"...and the young woman behind me will have a grande half-caf macchiato with extra milk." Irene tuned back in to the burble of conversation around her just in time to realize that the man in front of her was ordering her drink for her. Before she could say anything, he turned and flashed her a warm smile. He was older than she was, maybe ten years older, with steely gray eyes and precisely trimmed dark hair that led down into a short-clipped beard. He reminded Irene of some of her younger professors, the ones that inhabited that awkward and nebulous stage between 'peer' and 'authority figure'.
"I hope you don't mind," he said, taking out his card and handing it to the barista. "I've seen you in here practically every day this week, so I figured I could buy you the usual and you could sit and talk with me while you drank it." There was no hesitation in his voice, no questioning tone at the end of his sentence to indicate that she had the option to refuse--in his mind, the issue was settled. Irene had her coffee and he had Irene. For a little while, at least.
Normally, Irene would have been annoyed by the presumption, but... he did get her drink right. And she didn't exactly have any plans for the morning beyond reviewing some notes on the Spanish Civil War that she'd already gone over so many times they were starting to lose all meaning to her. And she had to admit, he did have a very nice smile. She felt a little buzz at the back of her head, that little 'click' that happened when the chemistry felt instantly right with someone, and she wasn't a bit surprised to find a reluctant smile spreading across her face. "Okay," she said, her long dark hair falling in a curtain over her face as she dropped her gaze to the floor for a moment. She felt as though she didn't know what to do with herself, as if her own audacity surprised her so much that her own body became a stranger to her for a moment.
It didn't seem to surprise him. He stepped out of the way to allow the next person to order, and reached his hand out companionably to hers. "I'm James," he said. "James Tenbroek. I teach art history here at Cornell. And you are...?"
Irene stepped aside as well, reaching out to take his proffered hand before allowing herself to be led over to the pickup counter. "Irene," she said, feeling a slight blush tinting her topaz cheeks. "Irene Nguyen. First-year grad student, studying, um... history history." It was such a crap joke and she knew it, but he chuckled like it was funny. Irene felt that little glow of happiness brighten like coal under the bellows.
"I suppose it could be worse," he said, an adorably crooked grin on his face. "You could be studying the history of academia, specializing in different interpretations of historical events. Then you'd be studying history history history." It was an even worse joke than Irene's, but the way he acknowledged and built off of her comment made her laugh as much as the attempt at humor. They'd only exchanged a few sentences, but she already felt ludicrously comfortable around him.
It only got better when they got their drinks. Irene sat down with him in a secluded corner of the coffee shop and he listened attentively while she babbled about her fascination with the interwar period and her plans to visit Spain next summer and her hopes for a research fellowship with Cornell once she got her doctorate. She didn't normally open up like this to anyone--even Irene's parents didn't know about her post-doctorate plans--but something about the way James leaned in and listened made Irene feel warm and happy all over in a way that she couldn't simply ascribe to the hot coffee.
It felt practically addictive, to the point that when James reached out and put his hand on her knee and said, "Listen, I know this is a bit forward, but... I've only got office hours today, and I can put those off. Would you like to go for a walk with me down by the creek? We're not going to get that many more nice days for a while, and I'd like to enjoy this one," Irene found her resolve to attend every single one of Doctor Lincoln's lectures crumbling under the weight of sheer delight. She was acutely conscious of the warmth of James' skin through her pantyhose, the delicious shock of sensation as she felt his presence and closeness on an immediate, tactile level. She'd read about this kind of instant connection in books, but she'd always dismissed it as romantic propaganda. She never thought she'd be feeling it herself.
Irene's eyes dropped again, unable to meet his gaze as she murmured, "Yes. Please."
The sky turned cloudy as they left the coffee shop, but then James slipped his hand into hers as they walked down toward Fall Creek and the weather didn't seem to matter anymore. It started dumping buckets about halfway down the walking path, but James had an umbrella and Irene had to lean up against him to stay dry and suddenly she felt absurdly grateful for the rain. She was missing class, something she hadn't done since she had emergency dental surgery during her sophomore year, but James had his arm around her as they walked and Irene knew from the bottom of her heart that there was nowhere else she wanted to be.
Even when the umbrella flipped up under a particularly strong gust of wind, it didn't dent Irene's perfect mood. Somehow, it just seemed like one more memory they would giggle over together. They sprinted down the trail, laughing madly as the rain soaked their clothes right down to the skin and finally ducking into the shelter of a bus stop to wait out the worst of the storm. Irene wasn't sure whether she was shivering from the cold or from anticipation when James finally leaned in to kiss her. All she knew was that the chill melted into wild, furious heat when she felt his lips on hers.
When the rain finally stopped, James said, "My place is just a few blocks away. Why don't we go and warm up, and I'll make you lunch? I'm not a great chef, but I can just about manage a couple of burgers." He gave her another one of those calm, confident smiles of his, the ones that told her he already knew what Irene's answer was. Irene knew that he wasn't just offering her food. She knew that if she went with him, they'd wind up in bed together.
"That sounds nice," she whispered, not trusting her voice to stay steady.
