Chris Newman stepped onto the pavement from the front door of his office building. He had been into work early and now it seemed just the right time for a coffee, a good cup of coffee not instant or from the office machine. Freshly roasted Arabica was what he hoped to seek out.
He had seen the little café whilst walking through Soho, not far from his office, and had liked the appearance of its green painted exterior. There was nothing 'chain' looking about it, just a little independent sort of café. Not Starbucks, Café Nero or Costa but a little 'genuine' place, or so he hoped. He was not to be disappointed. Indeed, he was not going to be at all disappointed in the little café; though he had no idea as he strolled towards it in the winter sunshine just how important it would prove to him.
Chris was a moderately successful executive. Moderately successful at most things even his marriage which had gone fairly well until a few years before. Still, it had not been a terribly acrimonious break up. She and he could perhaps still be described as 'friends' and the divorce had not greatly upset the children - one of each - already at university. He was also moderately successful at golf and moderately successful in his private finances. Early fifties and with a good enough physique even if his hair had prematurely greyed; but even that was moderately successful - it had not thinned at all.
The 'ting' of the bell as he entered the café pleased him. It had a reassuringly old-fashioned sound, it was indeed a real bell, and the chairs, table, décor and counter of the place gave the same appearance. It was not at all newly fitted out and Chris took to it immediately. Behind the counter a young woman was serving a customer. Chris looked at young women when he could, trying to do it without looking like he was looking at women. He liked what he saw, and he liked her Eastern European accent when she replied to his request for coffee.
He sat at one of the few small tables, marble topped, drinking his coffee. It was just what he had sought. His intention had been to return straightway to the office and drink there, but the place pleased him and so did the young woman. Chris did not particularly have a preference in women's hair but he took to her fair hair in short pigtails. It was an unusual look, fitting with the rather unusual appearance of the cafe. Not pretentious.
The coffee was good, and he came again the next day. A little bit of a queue, so he watched the young woman dealing with her customers. A ready smile and a readiness to talk. Behind her, working away at preparing any requested sandwiches, a young man, dark haired and seemingly rather tired.
Not just that day but Chris soon found himself a regular, taking a morning coffee there and, often as not, buying his sandwiches there at lunchtime and sometimes sitting there at one of the tables eating and perhaps even exchanging the odd word with the girl or the man if they were not busy with customers. They usually were at lunchtimes; the place had become rather popular.
It is good to be a 'regular,' good because the couple who ran the café - and he soon established Milka and Toma were indeed a couple, a married couple working as a team - greeted him by name.
"Ah, good morning, Chris, how is you? Busy? Your usual?"
He got more of a smile from Milka than Toma. Toma working in the background always looked so tired. Chris found himself attracted to the young woman. It amused him to realise he had something of a 'crush' on her. How school boyish and so not right for a fifty-year old man. But was he the only one? He rather doubted that. There were plenty of other men, particularly at lunchtime, seemingly anxious to share a few words and hear her lovely accent and sometimes amusing English phrasing.
It was better, Chris found, to go there in the morning though that did not stop his lunchtime visits. Milka and Toma had customers in the morning, but sometimes he would be the only one for quite a few minutes. It was particularly good then to sit, sip his coffee, his cappuccino, and chat a little with Milka, whilst Toma worked away on the sandwiches, his shoulders perhaps a little hunched and with definite dark rings around his eyes.
There was something about Milka's eyes, something about the mouth and its hint of a lop-sided grin, something about those cheekbones, something about the way she raised one eyebrow on a question, something about... One day a red tee-shirt and pleasingly tight light blue jeans; another a plum coloured skirt with black tights.
One morning Chris was sitting halfway through a cappuccino when a couple came in for a takeaway. The girl's outfit was not 'unpleasing to the eye' certainly the male eye. A short tartan skirt all pleated, Royal Stewart tartan in fact, and a white tee shirt with most definitely no brassiere - the girl's nipples were clearly outlined. Chris could but watch over his coffee cup. He liked what he saw very much!
It was clear, though, that Milka disapproved. The bell was still sonorous when she said to the mostly empty café, "I like the sexes as much as the next woman..."
There was an audible comment from Toma but not in English.
"Okays, maybe more, but..." a shrug of the shoulders and a disparaging sound. "Not - how you say - retrospectable..."
"Respectable," put in Chris.
"Yes. You likes?"
Chris shrugged his shoulders with his palms rising upwards. He saw Toma do much the same. But what was this about 'maybe more' in regard to the 'sexes.' She meant sex no doubt. That was just what she meant and from occasional comments over time Chris got the distinct impression Milka really liked sex.
"You have lady friend, Chris? You married? Children?"
Lovely to see her leaning over the counter, her tee shirt of the day a little lower cut than usual and the swell of her breasts particularly visible with her hanging breasts emphasising her cleavage; she, though, had a brassiere, her eyes upon him as she listened with interest to his résumé.
"Oh dear, Chris, no lady. Toma he have me. All the time." She looked at him. "Perhaps too much of the time, no?"
Her smile was a delight, one side just a little higher than the other. Was she really implying she wanted sex more often than he did?
"We don't wants children yet. You have to be careful, no? We take pre..." Milka paused.
"Precautions?" ventured Chris delighted to be talking about such personal things. Personal things to do with Milka - to do with sex.
"Yes, precautions. Expensive no?"
That puzzled Chris. The next morning as a customer left and Toma was, for once not there, perhaps he was upstairs in what Chris assumed was their flat. He plucked up courage and asked Milka.
"Surely the Pill is free?"
"The Pill? Oh yes, you means what we talks about yesterday. No, I won't take that. We, in our country... not right. Precautions not really right, but... we a bit, no one needs know. We use um, you know little packet of..." she paused seeking the right word, "condemns?"
