Likewise, the intoxicating tease of a sandalwood-based aftershave.
Arriving at the Frothy Coffee a fraction before me, I watched his eyes turn to the only vacant table.
Surging forward, I hoped chivalry and discretion would prevent him from pursuing one of the seats as I don’t like sharing a table with strangers.
He staked his claim opposite me and removed his hat to reveal surprisingly thick, tousled salt and pepper hair that stirred something deep in my subconscious.
Surging forward, I hoped chivalry and discretion would prevent him from pursuing one of the seats as I don’t like sharing a table with strangers.
He staked his claim opposite me and removed his hat to reveal surprisingly thick, tousled salt and pepper hair that stirred something deep in my subconscious.
‘Frank,’ he said, the timbre of his voice deep and kind, his extended hand stopping a fraction on my side.
‘Ingrid,’ I replied as our fingertips touched and a forgotten sensation tingled its way up my spine.
‘Can I get you a coffee?’ he asked but I declined…I don’t like feeling obliged to anyone.
To distract myself I rummaged in my handbag until our drinks arrived, mine in a large cup sitting off-centre in the saucer and his in a tall tapered glass with a handle two thirds the way down that looked too small for those perfectly manicured, large hands of his.
I like to savour my treat, but I willed it to cool so I could drink it and not feel obliged to make small talk…I’ve never seen the point.
On any other day I delight in spooning out the remaining froth, but I didn’t like to in front of him, and this made me feel a little resentful as I stood and draped my scarf round my neck.
Negotiating the tight space between the chair and table, more dormant sensations tumbled into the present as I looked into those deep, brown eyes…and hesitated.
‘Ingrid,’ I replied as our fingertips touched and a forgotten sensation tingled its way up my spine.
‘Can I get you a coffee?’ he asked but I declined…I don’t like feeling obliged to anyone.
To distract myself I rummaged in my handbag until our drinks arrived, mine in a large cup sitting off-centre in the saucer and his in a tall tapered glass with a handle two thirds the way down that looked too small for those perfectly manicured, large hands of his.
I like to savour my treat, but I willed it to cool so I could drink it and not feel obliged to make small talk…I’ve never seen the point.
On any other day I delight in spooning out the remaining froth, but I didn’t like to in front of him, and this made me feel a little resentful as I stood and draped my scarf round my neck.
Negotiating the tight space between the chair and table, more dormant sensations tumbled into the present as I looked into those deep, brown eyes…and hesitated.
ends
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