Page 19 of A Coffee Away

Esteban grinned. “How about some coffee?”

I stared at the coffee-shop logo over the door. “So this is where you work?”

Esteban opened the door. “Sure is. I’ll prepare something for you.”

The bells rang as we entered the coffee shop.

The barista smiled at us. “You’re back! Is this your friend?” Her blond hair was tied back in a ponytail.

“Hey, Gaby!” He turned toward me. “Yeah, this is Robbie.”

She kissed my cheek. “Nice to meet you. Take a seat.”

I glanced around. The dark-green linoleum of the counter gleamed under the lights, and the back of an espresso machine faced the round tables. Quesitos, muffins, cinnamon rolls, donuts…all were on display behind the counter.

My mouth watered at the thought of the sweet taste of the flaky, sugary quesito and how its cream-cheese filling melted on the tongue.

“Want something sweet?” Esteban whispered in my ear, sending goosebumps all over my left arm.

I shook my head. “Nah. I’m full.”

I gulped dryly as Esteban moved back a barstool at the nearest table. “Come on. Take a seat. I’ll prepare something for you.”

I sat, watching as he put on his apron and rushed to the espresso machine. I rubbed my hands on my pants beneath the table. No one had ever treated me this way. Cared for me in a way that made me feel special. It was surreal.

Esteban’s disheveled black hair fell into view as he worked behind the espresso machine. He was in his element.

Round tables filled the coffee shop, with baby-blue candles striped with gold randomly placed around the space. Their gentle, artificial glow made everything look ethereal. Antique lamps, imitating the gas ones from old times, shone dimly at the corners, with modern ones hanging from the ceiling. The shop was situated deep within an alley. From the table, I could see the lampposts outside, placed in a way that made the shop seem isolated. Special.

Jazz music played. I closed my eyes and let the saxophone and double bass take me away.

The place was cozy.

“We play jazz on Sundays but try to keep it fresh.” Esteban woke me from my reverie, placing two mugs on the table. He sat beside me. “Some days we play indie rock. Other days blues. And sometimes some bohemia. ¿Azúcar morena?”

“Sure.” I took the brown-sugar packets from him. I pointed at the mugs. “What are these?”

“I made some mochas with oat milk.” He slid my cup toward me.

Did he notice how much I loved chocolate?

I looked down at my cup.

He drew a heart shape with two drops falling from it.

I raised my gaze to him.

A faint smile crossed his lips. “Is it okay?”

I couldn’t help but smile. “It’s perfect.”

I added three sugar packets, then lifted the cup. The scent of chocolate mixed with the coffee aroma and the jazz playing in the background created a perfect moment. I couldn’t ask for more.

He chuckled. “So you like your coffee sweet?” He took a sip of his mocha.

I frowned. “You don’t add sugar.”

He shook his head. “I like it strong.”