The Coffee Shop
The early morning sun beat down on me as I stepped out the front door, my shoes slapping against the pavement. I took a deep breath, relishing the fresh air, before setting off on my usual ten mile route. Running was my ritual, a chance to clear my head and center myself before tackling the day.
As I jogged along the tree-lined suburban streets, I let my mind wander. Life with David had become so comfortable, so predictable. Ten years of marriage will do that. We'd settled into our routines, the passion dimmed to a warm familiarity. I couldn't complain. He was a good man, solid and stable. Our careers ensured we'd never struggle financially. Still, there were moments I yearned for something more.
At mile eight, I picked up my pace, lungs burning pleasantly as my ponytail swung behind me. The exertion felt cleansing, cathartic. This was the life I'd chosen, order and discipline over chaos. I'd given up certain thrills but gained so much more in return.
My watch beeped indicating ten miles completed. I slowed to a walk, wiping sweat from my brow as I spotted the coffee shop on the corner. I deserved a treat after that run.
The bell on the door chimed as I stepped inside, welcomed by the rich aroma of coffee. I joined the queue, eyes scanning the pastries behind glass. An almond croissant would pair nicely with a macchiato. My mouth watered just thinking about it.
After placing my order, I found a small table by the window. Sliding into the chair, I bent down to adjust my shoelaces, calves burning pleasantly. My breathing had finally returned to normal when the barista called my name.
I stood, straightening out my running jacket, and collected my order - a steaming cup of creamy macchiato and a croissant on a small plate. Balancing them carefully, I made my way back to my table, hyper aware of my spandex-clad backside jiggling with each step. My running gear showed every curve and dimple whether I wanted it to or not.
Setting the items down, I glanced around self-consciously, but the other patrons seemed oblivious, absorbed in their own conversations. I took a careful sip of the beverage, sighing as the rich flavor touched my tongue. Coffee was my one true vice.
As I lifted the croissant for a bite, the bell chimed again and in walked the most unusual girl I'd ever seen. My teeth sank into flaky perfection but my eyes were drawn to her.
She looked to be in her early twenties with pale alabaster skin and jet black hair styled in an asymmetrical cut. Her eyes were different colors - one brown, one blue - giving her an exotic allure. She wore a studded leather jacket over a lacy black corset paired with ripped jeans and chunky combat boots. Silver hoops lined the curve of one ear while the other held only a single emerald stud.
Everything about her screamed rebellion, from the tousled hair to the chipped black nail polish. She oozed danger and excitement, a stark contrast to the yoga pants and pullovers that filled my closet. I couldn't look away, even as I wiped crumbs from my lips self-consciously. Who was this girl?
Her mismatched eyes landed on me and she strode across the shop towards my table. There was a predatory grace to her movements, like a panther slinking through the brush. I sat up straighter, smoothing my ponytail.
"You don't mind if I sit here, do you?" she asked. Her voice was smooth as velvet, tinged with a hint of arrogance.
I hesitated. Part of me wanted to say I was just leaving to avoid this unpredictable variable she represented. But a larger part was curious. "No, go ahead," I found myself saying.
She flashed a smile - more smirk than grin - and dropped gracefully into the seat across from me. "I'm Mei," she said, holding out a pale hand tipped in chipped black polish.
I wiped my palm on a napkin before shaking. "Eliza."
"So formal!" she exclaimed with a throaty laugh. "Loosen up, Liza. Live a little." The nickname rolled off her tongue like she'd known me for years rather than minutes.
I bristled slightly. Only my mother called me Liza. But Mei's casual manner disarmed me. I found myself chuckling. "Just my usual morning run. Nothing too exciting."
Mei cocked her head, eyes narrowing. "Running from something? Or towards something?"
I took a long sip of macchiato to buy time. She clearly wasn't from around here. I chose my next words carefully. "Just part of my routine. Keeps me healthy."
Mei made a noncommittal noise, resting her angular chin on one hand as she studied me. A curled strand of black hair fell across her face and she blew it away lazily. "Routine," she said as if testing the word. "And you always stick to your routines?"
I nodded. Discipline and order were paramount. Surely she could understand that?
"Fascinating," she purred, though her expression suggested the opposite. Her eyes - one the warm brown of walnut, the other a piercing ice blue - seemed to see straight through me, past the exterior I worked so hard to perfect.
I shifted under that penetrating gaze, reaching for my coffee just to have something in my hands. As I lifted the cup, Mei's fingers grazed mine, so briefly I thought I imagined it.
"Say, Liza..." she began, leaning forward. "I'm feeling something pink and sweet. Be a doll and grab me one of those pink drinks, won't you?"
Hot coffee sloshed over the rim of my cup, scalding my hand. I suppressed a hiss of pain. What game was she playing? I opened my mouth to politely decline but the words lodged in my throat. Something in her unconventional beauty, in the crooked twist of her lips, compelled me.
I rose wordlessly, smoothing my ponytail. Mei smiled up at me, the picture of innocence. "Make it a large, won't you?" she called sweetly. "I need something to wake me up."
I joined the queue again, pulse quickening. Why had I agreed to this? She was a stranger, someone who clearly delighted in pushing boundaries. So why did I find myself unable to refuse her?
When it was my turn I ordered a large strawberry Frappuccino, the kind of drink I usually wrinkled my nose at. The sugar content alone was appalling. But I handed over my credit card without protest, ignoring the barista's knowing smile.
Drink in hand, I returned to the table. Mei's eyes lit up at the pink monstrosity. "For me? You shouldn't have!" She reached for it eagerly.
