MONDAY: Tall, Dark & Aromatic (Hookup Café #1)

by Fifi Flowers

  Good for me, it was a busy day and the next day was the same. But I’m not going to lie, he was in the back of my mind. In the café, I looked to the door far too many times hoping to see the man that had me obsessing. And it didn’t stop there, on my walk to and from my apartment, I took different routes—he had to be somewhere. And then without warning, he materialized right in front of me, at the counter wearing another, or the same, raggedy stained jeans with a clean white t-shirt that fit him quite nicely. My heart raced and I’m certain that a stupid grin was plastered across my face as I stared at him.

  “Is this for anyone? Poetry reading.”

  What? I was once again lost in his unusual pale green eyes and his wonderful scent. Then I looked down to see what appeared to have captured his attention as his hand with dirty fingernails tapped on a lone large postcard announcing open mic on the counter.

  “Yep, and we have a night for singing… musicians too. I ran out of the postcards. New ones come in tomorrow if you want to sing too. Pick me up… pick up a notice thingy for your bulletin board. Do people still use those? I wonder…” Stop rambling! He’s saying something.

  “I can’t carry a tune, not even in my shower with no one watching… or listening.”

  Did he have a shower or did someone let him use theirs or maybe a shelter? Was I wrong? Was he not homeless? Did he have a dirty job? Maybe a mechanic… something that made his nails so dirty.

  Then I heard words come from my cousin’s sarcastic mouth. “Did you need something, coffee? Pastry? I just baked some fresh stuff. Maybe Pansie here can give you an orgasm?”

  Shit! Marzi’s words slightly behind me quickly snapped me out of my daydream.

  “She’s talking about a cookie.” I was quick to clear up her words.

  “Too bad. I think I’d rather see how you would accomplish that task.” Oh my God, he was flirting with me?!

  “With the blush on her face, I think she might like to give you more than a cookie, too,” Saylor chimed in approaching the counter.

  “Could both of you please get back to work. Don’t you have things to bake and you, coffee to brew?” I needed them to go away and stop embarrassing me.

  “Well, I was just filling my display case,” Marzi answered.

  “And you are in my area, Pansie. Doing my job… Did you need a coffee, sir?” Saylor turned her attention to my Homeless or Not-Homeless-after-all-Romeo.

  Looking between the two women smirking at a flustered me, I muttered under my breath “fine,” grabbed a rag, and walked off not bothering to glance in his direction—I was mortified. Searching for a place to hide, I walked to the outdoor patio and started picking up after people. That was not how I envisioned seeing him again. I did like that he showed some interest in me by his comment, but caught off guard I had no idea what to say—not that I was given the opportunity to flirt back. Who was I kidding, I really didn’t have a comeback for his steamy reply. I was in need of practice, it had been too long since I had someone that made me feel something.

  “I hope my words didn’t offend you. Your beauty is captivating like the sun to a beautiful flower… a happy-faced pansy.” There were his poetic words as I turned to see him seated at an outdoor table with a porcelain bowl filled with coffee and a small plate hosting two orgasm cookies. I was sure my face was at least three shades of red.

  “Not at all. Sorry my friends prodded you.” I swayed from foot to foot, fiddling with the damp white towel in my hands.

  “Where you’re concerned, no one needs to push me. You’re gorgeous. So gorgeous that the right words escape me. I haven’t been able to get you off my mind and I have been stumbling to find the words to describe you correctly. To do you justice.”

  I was speechless for a moment and then made no sense. “Let me get you a refill.” His cup was nearly filled to the top. “I guess you’re good… I…”

  His strong fingers wrapped around my wrist and I felt callouses along with warmth. Heat. Heat that rushed through my body. “Soft.” His thumb moved up and down. “Warm with desire…”

  I didn’t process his next words; beauty, perfumy, flowers, glow… I was sure they were said in complete sentences but I was in la la land. Dreamy is the word I would describe him. I was sure my breathing was unmistakably irregular as I felt my nipples harden and my panties liquefy. I was a goner for him at that moment.

