Barista Love

Order a doppio. Don’t be one.

It was the ponytail.

The bounce. The light brown ends. The cute way it curved, just perfectly. And then he saw her face.

Holy.

He walked in and made his order: an iced latte — premature for this time of year, but with the hope that spring’s warmth would arrive by the first sip. He wished she had taken his order, but was busy heating pastries and handing them to unworthy recipients.

He wondered all sorts of (odd) things. How old was she when she realized Steve from ‘Full House’ was the voice of Aladdin? Did she also think that the person who coined the term ‘lisp’ was an athole? Was she new? He hadn’t seen her before, and was certainly a regular. And most importantly: why didn’t he order a pastry?

Standing by the drink bar, he began stealing looks like an unapologetic thief. One by one, feature by feature, memorizing that face of hers. The button nose. Doll eyes. Velvet lips — perpetually smiling — even when she wasn’t (let’s all pretend that makes sense).

She was a Disney princess, which made him realize how unfit he was. At best, the only Disney character he resembled was Donkey from Shrek.

Dammit. That wasn’t even a Disney movie.

And of course, he couldn’t help but notice that perfectly punctual ponytail.

Hollly.

He grabbed his drink and awkwardly walked out of the café to complete his day’s tasks (which he no longer cared for), promising himself he’d be back sooner than any normal human being should be.

The next day, he awoke with a kind of excitement that children take for granted, and adults often yearn for. Wearing what he hoped was his best shirt for the day, he anxiously entered the café.

“Today I’ll learn her name.” He promised himself.

But he wouldn’t have the opportunity…she wasn’t there.

He sighed a sigh that echoed eternal remorse through the café walls. It was such an odd feeling. Her absence made him feel lost, like he couldn’t be found.

“Ok…doesn’t work on Wednesday.”

The next evening, his excitement was more of a nervous itch, wondering if he’d be left disappointed a second time. This stranger he set eyes on only days ago had somehow taken over his hopes, dreams, and unnecessary caffeine consumption.

He waddled in, only to see her — not at the pastry station — but at the register.

[Eek!]

“Hi!” She beamed with a gaze he hadn’t expected, but sure as hell dreamed of. It was as if she missed him; missed this person she had never met. That his arrival somehow made her day.

“…Hi…how are you?” He asked, wanting to learn every little (itty bitty) thing about her.

She smiled a genuine smile that made her ponytail bounce with exuberant enthusiasm.

“Doin’ great, what can I getchya?”

He made his order, using every moment as an opportunity to carry on a micro conversation.

She was a new barista, working part-time as she focused on her studies. He guessed she was studying to be a superhero, but didn’t say anything because…you know…secret identity.

He starved for more information, for more instances of hearing her compassionate voice, of having an excuse to gaze at those oh-so rosy cheeks, but this would have to do. His 60 seconds were up, and it was the next customer’s turn.

He was unnecessarily jealous, but didn’t necessarily care.

And so, every other day he’d return, ordering a drink even when he didn’t care for one. All he wanted was to see her, to take part in the micro conversations they shared, to learn at least one new wonderful thing about her.

“I’m Lana.” She said lovingly.

He was happier than he’d ever been.

Months went by, and the micro conversations progressed. Soon enough, the drinks became free — offered with a playful, “I got you” as she scribbled his order on the cup.

He beamed.

Wanting to spend more time with her, but fearing rejection, he applied to work at the café. The thought of spending hours at a time with her made his heavy heart sing an off-note melody.

But to his disappointment, he was hired to work at another location. He took the job anyway, hoping the commonality would bring them closer together.

And it did. Soon enough, each cup he ordered was accompanied by a hand-drawn smiley face.

As the months went on, he began to grow restless. His platonic — yet very friendly — relationship had reached a plateau. He needed to be with her, to hold that hand of hers.

Determined, he walked into the café with a confidence he manufactured out of desire. It was needed to brave the ironic question, “Do you want to grab coffee sometime?”

But he wouldn’t have the chance; she wasn’t there. Or the next day. Or the next.

“She must be sick.” He thought to himself, now worried.

After two weeks of daily letdowns, he optimistically questioned the store manager, hoping she was on some sort of vacation that involved having feelings for him (…what?).

“She left the company. Can I take your order?”

The wind fled from his chest. Fled from the heartbreak that rattled his insides. He couldn’t grasp the idea of never seeing her again, nor could he fathom why she hadn’t told him about her pending departure.

He was so sure he meant something to her, the smiles on his cups providing the reassurance with each passing day.

I mean, everyone loves Donkey, right?

Standing dormant in his own café, he pondered ways to give his two weeks' notice. He no longer cared for this job; its only purpose taken from him.

The next customer approached as he stared down at the register, drowned in thought over his lost barista love.

“Hey you!”

It was as if the life shot back into him with the sound of these two words. Two beautiful — even magical — words that somehow jumpstarted his once idle heart.

He looked up to see Lana, wrapped in a warm scarf that pillowed her now free-falling hair. She looked back at him with the expression you get when one affirms an inside joke no one else could ever understand.

Seeing her there before him, his face lit up with a gratefulness that praised fate.

Alive with emotion, he asked how she had been, and the two shared a micro conversation that eclipsed all previous micro conversations combined.

Reaching into her purse, he stopped her.

“I got you.”

Writer. Designer. Forever TBD. Follow me on Twitter @ImKalvinFadakar.