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When Sean Patrick Flynn walked into the Coffee Shoppe it wasn’t a case of love at first sight — well, there was some of that — but it was most certainly lust at first glance, at least for Mary Eileen.
He walked in with none of the false bravado of Hans. He didn't have the German’s swagger or the attitude of the guy who had always been the biggest, strongest kid on the playground. Sean didn’t have the faux intellectualism of David. And there was certainly none of David’s mama’s boy attitude about Sean.
Mary Eileen sensed it immediately, the way a dog might sense another canine that he or she both wants and needs. Yeah, there was a strong scent of animal magnetism at play.
Mary Eileen could tell immediately the man who had walked into the Coffee Shoppe, this man for whom the rest of humanity parted just as the Red Sea did for Moses was special. And he felt it so strongly he didn’t have to tell anyone else.
Here was a man who never whined, a man who never pushed or bullied, who was supremely confident enough to make others the center of attention.
And then, he spoke.
“Good morning,” the man said with a smile. His warm, blue eyes met Mary Eileen’s green eyes. He didn’t drill into her soul or anything like that. It was more of a soft touch, a caressing of everything that was Mary Eileen.
He didn’t take her breath away. Instead, he made it easy for her to speak.
“Good morning, to you,” Mary Eileen answered. “I’m Mary Eileen Sullivan. And I am here to serve you. What’ll you have today?”
Her Irish brogue was a bit more pronounced than usual, but it rolled off her tongue so easily. And the best part was, it matched his to perfection.
Mary Eileen Sullivan felt that she was home again.
“And my name is Sean Patrick Flynn, Ms. Mary Eileen Sullivan. I am very pleased to meet you,” he said, “ and I will have one of your tall, dark coffees.”
A “thank you” and a “you’re welcome, come again,” later, this conversation was finished. That was all. But it was enough for Mary Eileen.
The first time Mary Eileen spoke with Sean might have been only a short customer-barista kind of conversation. But it left her with the feeling that she was the most important, unique person with whom he had spoken that day. Nothing else mattered more at the moment he ordered a tall, dark coffee than Mary Eileen. At least that’s the way he made her feel.
“Tall and dark he is not, but he is perfect for you, no?” Christina whispered as Sean left the Coffee Shoppe. “He was just like a white Denzel Washington, the way he looked at you and talked to you.”
The next time, Sean and Mary Eileen spoke a few more words and they exchanged a few more words during the transaction after that. Eventually, the counter between them would disappear. But Sean was showing Mary Eileen the courtesy of taking his time as if he had all the time in the world for something that was good enough to last the rest of their lives.
Sean came into the Coffee Shoppe a fourth time, about a week after his first coffee, and invited Mary Eileen to join him at one of the round, wooden tables by the window.
She glanced back at Christina, received a nod and a wink signifying she could handle the two or three customers in line, and said, “Of course, I would love too.”
They talked for an hour. Mary Eileen and Sean discovered their ancestors had lived near each other in Ireland.
They both loved football, or soccer as the heathens in America would call the game, even though they rooted for opposing teams. The sports debate that followed added a vibrant, nearly erotic, flashpoint to their relationship even before they had undressed each other for the first time.
Christina refilled coffees with the grace of a Five-Star restaurant hostess, never intruding, but never far away in case she was needed.
Mary Eileen told Sean more about herself than she had told anyone, even Christina.
She spoke of her life in Dublin, why she left Ireland, landing in New York, and how she came to be in St. Isidore.
She told him about everything and everyone except David and Hans.
Sean spoke with what the Americans in the Coffee Shoppe would consider to be a soft Irish brogue, an accent that Mary Eileen didn’t hear. To her, he was speaking as everyone spoke, or at least as she spoke, with a smile never leaving his face. He too talked about how he came to America, much like Mary Eileen did, and how he had decided to stay in America.
“He’s a visiting professor of literature, from Dublin,” Christina told several customers the next day. “His name is Sean Patrick Flynn. He works at the University of Michigan, but he should be on TV. Isn’t he just perfect?”
Their initial conversation would be only the first time they shared stories and life experiences. That was the best phrase to describe what Mary Eileen and Sean did. They shared.
Their relationship was not as fast, furious, or frenzied, as that of two teenagers in the backseat of Daddy’s car. Mary Eileen was not racing to the finish line because she couldn’t stand to spend even one more night alone. Neither was Sean. They were not looking for a one-night stand. They were seeking something more.