  “Hey… hello… Bossy-Pan…”

  “Yes, Evie. What do you need?”

  “I was asking you if you’d like me to bring you a latte so you can join your beau?” Employee number three of the day, my best waitress, was another one that was going to get an earful when I had her alone.

  “I’m sorry. I just remembered something I forgot to do…” I didn’t finish my sentence, just moved away as quickly as possible—I had been embarrassed enough by my staff. Inside, I walked right past all of the tables and right out the front door. I didn’t stop until I reached my hairdresser’s… I mean beauty engineer’s empty chair at the beauty salon a few doors down.

  “Good God, Pansie, what the fuck? You’re so red in the face. You’re shaking like a leaf. Breathe. Let me get you water.”

  I doubled over with my hands to my face as Vivienne walked away. What had just taken place in front of a man… a man that… that I what… was interested in? Obsessed with? A stranger that was possibly a homeless man. “What is wrong with me?”

  “I’d be happy to tell you, but I don’t have that much time.” Vivienne laughed. “It can’t be that bad. Did you screw up an order? Make an ugly sandwich? Spill coffee?” She handed me a bottle of water.

  “I’m crushing on a homeless man.”

  “Ooh la la! That could be a problem or not. Have you seen My Fair Lady? You could be Professor Higgins and he could be Eliza. Does he have poor speech?”

  “He speaks… he’s poetic. I thought he might be crazy the way he spoke but he’s perfect. He’s beautiful. A little dirty around the edges but he smells incredible.”

  “A large majority of them do not smell great. That’s normal.”

  “No, I mean he smells great like an herbal garden and soap.”

  “Are you sure he’s homeless?”

  “He has dirt under his fingernails, dirty ripped jeans, he had no money and asked for free coffee the other day, said he must’ve lost his wallet in a field.” He didn’t sound like someone to be infatuated with. “He was cleaner today and he spouted poetry to me and everyone called him my beau and told him I would give him an orgasm. I rushed out of there, straight to you. I’m never going back.” Shaking my head, I rolled the bottle between my hands, then unscrewed the cap and took a drink.

  “Listen, Pansie, if this makes you feel any better, I’m going on a blind date. He may be a homeless man too. Of course, mine has a computer or access to one.” She giggled. “Don’t stress, next week we’ll compare notes. Now! Get the hell out of my chair and go back to work, my next client needs an ooh la la miracle.”

  Pulling myself up, I hugged Vivienne and walked back to my café.

  Chapter Three…

  Back in the café after escaping to my therapist hairdresser, Marzi had gone home, Saylor was involved in a bit of banter with a guy that looked rather familiar, and Evie was singing along with music playing in the background while setting up tables for the dinner crowd. Things were mellow and it appeared that Homeless-or-not-homeless-Romeo had gone off to his field… or somewhere. His absence, I thought welcomed at that moment, felt like a bit of a loss or letdown as I prepared to leave for the day as the after-work-in-need-of-café customers started arriving. And my unhappy or unbalanced or I don’t know what I’d call it attitude didn’t get any better as I walked home with my favorite soup of the day, corn chowder, and a chocolate croissant for dessert. I didn’t even have the desire to scan for him.

  Thinking that he’d think I was a complete idiot or rude, I never expected to see him return, but I was wrong. Arriving at work a couple days later on my later schedule, there he sa
t with a small tattered old-looking notebook wearing the same clothing I had last seen him in, drinking coffee. Not knowing what to do, or if I should even attempt to strike up a conversation with him, I just smiled and went about my busy-as-hell routine. A few days when I had opened up the café for the day, when he walked through the door I greeted him with a hello and even poured him a cup of coffee; dark and aromatic, like he always ordered. That was pretty much how his visits went, the extent of our interaction. Well, except for what he always left behind on his table or on the counter; lists of words written on a clean napkin in very nice penmanship:

  Beautiful, petals, love, want, blooming, desire, blossom, happy…

  They were always pleasant words that spoke of gardens, flowers, nature, love, happiness and they had me making up my own list in my head—he affected me. Even if they weren’t meant for my eyes, as the girls said they were, I folded them up and stuck them in my pocket. Then when I got home, I looked through my collection to see if they had a pattern, if they connected, how many times he repeated words, and what were those words. Were they his favorite words? He was never out of my thoughts thanks to his poetic-word napkins. I probably should’ve thrown them away rather than keeping them as if they were treasured gifts to me.

