Cindy Williams looked at herself in the window as she cleaned it for what must be the thousandth time, seeing herself and the mid-morning traffic beyond while the rich smell of ground coffee assaulted her senses. After four months working here she was sick of working in a tacky, second rate 'Starbucks'. The shadowy reflection in the window pulled her attention back, not that she felt any great admiration for the wavy image. Seeing a slightly over weight girl of twenty-two, with shoulder length, light brown hair, although she couldn't really tell from the reflection, but she knew what color it was.
There lay the seat of her discontent. Her hair wasn't brown or blond, more a sort of half and half like the rest of her body. She wasn't tall and willowy, like some of her friend, or short and cute like others. At five foot eight, a kind of half way between the two with neither of their redeeming qualities. She did have good legs, as her Mother kept telling her, but that didn't offset her small boobs. She knew guys liked girls with a big chest, and colored slightly wondering what they did with 'big' chested girls anyway. She imagined all sorts of things, probably all wrong. Her old boy friend didn't seemed particularly interested in her breast, wanting more to get his wandering hands under her skirt than anywhere else. Her life was like her body, neither one thing nor the other, and going nowhere in a hurry, just drifting from day to day with no direction.
She wanted something, but didn't know what, just something different. Her parents weren't much help in that department. At one time they'd been very strict, punishing her when she needed it, up to and including bare bottom spankings, but since she'd reached twenty-one they'd pretty much let her do whatever she wanted. She'd pushed the envelope, so to speak, just to see what they would do, like staying out later, going to parties, drinking, but they hadn't reacted, and for some reason she missed that. Wanting them to say something, or punish her some way, but they hadn't, so she drifted, and it showed in the reflection.
Cindy knew diet and exercise would get her waist line down, but couldn't keep up with it. One or two day was the most before making some excuse to herself for not going to the gym. Silencing the nagging voice in her head with promises of making it up with double the exercise tonight, or tomorrow, soon, quickly forgetting the promise. She sighed and started cleaning the next window on the world. In between her circling hand, she watched life going by, hating the smell of roasting coffee and curdled milk.
The pert-nosed face looking back made a mouse before she covered it with a squirt of 'Windex'. Nothing felt right this morning. Her bra felt tight, as did her uniform, and a quick look told her she'd probably get yelled at by 'old baldy', her manager for getting it dirty. Not that she worked up much enthusiasm to do anything about it. After the windows came the tables, piling dirty coffee mugs and plates into a plastic tray and hauling them to the kitchen, then back to wipe the tables down for some other inconsiderate jerk to dirty up again.
Working her way around the tables, Cindy spotted the same well-dressed man sitting at the corner table, the one he usually took. He came in every day about this time for a large mug of coffee, adding cream and sugar, rather a lot really. He'd sometime bring a book, or just sit and watch the traffic and people go by. Not that she was interested in him; she told herself, just curious about who and what he was. A lawyer taking a break from a case maybe? A real estate agent? No, scratch that, he didn't have that look, more on the stern side, not the forever smiling salesman type who tried to get all chummy, wanted nothing more than to get into her panties. One jerk boy friend was enough. The well-dressed man's salt and pepper hair cut in a swept back style; the side burns silver gray that gave him a distinguished look.
His face was neither young nor old, one of those lucky people who aged gracefully and slowly. He could be anywhere from forty to sixty for all she knew. He always put his dirty coffee mug and plate in the tray as he left, and his table was always clean. If he read one of the newspapers, he'd fold it up and put it back, not leave it there like some, and he always tipped. Not much, just a couple of dollars under the tacky advert sign on the table. Cindy appreciated that, not that she felt she'd eared it, as he didn't leave her anything to do.
He smiled at her if their eyes met, nothing more, just a quick nod, as if to say a silent good morning. She noted he dressed well, usually a suit or sports jacket and sharply pressed slacks, clean shirt and brightly polished shoes. It spoke well of him, showing he was careful in his dress and manner. The few times she been close enough to hear him order, she found his soft English accent intriguing in a Euro kind of way. Like some of the more well mannered news announcers on television. He was tall, about six-one or so, well built but not muscular, with a square jawed and slightly rugged, suntanned face, as if spending time outdoors. The salt and pepper moustache gave him an almost military air, but she couldn't say why. He was definitely the fatherly kind, with probably a daughter and grandchildren somewhere, yet he didn't wear a wedding ring.
This morning, he'd come in, ordered coffee and a roll, taking them to his favorite corner seat, and began reading a book. Cindy worked closer, cleaning one table after another, even though they didn't need cleaning. Out of curiosity, she wanted to smell his after shave, and worked the tables towards him, but he took no notice of her.
"Can I get you a refill?" She heard herself ask, blushing slightly. She had no idea where that came from, as she hadn't planned on saying anything to him. It just came out.
"Why yes, I'd love another cup. Thank you for asking." His soft British accent smoothing out the words in a lilting kind of way.
Cindy almost dropped the mug as she grabbed it, her hands shaking slightly. He'd looked up at her, bright, sea green eyes seeing into her soul. He smiled, one side of his lips moving up more than the other. It was a nice smile, and Cindy felt herself color as she walked back to the counter, feeling self conscious and telling herself not to stumble. Her uniform felt tight, more revealing, the hem a little higher than necessary. Ducking out of sight and a deep breath brought some measure of composure, enough to refill the coffee mug and return it to his table without spilling it.
