Thank you so much for reading my story, I hope so much that you enjoy it. I love to receive feedback to hear what you liked. As always everyone is over 18. Mica xx
I had been working with Roman today at college. We had a scenario to work through and give our considered options. It was quite interesting, and I liked working with Roman, he was easy going and always listened to my position. Sometimes he agreed, sometimes he offered an alternative, and we would talk through them before agreeing on an option.
"Grab a coffee?" He asked after the session had finished.
"Yeah, can do," I said, where?"
"Well, there is Jamaica in town or, yours or mine."
Well now, he likes working with options, so I gave him some option filters.
"I am twenty five minutes away by bus, parents probably out. Jamaica is a five minute walk away and is definitely not private, and I don't know where you live so privacy and travel duration are unknowns."
"Good work Miss Jones" he said, "you have taken the lessons from the last lecture to heart. Now may I give you more data to work with. Mine is fifteen minutes by bus and will be empty until around three thirty when my young sister will return from school, then around four, mum will turn up all flustered about what to do for tea. Dad gets home at around six. Jamaica, the nearest at five minutes, may be private apart from waitresses, but there is only one privatish booth, and its occupancy is unknown. Your house, twenty five minutes away may or may not be private, it is an almost SchrΓΆdinger situation. Does that help you with a preferred option?"
"Yes, what bus do we catch?" Well, no point in messing around, I hoped his body proved to be as good as his mind.
The bus journey was bumpy and the bus crowded, I managed to sit and Roman stood hanging on to the bar. "Next stop" Roman said and made his
way to the front of the bus. "Phew it is hardly ever that busy," he commented as we alighted. "It's this way."
"I think it is market day, that could be why the bus was busy," I suggested, taking his hand as he led the way to his house. It was just a few minutes walk. He lived about halfway down a Cul-de-sac of largish houses, three or four bedrooms, double garages, that sort of thing. I think dad calls this kind of road a Middle Management Designer compound.
We went in and Roman lead the way to his kitchen. Impressive, his mum and dad had pretty much every gadget, most of which I had no idea how to use. One I recognised; it was one of those expensive coffee machines. He put two glass cups on it and pressed a button. There was whirring and steaming and coffee started dripping. Cool. Their very own Jamaica.
"Milk?" he asked, I nodded. and he filled a stainless steel jug with milk and put it on the machine and pressed another button, the sound of steam again, and then, frothy milk which he poured onto my espresso. Nice. Worth it? For them possibly, for mum, dad and me, I doubted it. Nescafe worked for us at home.
"Let's sit in the sunroom," he said and led the way through their dining room to another room with a glass roof and big windows. He put the coffees on a glass table and gestured to a cane chair. I sat and he sat opposite, the table between us.
"Well now." He said.