  Then my questioning changed as pansies in a variety of colors appeared in planters I had yet to fill with soil and plants on the back patio. My chef Vin had talked to me about planting fresh herbs in the boxes as well and lo and behold those filled other planters. When I had the outdoor space redone, the contractor had suggested that wooden boxes be built into the surrounding benches since the area had a southern exposure—sun all day. Two years later, someone took it upon themselves to bring them to life. Who? Could it be the poetic man with dirty fingernails that gifted me with lovely written words on napkins? Was he perhaps a gardener? But why would he write words for me or plant flowers and herbs for me? Or the café?

  Marzi insisted that I needed to thank him. I couldn’t thank him for something that might not be his doing. I knew nothing concrete about him. I didn’t even know his name as he never got a to-go cup so that they would have to write his name and he always paid with cash, often crumpled from his front pocket. It appeared that he hadn’t found his wallet. I guess I could’ve asked his name, but I couldn’t think how or why I could casually inquire—we had several customers that came in regularly that I didn’t know their names. I just greeted them and wished them a good day or evening as they departed. So I was at a loss and I told my girls to leave him alone after the one day a couple weeks back when they embarrassed me in front of him. To my delight, there were no more uncomfortable scenes. Not to say that they did not razz me in private about Poetic-Joe as they secretly coined him and his napkin love letters.

  So he went from my Homeless-Romeo to Poetic-Joe until one open-mic Monday night when he stepped up to the microphone and introduced himself. “Basil, spelled like the herb but pronounced Bahs-el.” Then he went on to read a poem that had me happy to be leaning against a wall as it left me weak in the knees:

  To wake next to a Pansie

  To delight in her happy nature

  Smiling face

  Beautiful

  Warm petals kissed by the sun

  Soft, velvety

  Touched to my lips

  To love her…

  His poem continued on about his love of pansies mixed with sexy suggestive words as it went on and they had me blushing in places I didn’t even think could turn red. And if I wasn’t mistaken, when he stopped looking down at the piece of paper in his hand, he was looking across the room in my direction as he spoke the final words that included To gaze upon Pansie’s beauty forever. Or was it beautiful pansies forever? I questioned what I thought I had heard as he stepped down from the elevated stage and disappeared from my vision. Had he left as quickly as he had arrived? Who was I kidding, I was interpreting… hearing what I wanted to hear… to believe.

  Laughing at myself softly, I turned and pushed through the kitchen doors to splash some cold water on my face and get myself in check. Apparently, others had watched me disappear behind a swinging door because the next thing I knew an excited, smiling woman attacked me with squeals.

  “Basil and Bossy-Pan! Go figure! You are a garden of earthly delights. I believe he used those words in his ode to you.” Evie clapped her hands, grinning at me.

  “He was talking about pansy flowers in a garden, not me.”

  “You keep telling yourself that, Pansie. He wrote that for you and read it to you while looking right at you! It was as if the room was empty except for the two of you,” Saylor also appeared in the kitchen along with Marzi.

  “She’s right. I looked back and forth, between the two of you, and there were vibes going both ways. Go out there and talk to him, Flower,” Marzi encouraged me to make a move, that it was my turn.

  “What do I say?” I was so out of practice.

  “Start by telling him you loved his poem. I’m sure after that everything will fall into place… at yours or his.” Marzi, Saylor and Evie all shared a wicked giggle.

  “What are you doing here, by the way?” I asked Marzi who should’ve been home sleeping. She rarely came back in for mic nights or beer and wine events.

  “Well, I may have heard that Evie had signed him up for tonight and… well, I just had to see for myself if he was any good and what he was going to read to you! I knew it! I knew it! Now, stop stalling and go get him before he leaves and you blow your chance.” Marzi grabbed my shoulders, turned me, and pushed me toward the door to her pastry kitchen.

