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“Where do you think I’m from?”
“London or something.”
“I have lived a few miles out of London,” he replied.
“So that explains the posh accent. Damn, I sound so posh saying the word posh.” She laughed nervously and he half-liked it, and half-disliked it.
“I noticed you haven’t been drinking.”
“I’m bad at drinking.”
“How so?”
“Like two glasses of wine and I’m kaput.” She laughed with a brilliant smile.
He found himself smiling at her candidness and he enjoyed her smile. It was a dazzling smile, something he had probably dreamt of before. It seemed like she was a genuine person, like most were when you met them, especially when they knew who he was. He observed that she didn’t know him.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Mikaela. Mikaela Johnson,” she replied. “You?”
He surmised she was partially educated in college. She had a typical accent, one that was quite American and her speech pattern suggested her educational background as well.
“Justin. Justin Henderson. Pleasure to meet you,” he said, extending his hand.
She looked at it, quite confused. Then she slowly held out her hand and he took it and gave a gentle kiss, one that almost touched her skin but it didn’t. It sent shivers down her spine for reasons unknown.
“Are you with the bank?” she asked quickly, as he stood straight.
“No,” he replied, “I was just lucky to be invited.”
“So am I,” she said with a laugh.
“How so?” he asked her.
“Well, you see that girl wearing gold?”
She looks like a walking sequin party, he thought. “Yes.”
“Well, she works in the bank, the Malibu branch. She’s an account agent and one of my closest friends.”
“And she would be?”
“Oh, her name? It’s Lynne, Lynne Young,” she replied. Then she realized that this certain Justin Henderson could be interested in Lynne, and he had probably seen them together earlier and wanted to be introduced through her. She suddenly felt bad about it. So it was for Lynne all along? She was foolish to even think he would be remotely interested in her. He was too good-looking for her, wasn’t he?
“Ah.” It was all he said about Lynne Young. He didn’t find her remotely interesting. She was too pale and had too much makeup on and she looked just a tad bit tacky. He had thought the dress would have looked better on Mikaela instead of her. But the blue dress was great on this Mikaela Johnson. “So what do you do?” he asked her.
“Uhm,” she looked shy at first. “Well, I’ve been a barista for a couple of years now.”
“Barista?” he paused. Was she the barista with the sincere grin from three days ago? She was, wasn’t she? Who could forget that smile? He certainly didn’t. He didn’t tell her this though, content on letting the conversation run naturally without the possible “oh my god, really?” interruptions that came out of women’s mouths.
She paused momentarily, wondering if he had begun to size her whole character just by her job. She didn’t belong here, she knew that, but maybe, just maybe, she looked the part?
“Yeah, barista,” she continued, “At Uncommon Grounds.”
He smiled. “Never heard of it.”
That’s probably ‘cause you have coffee in hotels, or you travel to some random coffee country for it, she thought wryly. “Well, you should. We’ve got good coffee.”
