by Carma Spence-Pothitt (bio at end of story)
Sally couldn’t drink coffee, but she loved the smell. So much so that each morning before work she would have breakfast in the coffee shop on the first floor of the building at which she worked.
She would arrive shortly after they had opened, to experience the slow, dreamy awakening of the rich, spicy, coffee aroma. She would order her usual blueberry scone with a regular sized cup of hot cocoa and cozy into the corner reading a mystery or science fiction novel.
Some days, Sally would have lunch at the coffee shop, too. She called it her “mid-day fix.” Her usual repast was a pizza bagel or turkey sandwich accompanied by a cup of herbal tea, for caffeine was a nemesis to her system. It made her feel tired, and if she drank too much it made her stomach acidy and also gave her a headache, similar to a hangover, but without the pleasurable buzz beforehand.
Other days she would stop by for a snack on her way home, a couple of biscotti (her favorite dipping cookie) to dip in her cup of hot cocoa.
Her coworkers loved poking fun at her. “Coffee shops are for coffee!” they’d say. “Not hot chocolate!” Or possibly the jibe, “Why not have a grown up drink, for a change?”
Sally would just smile, because she knew she went to the coffee shop for coffee. Just not in the traditional sense.
It was during one of her mid-day fixes on a brisk November day that she first noticed him. He was wearing a tweed blazer, the kind with suede patches on the elbows. It wasn’t the anachronism of his clothing that caught her attention, however; it was his smile. When he smiled, his white-blue eyes lit up like there was a candle lit behind them.
He was at the counter and had already ordered a small black coffee and a blueberry scone. When the cashier handed him his change, he smiled at her. The smile lingered as he turned to find a table, and that’s when Sally saw his smile. He didn’t see her.
For some reason, she couldn’t take her eyes off him, but felt compelled to watch him find his table.
When he found an open table, he set the scone down with his left hand but continued holding the Styrofoam cup of coffee in his right. Then he brought it to his nose and took a whiff, as if he was holding a glass of fine Chardonnay wine. His smile widened as he sat down.
The moment seemed so intimate that Sally felt somewhat embarrassed by her voyeurism and quickly returned to her novel and pizza bagel.
Probably 15 minutes later, the object of her momentary voyeurism got up and left, leaving behind a few crumbs from his scone and a full cup of coffee.
“That’s strange,” Sally thought. “He didn’t touch his coffee. I wonder why.”
The very next morning, there he was again. This time he ordered a cappuccino and two biscotti. Sally barely read a paragraph of her novel. Instead, she kept watching him, surreptitiously, over the top of the open pages. Again, he lifted his drink to his nose, smelled the aroma with unabashed relish and then sat down. He left the coffee shop without taking a sip of his cappuccino.
Each day after, Sally would watch him go through his ritual. Sometimes he’d order a small coffee, always black, on others he’d order a cappuccino or mocha latte. He’d always soak in its aroma before sitting down. Sometimes, when he ordered a latte, he’d hold the glass up and admire the artistry of the layers. But he never drank it. Not even one sip. He would not even dip his biscotti in it!
He was handsome, she thought, with brown hair feathered lightly to the sides and falling down just past the nape of his neck. He had a strong Scottish nose, pinkish cheeks atop high cheekbones, and frail brown lashes and strong eyebrows framing his translucent blue eyes. Sally pegged him to be in his mid-thirties, and imagined that he spent his days in some creative endeavor. Perhaps he was a graphic artist at one of the nearby marketing agencies? Or he owned one of the galleries? He had to work somewhere where the dress was casual, because he always wore Dockers, a polo shirt and a tweed blazer, which definitely was not the corporate norm.
Sally was so intrigued by this exotic stranger that she began to feel like she knew him. She imagined they were friends, perhaps more, sharing in some common love of coffee perfume. One night she dreamed they went to an expensive restaurant, ordered a decadent slice of chocolate cheesecake to share and two cups of double cappuccino. Together, they lifted the small mugs up to their noses and inhaled the full-bodied aroma of the espresso. Then, ritualistically they set the mugs down. He asked the waiter for the check and they left together, the cheesecake eaten and the coffee untouched. She awoke with the aroma still filling her nostrils.
