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Severe thunderstorms warnings had threatened all day. It was late June and summer storms were a normal part of being in the South. By the time I left work, the rain was pouring so hard, I decided I would just wait out the storm. I knew I didn’t want to waste valuable time sitting in traffic; today was already turning into a bust. I managed to forget my umbrella and got my clothes wet and my hair as well, thanks to the whipping wind.
When I arrived at Southern Delights, my aunt wasn’t visible in the front. I walked up to the barista working today, Kelley Long. She was my aunt’s longest working barista, a little bit older than most of the college age workers.
Kelley greeted me warmly, “It’s a mess out there today. What can I get for you?”
“Just coffee today.” I needed hot liquid to warm me back up and decided to keep it simple.
I grabbed the coffee and added two sugars and cream, pleased to see not many customers hiding from the rain. My favorite booth was open. I pulled out my laptop and sipped the warm liquid, waiting for my laptop to boot. Once I opened my manuscript, my fingers connected to the keyboard. I was able to zone out my surroundings and enter the world of my characters. So enthralled by my own writing, I hadn’t noticed others had decided to hide out in the cafe anyway. I glimpsed a growing line of rain-soaked stragglers inching towards the counter. My aunt was out front now with her baristas taking care of orders as fast as they were called out.
While my head was turned, someone had stopped near my table. I looked up into the beautiful brown eyes of Mr. Cafe Americano or whatever his name was.
He smiled, “Hello, I see we had the same idea.”
My face grew warm as I reached for my laptop and closed it. I’d only been writing about the man, as a fictional character, of course. Now, he was standing in front of me. “Yeah,” I stammered, “I have been caught in traffic with these storms before. Not fun, but it should pass in the next hour or so.” My eyes swept the cafe, noticing most of the booths had been filled. I gulped as I looked back at him. I couldn’t believe what I was about to do, but I offered, “Would you like to sit?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? You seemed pretty deep in your work.”
I waved as if it was nothing. “I could use a break.”
He slid into the booth in front of me. I tried to suck in a breath, but my chest felt tight all of a sudden like the breath had been knocked out of me.
Why was I reacting like this? I was a grown woman, not some teenager.
I glanced at the counter. My aunt didn’t seem to notice I was there today, which was probably a good thing. She would have caused me to freak out even more.
I turned back to Mr. Cafe Americano and smiled. It sure would be nice to know his name. I held out my hand, “I’m Nia Michaels.”
Taking my hand in his, he grinned. “The author?”
I frowned. He didn’t strike me as one who read romance novels. “How did you know?”
He winked. “Your aunt mentioned it to me.”
“Oh.” I nodded. Thanks, Auntie. “You are?”
“Brendan McCormick.”
Finally... a name. Then, I noticed he was still holding my hand. He had really nice hands. I pulled my hand back and placed them both in my lap, suddenly aware of my wet clothes sticking to me. I reached up and raked my fingers through my hair, which I’d recently had cut down shorter. On most days, I kept it smooth around the side with curls on top. The way my hair was drooping on my forehead, I was sure those curls had become a mass of messiness.
I looked back at him. “Do you work around here?”
“I do, two streets over. I work as a financial advisor at Nobles Finance.”
“Wow, you trekked all the way over here? You’re brave to walk in this rain.”
He smiled, “I like the walk. And Southern Delights definitely offers the best coffee around town, not to mention, I love pie. In fact, I’m thinking about buying a full pie for next weekend. Some good friends invited me to their home and I thought it be best not to arrive empty-handed.”
I chuckled. “That’s thoughtful of you. You’re going to make someone really happy with one of my aunt’s pies.”
“Do you cook too?”
I shrugged. “Not the way my mom and aunt cook, but I do alright.”
He grinned, “I’m not too bad myself.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
His smile was shy, reflective. “I learned from the best. You’re lucky the women in your life are still around. In the kitchen, I feel closest to the women who are no longer here like my mom and grandma. Those women believed in cooking old fashioned Southern meals and had no problem preparing for armies of people. I only have to cook for one, but I like to play around with...” he made quotes with his fingers, “... healthier versions of the food they cooked.”
“I’m sorry about your losses.” He was right, I was lucky. Even though my mom and her sister could be a pain sometimes, I didn’t know what I would do without them. I cocked my head to the side, “So you like to experiment with cooking healthy foods. Sounds like the makings of a real chef.”
His eyes locked on me. “In a past life, I would have loved to be a chef.”
I mulled over his revelation, feeling incredible with how much he revealed about himself in a few minutes. We sipped our coffee. Mine had grown cold, but I didn’t mind. The rain outside was still pouring down as if it would never let up. I was in good company and had nowhere in particular to be... other than getting back to my writing.
I can wait out the storm a bit longer. This is good research for my character, I thought to myself.
Brendan spoke first, breaking our silence, which hadn’t really been that awkward. I was surprised with how comfortable I felt around him so quickly. The image I had of him had been in my head for weeks now. The real man, Brendan McCormick was a treat to behold.
“So what sparked your interest in writing? ”
I got this question all the time, but I didn’t want to tell him my interest in writing was sparked by a bad relationship. Instead, I told him, “I have always enjoyed creative writing. I do have a day job, mainly writing press releases, blogs and social media copy. Not the most exciting stuff to write. A few years ago, I started on a story and it grew into a novel. I pitched it to an agent at a conference, and the rest is history.”
“That’s awesome. I’ve thought about writing a book. I’ve even jotted down some ideas.”
I leaned forward in the booth. “I highly recommend joining a writers’ group or attending a writers’ conference. It helps to have the support and learn about the craft.”
“Any recommendations?”
Recommendations? I tried not to make my grin too wide since I saw the possibilities of his question. “I can send some resources and links to you.”
“Sure, let me give you my card.” Brendan pulled a business card out of his jacket pocket that had the Nobles Finance logo on the front. Then, he pulled out a navy blue pen with the same logo.
Well, his day job is legit.
I watched as he jotted a phone number on the back, then on the next line, his email address. “Here you go. If you wouldn’t mind emailing me, I’d appreciate it.”
I stared at the card. My eyes were more on his number, my thoughts wondering why he’d shared it. I nodded, “I will email you soon.”
“Great. I look forward to seeing you again. Soon, I hope.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Brendan slid out of the booth, not taking his eyes off me. “Have a good night, Nia.”
“You too, Brendan.” I waved slightly, feeling all the comfort and warmth from the past few minutes slip away. I’m not sure why my nervousness returned after he left the booth, but I peered down at my hand, my eyes zoning in on his phone number.
Did he want me to call him too?
“What you got there?”
I jumped in the seat, clutching my chest. I turned to stare at my aunt. “Where did you come from?”
My aunt frowned at me. “Uhm, child I know your head is all messed up from having that good looking man sitting with you, but you do remember I own this place?”
I blinked, wondering why my favorite spot happened to be owned by my family. Nosy family at that. “Brendan gave me his information. I’m going to send him some recommendations since he’s interested in writing.”
My aunt slid into the space Brendan had just occupied. “Well, aren’t you Miss Smartie? Got a name and some contact information. I’m proud of you.”
I rolled my eyes and chuckled at my aunt’s silliness. Aunt Linda did have a point. Instead of a bust, today turned out to be a blessing. I had a way to reach out to Brendan McCormick.
