My day began like any other. Actually that's not quite correct; each day always has some aspect to it that you can never normally foresee. Some days you just can't predict what's going to happen. Some things you take in your stride, others catch you completely off guard. |Sometimes it can be good, other times it can be bad. I didn't know it yet but today was going to be one of those days. But in as much as I was going to start the day with a fresh cup off coffee and a "danish", this day was going to plan, and today was going to be a good day.
I approached the counter; the smell of the fresh ground coffee greeted me as I opened the door, as did the warmth from the interior from the coffee shop. I'd only gone from the car to the door, a matter of minutes but the cold was already biting through my fleece. I normally don't like to make coffee myself in the mornings before I go to work; I usually screw it up and regret having ever made such a foul tasting substance. The coffee shop I go to is sufficiently close to my work for me to have my breakfast such as it is there, and this morning was no exception.
The room was elongated, with sofas on one side by the big bay windows, with the counter and the checkout in the far corner. Jean the owner was talking to someone who I couldn't see who was seated behind the cash register. Both were taking advantage of "the calm before the storm", as Jean liked to put it. She was an attractive platinum blonde with short cropped hair, which gave her a severe appearance which belied her true persona. About 5' 6", in her early forties, lightly tanned from a sun bed, and generally speaking looks after herself training in a gym several times a week. After they opened up last year we got chatting and became friends. I even did the photographs for the shop interior. Before and after set of pictures to put on the wall of the shop itself, that would fit in nicely with the "loft style" appearance of the place.
After Gemma (my lady of three years), left me six months ago, I went to pieces for a while and my business suffered. It was Jean who took me under her wing and sorted me out. Apparently Gem' reckoned that I spent too much time in the studio putting all my energies into photography, and not paying enough attention to her. By the time I'd realised what was going on, all that was left of our relationship was a note in the kitchen saying goodbye! Jean said she was right! She'd seen the long hours I'd been putting in and wouldn't have stood for it either! She and her husband John had taken care of me during that period, and we'd been friends ever since.
"Morning Nick?" she shouted over, already putting her own coffee aside and moving toward the machine.
"Mornin, coffee ready yet?" I shouted down the length of the room.
"Give me a chance, you've only just walked in!" She replied, and turning towards the till, and said in a loud enough voice so that I could hear, "Men... always wanting things yesterday!"
The person behind the till said something to Jean I couldn't hear. Jean looked up at me and smiled, then said, "Yeah I s'pose, if that's your type," and then added to me, "Looks like you have an admirer Nick!"
As I approached the check out I could see who Jean was talking to. Seated behind the till was a woman in her early thirties who was now beginning to blush after her last comment had been made public, which she hadn't expected.
"Nick this is Pris. Pris... Nick." Jean said, making the introductions whilst animatedly waving an empty coffee cup in the air in our respective directions. "Pris is staying with us and helping me out for the summer before she goes back to collage in the autumn. I think my jaw must have dropped to the floor, or at least that's how it felt. Pris was a stunning woman of Asian origin, mocha coloured skin. She too had short cropped hair, but hers was dark almost black with reddish brown highlights through it. She had brown eyes that were almost Egyptian in appearance. The sort that are reminiscent of how you would imagine Cleopatra would have looked, with immaculately done eyeliner to accentuate them. As a got closer I could see her more clearly seated behind the till nursing her mud of coffee cupped in both hands as if she were warming them, with her elbows tucked in to her chest and resting on her knees as she blew the surface of the drink, giving her something to do whilst she dealt with her embarrassment.
"Don't mind her" I said extending my hand in her direction, "I'll take it as a compliment, whatever it was." Her full lips involuntarily pouted, whilst she mentally composed her answer. After a second or two they formed into a smile,
"I said that you looked tasty!" she responded, regaining her confidence again. Now it was my turn to blush. I don't mind women being direct; I just didn't expect it at this early hour from a gorgeous looking complete stranger. She spoke with a British accent, probably from the south of England. Not harshly accented, just correctly spoken. She took my hand, and shook it politely once with a surprisingly firm grip. "Pleased to meet you," she said regaining her composure remarkably quickly. Her eyes never broke contact with mine, and were only brought back to the real world by Jean arriving with my coffee and Danish. I released Pris's hand and went for my wallet.
"No don't bother, breakfast is on me." She said, "It's the least I can do for the job you did on these." She pointed to the prints covering the wall. "But don't think you'll get breakfast every day, I'm just in a particularly good mood this morning."
"What she means... " Pris interjected with a smile on her face, "... is that she got laid this morning!" This earned her a friendly slap about the back of her head from Jean, who started to laugh.
I feigned a wince and said, "Aw please, I haven't had my breakfast yet, that's way too much information at this time of day!"
"Well at least I'm getting some!" Jean retorted in my direction.
"Now that's cold! I said trying to appear as hurt as I could fake. "Now I'm going to take my celibate ass over there, read my mail and sulk for a while! OK?" They both started laughing as I slowly walked to the sofa by the wall, milking the hurt little boy act as I did.
From the seat I could see that they were both speaking closely as women sometimes do when they have some gossip or a secret they want to share. Jean in particular was stood in a way that would stop me from seeing her lips. Almost as if she were trying to stop me from reading what she was saying. Pris on the other hand occasionally glanced in my direction when she thought I was engrossed in my bills. Whilst all this was going on I was afforded a longer more leisurely look at Pris's reflection in the window. She was wearing a white t-shirt that was tight and figure hugging, possibly lycra, which was tucked into her jeans beneath her apron. She wore no bra, not that she needed to. Her breasts appeared firm and toned, as did the rest of her body. Her nipples I couldn't help but notice were visible through the tight material. At which point I smiled to my self at thinking that I didn't think it was that cold in here. I found myself mesmerised by the sight of her and physically had to check myself to refrain from staring. As she sat, there was a standard issue green apron resting on her lap covering a pair of faded blue jeans, the type that most of these coffee houses use. The jeans were figure hugging, and it was becoming self evident that she had a toned supple body beneath the confines of her cloths, and wasn't afraid to show it off. On her feet she wore a pair of running sandals. The type that you get in sports shops or outward bound centres. Her toes nails were painted a metallic bronze colour, and around her left ankle a gold chain was just visible beneath the hem of her jeans.
She glanced over again, and this time our eyes met, and to my horror realised that she'd caught me staring. I blushed again!
