Yowzah Oneshot Collection (2)

119(G)

so sweet the hour, so calm the time

                      riversdamsel

As I wipe down a table, the creak of the door and the small tinkling of the bell alert me to new customers.  Glancing over my shoulder, I smile to myself at the couple as they walk hand in hand to a table in the corner and take their normal seats.

They’re regulars- always showing up on specific days and at exactly the same time.  If I had to pick my favorite out of those who wander in and out of my small tearoom, it wouldn’t be the elderly man that orders the same tea every morning and sits by the window, or the adorable little girl who always sweetly begs her daddy for one of my freshly made biscuits.  No, it would be this mysterious couple who always picks the seat away from prying eyes and sits until closing time, doing nothing but talking as if they have all the time in the world.

They make quite the pair- him with his ever-present bow tie and tweed jacket, his floppy hair matching his boyish grin, and her with a mane of riotous curls, warm eyes that seem to change from green to blue to grey, and a smile that seems to constantly lurk at the edges of her red-painted lips.

To anyone that gives them a brief glance, she would seem like the older of the two, her features more mature than that of his youthful face, but observe them for as long as I have and it just doesn’t seem to fit them.  Terribly old and full of wisdom that I feel I will never find in this short life, his eyes seem out of place in comparison to the rest of his face, as if he is an ancient soul dwelling in a young man’s body.  If I look long enough, I see it in her, too, and it makes them seem almost other-worldly.  And it’s odd because as long as the two of them have been coming to my tearoom, I have not once seen either of them look a day older than the first time they stepped through my door.  It’s almost as if they exist outside the boundaries of time, and despite their seemingly normal nature, I can’t help but wonder if they do.

Hooking a loose strand of my almost completely silver hair behind my ear, I fold the wet cleaning cloth in my hands and move to their table, smiling as I ask, “Will it be the normal, dears?”

They nod, kind smiles on their faces, and I move into the open kitchen, glancing over at them every now and again as I fix their order- one tea with so much sugar it could kill a horse, the other as black as night itself, and a large strawberry scone that they share.

Their fingers lace together as they hold hands over the table and speak in soft tones, and I can’t help the small smile from creeping up my face as I work.  I’ve only ever seen their kind of love in movies, or read about it in books.  It’s an unconditional, romantic love that seems endless, just like them- and it’s beautiful.

As I move from behind the table with the teas in hand, the woman is reaching out, running her fingers lightly through his longer-than-normal hair with a small frown on her face.

“It needs to be cut, River.”  I hear him whine as I approach and she gives him a pout.  “But I like your hair this long, sweetie.”

They stop their playful bickering long enough to thank me as I place their teas on the table, and I hear him give a sigh of defeat as I retreat back into the kitchen.  I rarely ever hear them call each other something different than dear, honey, or sweetie, so every time I hear their names it catches me off guard- but maybe it’s because what they go by aren’t exactly the most normal names in the world.