  “He’s probably already gone. He disappeared…”

  “Aah, no! He went to grab a drink is what I saw,” Evie assured me that he was still very much present last time she saw him and then after she popped her head out the door she confirmed it. “Yep! Still here!”

  She was right. When I stepped out, there he was standing in the spot I had occupied while poetic words dripped from his full lips—I’d never heard anything like them before. Probably because I could never get past his pale spring-green eyes… and dirty fingernails. Putting one foot in front of the other slowly, I walked in his direction and noticed not only a beer in his hand, but in his other there was a glass of what looked like white wine. Double fisted or maybe for me? Please let it be for me.

  Then he saw me and smiled. I returned the gesture and bravely continued my journey right up to him. Before I could say a word, the glass was extended to me and I took it, noticing that his fingernails were clean. And like a dog trying to decipher words spoken to him, I turned my head at an angle, confused… mesmerized. I must have looked like an idiot staring at his fingers wrapped around the wine he was trying to give me.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. No drinking while on the job?”

  Snapped out of my awkward stare, I directed my eyes up to the ones that dazzled me, and accepted the glass. “Thank you, I don’t think my boss would mind.”

  “It’s your favorite.” I looked at the glass and at him with a questioning gaze. “Vin—I think that is what he said his name was—said this Pinot Grigio was your favorite wine.” He was right, Vin, often my wine supplier along with my personal chef for meals at home, had given him correct advice about the wine selection as well. “Can we go sit on the patio?”

  “Sure,” I said while realizing that it really wasn’t a question as he grasped my free hand and pulled me gently along out through the back doorway to a small table in an almost empty area.

  Seated, I was nervous as if I had never been alone with a man before. “I’m not going to hurt you, Pansie. Beautiful Pansie. The girl of my dreams. A garden delight.” Had another man said any of those words I probably would’ve laughed in his face thinking they were cheesy pick-up lines, but something told me he was sincere.

  “I loved… liked your poem…” I stumbled with my words and he cut me off.

  “…there’s nothing wrong with loving it. It was about you. For you.” The back of his hand skimmed
over my cheek and I leaned into it, welcoming his touch which ignited little chill-bumps to dance all over my body. I didn’t even have time to process what was happening between us before his hand had flipped and his fingers had worked their way into my hair. Or how they had continued to wrap around to the back of my head and moved my head into the perfect position for his lips to align with mine perfectly. Sliding against my gasping lip, his tongue gently sought entrance which I willingly gave him. In that moment I gave myself over to him, moaning into his mouth as our tongues tangled together in a poetic rhythm; beautiful, magical, love, desire, blossoming—I could hear his words in my head. I was totally swept away by him.

  When he released his tight hold on me and eased back, unlocking our lips, I felt a deep loss. “Don’t stop,” I said in a whisper. “I’ve never been truly kissed like that before. Or felt a beard touch my face. I think I might be losing my mind. Maybe this isn’t real. I swear I heard every word on the napkins in that kiss. I felt them. That’s not possible.” His pale green eyes seemed to smile into mine as I couldn’t look beyond them to see if his mouth was echoing their sentiment.

  “Did you keep the napkins I wrote for you?” His hand was once again partially in the front of my hair and his thumb was grazing my face. “You inspire my words. It has been a long time since I had felt the need to express myself again. You’ve brought me back to life, invigorated my growth and I’m blooming again. Thank you, Pansie. My beautiful, beautiful Pansie.” His lips recaptured mine and I drank all of him in, swooning in his poetry. I was a goner. I had officially lost my mind… and probably my heart to a poet named Basil whom I knew little about.

  “Come home with me, Pansie.” His words, the next time that we came up for air as I realized that we had been making out on the outdoor patio of my business place… my café. Not something that I should be doing in front of my customers. But should I go home with him, to his home? Where did he live? Only one way to find out, and against my better judgement I decided that my curiosity outweighed my logic and I nodded.