Sally watched the handsome stranger go through his coffee ritual for two weeks before he noticed her voyeurism. He had just enjoyed an inhalation of his latte’s bouquet and was settling into his seat when some noise behind her caught his attention. He looked up and their eyes met. He gave her his winning smile. Sally blushed, dropped her head and quickly and tried to find her place in her novel.
The following morning, he chose the table next to hers. Sally went out of her way not to watch him, leaning forward into her book as if she’d gotten to a really exciting passage.
His voice broke her concentration. “I love the smell of coffee, don’t you?” he said, his voice rich and tinted with a faint brogue.
Sally could feel her earlobes begin to burn. She looked up, feigning ignorance. “Hmm? Did you say something to me?”
“I said that I loved the smell of coffee. Don’t you agree?” He repeated with a mischievous grin.
She smiled back. “Ahh, yes.” She sighed, faintly. “If only it tasted as good as it smelled.”
“Ah, yes. Very true. But, I still wouldn’t be able to drink it.”
“Really? Why’s that?”
“The caffeine doesn’t agree with my system. In small doses it makes me tired. But the amount in a small cup of coffee makes me sick.”
“Really? Me, too!”
“My name’s Adain,” he said, offering his hand.
Sally shook his hand. “I’m Sally.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Sally,” he said.
Sally could feel her stomach tighten and the burning in her earlobes start to spread.
“I couldn’t help but notice that you never seem to order coffee yourself,” he said. “I take it that you love the smell of coffee as much as I?”
Sally’s ears burned even hotter as she thought, “So he’s been watching me, too.”
“I guess so.” She said. “Especially when it’s freshly brewed, like when the coffee shop first opens.”
He agreed. Sally was about to invite him to join her, when the bells that hung from the coffee shop’s door handle began to jingle. Adain looked up to the entrance and his eyes lit up.
A dark haired woman, smartly dressed in a cream-colored silk suit and matching pumps, returned his smile and walked over to his table.
“Darling, I’d like you to meet Sally” Adain said. “She loves the aroma of coffee as much as I do.”
The woman offered Sally her hand. “Pleased to meet you. Do you have a silly ritual like Adain, too?”
Sally tried to act calm, but felt her face blanching. She shook the woman’s well-manicured hand as Adain said, “Sally, this is Monica, my fiancée.”
Sally smiled mechanically. “No, I just order hot chocolate. It’s enough to be in a coffee shop.”
“Well,” Monica said. “It’s nice to meet you.” She turned to Adain. “I have to go into work early, so I can’t stay. Did you want to join me?”
“Oh, OK.” He turned to Sally and said. “Well, it was nice meeting you. I guess I’ll see you some other time.” He wrapped his scone in a napkin and put it into his blazer pocket, took one last whiff of his coffee, set it down and they left.
Sally watched them go and then looked at the coffee Adain had left behind. Steam still wafted up from the Styrofoam mouth, and she could just catch the faintest aroma of coffee it gave off. For a moment, she imagined a slice of cheesecake sitting next to it.
The moment passed, she finished the last sip of her hot chocolate and left for work.
© Carma Spence-Pothitt. All Rights Reserved.
Finalist - Aroma of Coffee by Carma Spence-Pothitt
Carma Spence-Pothitt is an award-winning editor with more than 10 years experience in marketing communications. Although she has been writing fiction and poetry for more than 20 years, “Aroma of Coffee” is her first published piece of fiction. Like the protagonist, she can’t drink coffee but loves the aroma. However she hasn’t made a habit of hanging out in coffee shops or fantasizing about fellow patrons and slices of cheesecake (well, maybe the cheesecake). You can learn more about Carma at her Website, DragonWyze Communications.
Editor’s Note: The Aroma of Coffee was chosen for the first round for the following reasons: Solid title, interesting opening lead, pleasant read that flowed smoothly with no rocks left to stumble over. There is an interesting twist to the story, with a believable premise. Great ending, excellent writing, correct punctuation, no spelling errors. This is a memorable story. It was that slice of cheesecake at the end which pushed this story into the extraordinary.
