Where Do Broken Hearts Go?

10. Not The Type

How do my mornings usually begin? Exactly. 

Before walking inside, I fix the heel of my shoe. I was lazy and spend the last block walking on it, but now it's time to be presentable.

Strolling into the shop, I check my left in search of an English fellow. When I find him, he's wearing headphones and bobbing his head to some unknown sound. What kind of music is he into?

As I make my way to the front of the line, many pardons believe that I'm cutting. In reality, I want to sneak up behind Marcel. As I take his headphones, I place them over my ears and grab a seat. Oooooo! This is what you're into. I clamp down on my lip then raise my hands and a knee to play my air guitar.

As a giggle breaks out from my act, I hand the headphones back to their owner. "You like Rock. 70's Rock." I pinpoint.

"What do you know about Rock?" Marcel smiles, sitting the black Bose headphones around his neck. To free his long curls from his impolite headset, Marcel takes his time running his fingers through it.

"Just a little. R&B is more of my speed."

"Okay." He gives a soft huff as he glances down on his laptop keys.

"What?"

"Nothing." He closes his laptop with a secret behind his attractive smile. "Where's your coffee?" 

"Actually, I was in the mood for another milkshake."

"Let's get milkshakes."

"Any plans for the weekend." I shift my spinny seat back and forth. Sugar rush.

"I'm heading to Amsterdam. Thought I'd get out of here for a couple of days."

"Not for work?"

"Leisure." As he answers, Marcel picks up a gang of fries to stuff in his mouth.

"Tomorrow?" I ask. He nods. "Invite me." I pick up a fry, twirling it around before placing it on my tongue. 

Marcel's expression shrinks from confusion. "But uh..." He peeps my left hand. "I wouldn't want my wife going off with some guy for the weekend. I feel that's overstepping and I'm not that type of guy." He speaks with actual logic for the first time, but I'd like for him to set it aside.

"If I say it's okay," I pause as he watches me. "it's okay."

"You're not that type." He shrugs as he picks up another fry to toss into his mouth. "You're testing me and I passed." Marcel's brows furrow as he watches the waitress stroll by with a tray of burgers. Going to the menu beside him, he mutters, "Next time."

"Invite me." I nudge him to take his attention away from food. Consequently, Marcel mugs me as if I committed an offense. Biting my straw, I try hiding my smile, but fail miserably. Giving my head a little angle, I say, "I'm waiting to be invited."

"Oh, you're not afraid?" He leans toward me. "A short time ago, yesterday" He coughs, "you were scared of getting in my car."

"I've come to the conclusion that you're a cupcake."

"Oh, you're offensive." Marcel runs his hand through his mocha hair as he sits back. "You'd come to Amsterdam with me?" He rests his elbow on the counter as he challenges. "I know you won't. You're too stuck in your ways. Stick to your routine."

"I'm waiting." I take a drink from my tasty, Oreo milkshake.

"You want to go out of the country with me? I don't even have your phone number." 

I'm not sure if that was his way of asking for it or just throwing facts in my face. Regardless, I pluck my phone from my pocket and slide it against the bar. 

Slapping his hand over it, Marcel catches it. "Who said I wanted you to go?" He dips a french fry into his white chocolate shake. "I didn't." He takes a bite, then swipes his eyes in my direction. 

I bring my straw back to my lips as I stare ahead of me. So be it. "Okay then."

"I'm taking you to Amsterdam and there's nothing you can do about it." He stealthily implies, making me laugh into my straw. 

I wasn't expecting the control in his tone. My blunder earns laughs as I wipe the cold splatter on my face.

"Why you say it like that? Annoying." I stretch for a napkin, but Marcel snatches them away. I scold with whipped cream on my face. I hate you. I'm mortally embarrassed and he can't keep a straight face.

"Give me an answer."

"You said there's nothing I can do about it. I'm going." I reach for another napkin, but Marcel pulls the ones in his hand back as he moves closer to me.

"Just wanted to make sure you understood." He wipes my cheek with the thin cloth as I roll my eyes from Australia to Canada. "Even a toddler can properly drink a milkshake, Angel." He sits the napkin down to grab his phone.

"Whatever."

As he pulls it to his ear, he examines the rest of my face for dessert. "I have to get you on this flight." Marcel pulls his lips into his mouth as he looks down. "Paul, hey. I need another seat for tomorrow." He looks up to me with a subtle smile. "For a friend."

"I'm not your friend." I reject the label.

"That's a damn shame." He reaches for my hair. Pulling out a cherry stem, he flicks it at my face. My hand tried to swat it down, but I obviously missed it. "Buy it for Angel..."

"Hardin." I give him my last name.

"Angel Hardin."