the few steps to her table. "Morning. Would it be OK for me to share this table," I asked her.
She looked up and said sure and slid the newspaper aside allowing me to sit. We started talking just a little at first. It was just about stupid things really. We talked about weather, number of people at the store, and exchanged first names and where we work.
I was so nervous talking to her there and she seemed so shy and reserved. I was just waiting for some way to let her know what I felt. Just an opening, comment, anything. Then just on a nervous little reaction to keep my hand busy I reached over and moved the rose just little.
"That's a nice rose. You should put it in water so that it would last for you to give it to your partner," she told me.
I decided that I had to take the chance. "Well, " I started, "it is not for my partner, but I hoped that it was for my lover." Then I pushed the rose over to her.
Her face turned red as she looked at the rose. She was quite for just a few seconds staring at the rose and I was sure that I had blown it. Then I saw it. The small smile and the look in her eyes when she looked up and slowly her hand reached up and pulled the rose closer.
Thus started the fencing match of words, actions, and touches.
"Just one rose for your lover?" She asked with a little hint of amusement in her voice.
"Can you tell me that two, three, or even a dozen would make a difference?" I asked.
"Depends on the lover." She reached down to pick the rose up to smell it.
"What about the one who this rose is destined for? Do you think more than one would make a difference?" I asked still looking for some hint of how she felt in her face.
"Perhaps not. A lot of it depends on the giver and what promises that comes with it." She set the rose back down and reached for her coffee. She lowers her eyes looking down deep into her cup.
"Why would it need a promise to come with it? Why can a rose not just be a gift? One that signifies desires and possibilities." I reach for the rose and held it up and her eyes rose up again to follow it.
She looks at it for a while and takes another drink. She takes a deep breath and I can see that something was decided, but still did not know what. "Gifts are dangerous things. They can raise expectations or they could signify the return of some other gift. Between lovers this is a token of what happens next. What if the lover cannot guarantee that expectation? Would it be right to accept the gift?"
I took a sip of my coffee, smiled, and said, "A gift given between lovers is just a token of attraction between the two. True, there is a hope that it creates; but it does not mean that it has to be a promise. The hope can be better then a promise. It can be even more exciting ... even erotic. The gift and showing my attraction will keep my lover's mind on the possibility. My lover could take the rose and walk away now and nothing else needs to happen, but the woman would still feel excited knowing that they are wanted. The man would be excited knowing that the rose was accepted and that there is hope for more. Either way, the rose has served its purpose." I put the rose in front of her and touch her hand. Just a little brush and was relieved that she did not move away. I reach over and pull her napkin to me. I wrote down my phone number and my address. "I am home by five. No need to call if you don't want to. I will be home all night." I set the note in front of her and drank some of my coffee.
She picks up the rose brings it up to her nose and smells it again. "No promise OK, but there is hope." She looks me in the eye and smiles a mischievous smile. Her foot ran up my leg and it sent shivers up my spine. She picks up the napkin puts it in her purse gets up and leaves with the rose in her hand.
"Well here's to hope," I thought. I finish the cup, get up, and leave Starbucks as well.
That day was just sort of blissful agony. All I could think of was that parting smile, the touch of her leg, and the hope for tonight. I wondered if she would come. I wonder if she would call. I knew that more than likely, that I will not see her again. But that spark of hope remained. It set me on edge all day. I was in this state of excitement that I had no intention of releasing. The women in my office who received flowers just made the feeling even worse. All day I counted down the hours. My work was less then my normal quality, but I some how fumbled my way through it.