Journey's Story

“Come here often?” I looked up from my computer to see this guy with a sexy smile, surfer blond hair hanging down over his forehead, kissing his eyebrows. But what really caught my attention were his eyes. They were the color blue, reminding me of a hot summer day, lying down on a grassy hill underneath the shade of a live oak tree, looking up at the clear blue sky that seemed to go on and on forever. The memory made me smile, which I guess he took as an invitation. “Mind if I sit here?” he asked, pulling out the chair across from me and sitting down, not waiting for an answer. I looked at his well-built body, having already taken claim to the seat, wondering how to respond. “What are you doing?” he asked pointing to the open computer in front of me. “Working.” I answered feeling annoyed. It didn’t matter to me if he was gorgeous, I didn’t want to be bothered. Who was this guy? “What kind of work do you do?” “Why?” I asked with a lot of attitude, hoping that he’d take the hint and leave. “Curious,” he answered with a half-smile that had sexy written all over it. “I work in retail,” I said, instantly mad at myself for answering and engaging with him when I wanted him to go away. Maybe. “Oh? What kind of retail?” “You ask a lot of questions. And I don’t know you.” ‘You go girl.’ “True, I’m Kasey and you are?” he asked, extending his hand to me. I looked at his tanned hand and then up at his face, the one with the killer eyes and sexy smile. Then I turned my attention back to my computer. “Hey, Miss, can I get a coffee over here please?” he asked the woman behind the counter. “Want something?” he asked looking at me. “No, thanks,” I said, motioning to my coffee and half eaten sandwich. “You’re supposed to order at the counter.” “Yeah, I know. But Missy knows me, so we’re good.” Sure enough, the woman behind the counter with the name tag that read Missy, came over with his coffee and an apple turnover. “Fresh out of the oven, just how you like it. Want anything else? Our special today is grilled cheese with a cup of tomato soup,” she said, putting the dish and mug on the table in front of him. “No, I’ve already had lunch, just came in for coffee. Thanks, Miss, keep the change … for your trouble,” he said with a wink. Missy in turn smiled back and walked back to her station at the counter to wait on the next customer. “So where were we? Oh, I remember. You were about to tell me your name.” “Ah, no, I wasn’t.” ‘This guy can’t take a hint.’ “Come on, you know that you’re going to tell me," he said with a smile and those down-home blue eyes. “You seem pretty sure of yourself.” “Nah, totally shy and insecure. Damn, this turnover is good. Here, take a bite,” he said, tearing a piece off and putting it up to my lips. I didn’t know whether to bite his hand, shove it away or open my mouth. I opened it. The turnover smelled too good, not to mention the feel of this stranger’s fingers on my lips. It was warm, sweet, crunchy, and delicious. The turnover that is. ‘Ew, you let him do that?’ “Good, huh? Here’s another bite,” he said, tearing off another piece. I leaned back against the back of my seat putting my hand in front of my mouth before he could offer me anymore. “Just one more?” he teased. I shook my head no. He shrugged his shoulders and then plunked the bite into his own mouth, licking his fingers as he did so. My eyes were stuck on those fingers and his mouth. “I figure that since I’ve fed you, I’m entitled to knowing your name.” “Kasey, you said that was your name, right?” “Yes, Kasey Andre’ Lincoln.” “Well Kasey Andre’ Lincoln, do you always go around inserting yourself in places without being invited and feeding women that you don’t know?” “No, only the special ones,” he said, with a wink of his eye. “Special?” I asked, eyebrows raised. “Like in hot, want to get to know you better, where have you been all my life, that kind of special,” he said, finishing the turnover by putting what was left of it in his mouth. Finished, he took a swallow of his black coffee. “So, are you going to tell me your name or not?” I shrugged my shoulders in response. ‘You’re not falling for that line, are you?’ “So, you’re in retail. Exactly what does that entail?” “Lots of things.” “Care to share?” “I own a clothing boutique.” ‘Quit talking to him.’ “Interesting. So, it’s your own business?” “Kind of said that already.” ‘You tell him, girl.’ (That’s Icy, the name I gave my inner critic) “Are you like this with your customers?” “How so?” “Difficult, not forthcoming or friendly.” I took a sip of my now cold coffee almost spitting it out at his response. I wanted to tell him that it was Icy’s influence, not me. Too soon to show my crazy side? Plus, his grin had part of me wanting to wipe it off and the other part of me wanting to kiss it. I did not like what was happening. Icy, don’t even bother commenting. “Why are you here?” I asked. “I was just minding my own business, and you take it upon yourself to sit here and now you are totally …” ‘You go girl.’ “Getting under your skin?” he finished for me, his eyes dancing an Irish jig.