Meet me at Noon

Prologue

  So, there is this guy. He comes into the shop every day at noon. He walks right up to the register, orders the same medium, plain, black, iced coffee, and marches to the same old table near the window in the back. The one with the rusted, wooden bookshelf next to it. It's become his daily routine at this point. Want to know mine? My routine nowadays consists of staring intensely at the clock near the entrance and waiting for the moment that it hits Twelve. Anticipating his arrival and watching as the door to the shop slowly opens- as he walks up to the register and flashes me that all too familiar smile. The one where his eyes wrinkle up and the dimple on his left cheek suddenly comes to light. Serving him his coffee..not being able to get his perfectly sculpted face, charming smile, and deep voice to leave my mind for the remainder of the day. Sneaking glances at him from across the shop. That has become my routine. It's been a little over three weeks since this whole thing started. You'd think I'd know this guy's name by now, but no. I don't know his name at all. Every Time he makes his order, he says to call for 'C' when it's ready. Nothing more. I've been curious about him since I first saw him walk into the shop that day (It was a Wednesday at Noon). I want to say something- anything other than "Hi, welcome to The Spilt bean! What can I get for you today, sir?" (As if I don't already know his exact order by heart).
I'm just scared. I mean..what if I try to talk to him and he immediately shuts me down? What if he thinks I'm weird? What if he spits in my face and dumps his coffee on me? You may think I'm being dramatic, but with the way men act toward women they don't find attractive, each of those situations sounds pretty realistic to me. On the flip side though, he might be a total gentleman. Maybe he will serve me up a nice, warm smile and shake my hand. Maybe then he'll tell me his name and ask if I'm free later. Maybe he'll-
My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the coffee shop's door opening. I look up at the clock. '12:00 pm'. That's him. My eyes dash to the familiar man striding over to the counter. Over to me. I quickly gain my composure by taking a few, quick, deep breaths, then adjusting my posture and giving him a friendly smile. He reciprocates and I get to see that dimple again- the highlight of my day. "Hi, welcome to The Spilt Bean! What can I get for you today, sir?" I welcome him the same way as usual.
He gives me a look. It's subtle, but it doesn't pass me by. He looks like he knows that I know that he knows that I already have his order memorized by now, and he's not wrong. I let out a soft, airy laugh and nod. "Medium, Plain, black, iced coffee?" He seems impressed, and for the first time in..what? Months, I believe, I finally get to hear him say something besides his order and order name to me. "Yeah, that's right. I'm starting to think that maybe I come here a bit too often." he chuckles with the last bit of his sentence and hands me $6.23 in exact change. "Alright, coming right up..." I look at him expectantly, hoping that this time, he'll give me a real name and not just "C". It takes him a second, but he soon realizes why I'm practically staring at him. "Cardlin." My eyes go wide, surprised that he actually did give me his name. Gosh, I hope he doesn't notice the shock on my face. I mean, after all, giving out your name is totally normal. My reaction to getting his name is totally not. I sigh and shake myself out of it, turning my attention back to him. I see his brows slightly furrow, and his head tilt a little to the right as he asks me, "You okay?" with a very subtle smirk on his face. He noticed. I purse my lips and nod my head "yes". He's giving me a look that just screams "I don't believe that." and I don't blame him. "If you say so. What's your name by the way?" He wants my name?! Wow. Okay. "Mahlana." I manage to spit out, despite the trembling of my voice and pounding of my heart.
"That's a lovely name." he tells me and I can't even attempt to hide the heat that rises to my cheeks. His voice. His eyes. The look in his eyes. The compliment itself. If I faint, he better catch me and take responsibility for this mess of a woman I've become. I clear my throat and thank him. He smiles and nods as a way to say "You're welcome" before making his way to his usual old table near the bookshelf and the window. My eyes follow him to his seat shamelessly, taking in the view of his strong back and broad shoulders. As much as I would love to stand around and fantasize about the way it must feel to have him hold me, I can't. I have a drink to make and a handsome gentleman waiting to be served.

"Plain, black, iced coffee for Cardlin, size medium!" I announce to the people occupying the cozy coffee shop space. There aren't many, but there's enough to fill about half of the once-vacant tables and booths. Almost immediately after my call-out, I see him coming up to the counter for his drink. He takes it, smiling gratefully at me while doing so. "You're brilliant, Mahlana. Thank you." he coos at me, and I feel like, for the first time, I'm not messing something up or being a nervous wreck. The smile- that I didn't even realize was being displayed on my face until a second ago- grows wider. Brighter. Maybe it's because of the lack of "thank you"s I get as a minimum-wage worker or maybe it's because of the way he said it, but I feel appreciated. Like my supplying a bunch of strangers with their daily dose of caffeine is actually paying off. It feels great. "No problem, Cardlin," I put a soft emphasis on his name, "just doing my job." He takes a brief sip of his coffee and turns his attention back to me almost as quickly as it had been averted. "Well, you're doing great. This is the best one I've had so far. Does someone else usually make the drinks?" he asks me, curiously. Can he taste the difference between my and Laura's drinks? It's plain, sugarless, lifeless coffee. How big of a difference could there possibly be? "Yeah actually. Laura usually brews everything and I just work the register, but she's out sick today."
He bobs his head understandingly. "Ever considered a job change?" I laugh and so does he, but he seems to be serious about the question. My laughter dies down and I give him my honest response to the question, "Well, no. I hate brewing. I always start to freak out and my hands start sweating so much that I end up dropping everything and ruining someone's drink. Which means ruining their day and therefore ruining my chances of actually maintaining my spot here. I can't be responsible for that kind of thing." I ramble on to him and he just nods along patiently until I'm done. "Fortunately, all you ordered is a plain coffee with ice in it. I mean, anyone can make that." I say, finishing up my ramble-sesh. "Laura couldn't."
"What?" I'm not even trying to hide the surprised expression that is enveloping my face. "Laura couldn't make it the way you did and she's been doing it for weeks now. Yet, you're standing here and dismissing it. Undermining your efforts. Why?" Alright. Woah. Didn't know I was in a stand-up therapy session. I could have sworn I was just on the job a few seconds ago. "It's just a simple drink to make, I mean." I avoid his question, trying to keep from having to participate in a too-deep-to-be-talking-about-with-a-stranger conversation about my crappy childhood and bad habits. "Hmm. I see. Well, I need to leave a bit early today." He pulls a blue ink pen from the glass jar labeled "pens" next to an identical one labeled "tips" and a napkin, quickly writing his number on it. "Here's my number. Call or shoot me a text if you ever want to talk about something outside of coffee.'' God, no. Please tell me this man isn't actually a therapist. I don't have the money or time for that. Okay, well I'm lying about the time part. But I really don't have the money. "Okay, thanks. I'll be sure to call or text you sometime." I take the napkin from under his fingertips, fold it and place it in my apron pocket. With that, he turns on his heels and exits the shop. I find myself standing there, frozen. "Did he really just give me his number?" I pull the napkin out of my pocket and examine it. I guess he did.