Surprise.

A Coffee In Your Seat

Rosalie rushed to the counter, picking up a coffee for table seven.

She was anxious.

No, today was not her first day working as a waitress at a beat up coffee shop, but Rosalie was clumsy, much to her own knowledge and anyone she was around her for more than thirty seconds, and a klutz was never a good waitress.

But, for a college student sitting on a pile of debt bigger than her apartment, Rosalie needed cash.

She had lived this story her entire life. Hard work gave you the things you desired. Hard work kept you human, reminded you of the little things people took for granted.

That didn't keep her from thinking, though. Sometimes, she thought that perhaps if she were to be rich for just one day, she could finally relax. Finally have a life free from working, but she knew that it was only a dream.

She quickly walked to table seven, setting down the coffee.

"Is there anything else I can get you?" She asked, pulling out her notepad.

The elderly couple at the table shook their heads no and gave her a large grin.

Rosalie let out such a sigh of relief that she suspected that was why the elderly couple was shining her a large grin. 

She carefully weaved between the tables of the coffee shop, glancing at the clock. She only had thirty minutes until her shift ended, she could do it.

She finished up her tables and thankfully, her shift was finally over. She had collected a total of one hundred and twelve dollars in tips. She could finally pay her half of the rent.

As she headed towards the door to the coffee shop, a man gripped her arm.

"Excuse me, but may I get an espresso, no cream, no sugar." He said, his orange-brown eyes piercing Rosalie's.

It was one of the most peculiar shades of brown she had ever seen, almost orange.

"Uh, I'm sorry, I am off the clock." Rosalie said, turning towards the man slightly.

"Oh, I'm sorry," He said, glancing down, "Rosalie."

Somehow, the way her name rolled off of his tongue made her feel like this man could see straight through her.

Now that he had her attention, it was easy for her to acknowledge the British accent that laced his words.

Rosalie was confused at how the man knew her name, and the look on his face told her that he could see her internal struggle.

"Name tag, on your apron. Strange you haven't taken it off, I thought only on-duty waitresses kept their aprons on."  He said, a sarcastic smirk taking his features.

Realization dawned Rosalie and she set her books and personal coffee on the table the man sat at, taking her apron off with her freed hands.

"I presume you don't drink your coffee black? Let me guess, sugar and cream with a small bit of coffee?" He asked, the smirk never leaving his lips.

Rosalie narrowed her eyes at the man. She was aggravated at his almost complete perfection.

He had a prominent jaw line, and muscular body, which anyone could see by just glancing at him.

His dark brown hair, was long and curly.

It didn't dawn on Rosalie that she was staring at him in awe until he cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry, what?" She asked, forgetting the words she barely even heard in the first place.

What was wrong with her? She was never like this, but somehow this man was able to affect her in ways no one else had in her entire twenty-two years of living.