The Coffee Shop
Nervously fingering his glass, leg tapping relentlessly on the ground, he bites his lower lip and smiles the uneasy smile of a man in way over his head. She seems steady and confident, two things that he is most assuredly not, as she seamlessly flows from one topic to the next. He tries his best to insert his own wit and wisdom into the conversation, but it’s obvious that he’s trying too hard and forcing it. As he sips his drink, almost too nervous to swallow, you can see him begin to perspire. Beads of sweat form on his forehead as he stutters at her question. The best he can do is to deliver a trite, pseudo-intellectual response, filled with muddled clichés. He’s lost in her beauty, trapped in the depth her eyes hold. He wonders what a woman such as her could possibly see in a man such as him. He can’t even look at her when he talks, choosing instead to speaks to his drink. She leans in closer desperately waiting for him to make a move, but he retreats further back into his own insecurity. As he speaks his hand lightly brushes up against hers. He stops mid-sentence, frozen in his tracks. His face feels flush with a sense of fear and joy. His cheeks turn a deep crimson as he pulls his hand back, nervously apologizing and looking away. Gently she leans in closer and takes his right hand in hers. His heard begins to pound as butterflies flap wildly in the pit of his stomach. Her porcelain skin is soft and warm. Sheepishly he looks up to see her crimson cheeks and smiling face. She tenderly cups his hands in hers. He trembles ever so slightly as the tension flows from his body, replaced by contentment...