I Like You a Latte {Completed}

1 | Meeting the Giant

Beverly had, for some insane reason, managed to wake up thirty minutes earlier than normal, and had twenty minutes before her first lecture of the day started. If this had happened on any other day, she would have spent her time in the library on campus, but her eyes had been caught by a sign reading Cynthia's Coffeehouse, and it led her to the small business tucked away on the corner of the street across from school. She'd gotten three hours of sleep the night before, so coffee just made sense; plus, locally owned coffeehouses were always so wonderfully cozy.

Tucking her scarf tighter around her neck and trying to ignore the stinging cold wind against her fingertips, she pulled the door open, soaking in the warmth and happily breathing in the smell of freshly ground coffee beans.

Small, square, wooden tables lined the two walls nearest the door, while the wall at the back held well-stocked shelves of coffee beans and hand-painted coffee mugs. Fancy machines to make all sorts of coffee-infused concoctions sat on one side of the long bar, while the other housed a large glass display of various baked goods. All in all, Beverly could see herself spending quite a lot of time inside the little shop; this time of day seemed to be good, too, since the place was empty at the moment.

She'd taken two steps to the counter when her eyes settled on the barista standing behind the counter, his head down as he cleaned a coffeepot. Pausing for a beat, she was amused to find that he was the exact opposite of what she would have expected in such a quant place: hulking, with shaggy, brown hair that dusted the tops of his shoulders, chiseled features, and an arm covered in tattoos that started at his fingers and disappeared under his shirt sleeve. His appearance screamed, Don't mess with me, while his occupation protested with, I love making coffee!

There was nothing wrong with it, either way, so Beverly went up to him with the same countenance her mother had said to use constantly: Be friendly always, Bev.

"Hi," she greeted cheerfully, swinging her backpack to her stomach so she could slip her wallet out. "How are you this morning?"

He startled violently, hazel eyes wide as he jolted his head up and spotted her. His eyes swept over her figure for hardly a split second before they returned to her face, and he swallowed as he tugged at the sleeve on his tattooed arm, as though he was trying to hide them from her sight.

Perhaps he was worried she would judge him for having them? As much as it sucked, she was sure that some folks looked at him differently because of the ink.

There was a beat of awkward silence before he cleared his throat a bit and greeted her stiltedly, "Hello. Fine. Thanks. What can I . . ." he trailed off, his eyes darting away, and—though Beverly wasn't positive—she suspected that the light dusting of red on his cheeks was a blush.

Aw, she cooed internally, he's shy.

"Sorry," he tried again, meeting her eyes for a quick moment, the fingers of one tattooed hand tapping rapidly against the counter. "Uh, what can I get for you?"

Smile still in place, and far more genuine now that she knew he wasn't all that intimidating, Beverly shrugged. "It's my first time here. What do you recommend? I like chocolate, if that helps."

She mentally patted herself on the back when he relaxed minutely, probably happy to be on familiar ground. "Our double chocolate mocha is the best in the city. Or that's what Cynthia says, anyway." The side of his lips tilted up just barely, his gaze still firmly planted on the coffeepot in his hands. "She's right, I think."

"Okay," Beverly laughed, figuring Cynthia was the owner, since the store was named after the woman. "I'll take that, please."

"Sure." He told her the total, took the money, gave her the change, and started on the drink, all without making eye contact or even really looking at her.