Young Writers Society

He sat at the farthest table in the corner, stirring his coffee, silently reprimanding himself for having chosen the most tasteful café for his rendezvous with Sandra. Every so often he would gently rest his spoon against the side of his cup and gaze out the window at the hustling traffic. He glanced down at his watch, sighed, reached for his spoon, and resumed stirring his coffee. The melodic chiming of the door caused him to glance up as Sandra slid breathless into the chair across from him with a sheepish grin across her face.

“Tom,” she said casually, brushing her hair out of her eyes.

“Sandra,” he replied, leaning forward slightly.

Their eyes locked in a silent embrace as they studied each other’s features. Seconds passed and she broke the stare, glancing down at the cup of coffee where his hand still involuntarily held the spoon. Rising from her seat, she leaned across the table and inhaled deeply, sighing in delight. Tom felt the familiar tingle run along his hairline as her auburn hair grazed his cheek. He smiled as she settled back into her seat. She smiled in return, pulling his arm out onto the table, opening his palm against her cheek.

“Where’s my Kopi Luwak?” Her eyes flickered to the coffee and back.

Tom gave the impression of being puzzled, and began looking around the table. After a moment he glanced up, eyebrows raised.

“It must still be in the coffee pot,” Tom gasped, grinning widely.

“Hmm…” she gazed around at the other people sipping their drinks.

“You can tell a lot about someone, I think, by the coffee they drink.”

She reflected on her statement a minute before regarding it as an accurate assertion. She continued to observe the other customers, gently squeezing Tom’s knuckles in her hand, before she turned back to their table, glancing down at their hands, then up into his eyes.

“Don’t you think?” she questioned pensively.

He cleared his throat, and kissed her hand tenderly.

“Tell me what you mean.”

She looked out once more across the café and laughed aloud at a sudden insight.

“Look there,” she whispered, nodding her head to the table beside them where an elegant looking man in a dark suit sat. His black cropped hair was spiked fashionably. His cell phone lay closed on the table and he sat with his legs crossed, observing everyone from behind dark tinted sun glasses.

“Yes”

“A regular aristocrat is he not…seemingly anyways,” she smiled knowingly “He’s drinking Caracol!”

“Yes…” Tom pressed, not understanding the relevancy of this.

“Look at the way he’s dressed. He’s all about his image, the suit, the hair—everything’s all for show, why should his coffee be any different? Caracol is supposedly brewed using only the best beans, with the most concentrated flavor, yet the coffee itself is light tasting.” She took a breath. “He’s a superficial fake; I mean if he was as sophisticated as he gives the impression of being he would know not to add all that milk that would only go to lighten the taste even more. He drinks the drink of a connoisseur, but he ruins the natural flavor!”

“You’re reaching,” Tom sighed dismissively.

“Am I?” she grinned.

“Look at his watch, what make is it?”

“Umm…looks like a Rolex”

“Looks can be deceiving” she laughed “Look at the case back-- it’s clear. You can see the inner workings of the watch. See it?

“Sure”

“Rolex doesn’t make such a watch, it’s a counterfeit!” she exclaimed “See? All for show”

“The guy probably just got jipped, I mean who cares if the watch just happens to be fake, look at his suit. The jacket alone is at least a thousand dollars.”

She paused a moment, taking a sip of Tom’s coffee. Suddenly her eyes lit up in insight.

“Look at the bottom of his suit jacket, see how the end is turned up? You can see the label, Larry’s Suits. It’s over on Main Street, they sell imitations of the real expensive brands!”

“Ok, fine I’ll give you that one, though I still believe you can’t judge a person based solely on their choice of drink,” he said.

“I don’t think you can either, but there’s a lot that a person’s tastes can tell you about them. I mean, look at her,” her eyes shifted in the direction of a middle aged woman in plain clothes, her makeup minimal and drab, her blond highlighted hair hanging limply around her shoulders, though one could see she had halfheartedly attempted giving it some life.

“She looks like a middle-aged mother to me,” Tom noted objectively.

“Yes, she does doesn’t she, now look at what she’s drinking”

“Looks to me like…like a…”

“A double espresso,” she finished then giggled, “That stuff is rocket fuel and look, it’s her second. My thinking is that she’s so consumed by the commitments of her everyday life that she doesn’t have the time or energy to invest in her clothing, or even her makeup for that matter. I think she looks for that extra boost in her coffee that she doesn’t get in her everyday life. It’s nice to just lay back, relax and enjoy yourself. The uplifting feeling her coffee gives her, probably satisfies—or gives the delusion of living for her first and foremost.”

They both sat there, eyes lingering on her. They watched the woman glance up from her coffee, gaze around the room quickly before reaching into her purse to remove a small flask that she quickly sipped from before sliding back into her purse. Having done this, she gathered herself up and moved towards the door. Outside, they saw her walk towards a turquoise minivan and pull away from the curb, shouting at three children in the back seat.

Inside, Sandra and Tom turned back from the window and eyes meeting, burst into laughter, causing a couple of their fellow customers to glance over irritably. Their laughter subsided into long, drawn out sighs and Sandra again took Tom’s hand in hers and smiling said,

“You still haven’t bought me a coffee, or were you just not planning on doing so”

“Well, you just got me so wrapped up in watching you play detective that I forgot all about you. Why, what kind of coffee would you like? Than you can tell me what that’s supposed to mean about you.” He smirked, “better yet, why not tell me what my choice of coffee tells you about me.”

“Oh, well that’s easy”

“Is it?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact it is”

“Well then, why don’t you enlighten me,” their fingers brushed together, barely touching.

“You bought the most expensive, exotic, and stylish coffee all in an attempt to impress me with your sophistication”

“Is it working?”, his eyes flirting dangerously with hers.

“Mhmm, no. But I guess I like you anyways.”

She began to lean tentatively across the table and Tom, following, moved forward as their lips met tenderly in a kiss.