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“What the hell?” The man exclaimed in disbelief, trying in vain to squeeze the hot chocolate from his pressed shirt. He was tall, lean, and tow-headed, with bright blue eyes and sharp features. His clothes screamed at those around him that he had money, and I had just ruined his fancy, pressed dress shirt as if I had the funds to replace it. “This is just my luck, honestly.”
“Oh no—I’m so sorry about that—” I started quickly, remorseful right away. I couldn’t believe I had just ruined this stranger’s day that easily. I reached out to use my scarf and wipe his shirt, but he jerked away suddenly, heading toward the sign-up table and mumbling in acute annoyance to himself at my lack of manners.
“Okay, never mind then,” I snorted in disbelief, making a sour face at his retreating back as I walked away from him. I shook my head quickly, shaking off the rudeness of the stranger. I had a habit of letting bad encounters sit in my mind to wait and rot.
Twilight twisted the city into glittering lights and darkened corners. Early winter pulled the dry leaves from the trees in Central Park, and I kicked my feet through the piles of crunchy brown and red that tumbled over the sidewalks, pulling my thick coat tighter around my body. Despite my previous unsavory encounter, I still had a sense of excitement in my mind, and I wasn’t about to let it go to waste. My destination was a few blocks away, and the walk through the loud, thriving city would clear my mind. My breath clouded around me like a veil, and I hummed as I walked, brushing past the hordes of city-goers bundled warmly in their coats and scarves for the winter air. Though Christmas was weeks away, there were twinkling lights strung merrily over street signs, and frothy green wreaths hung on every visible door. Here, though it was generally overcrowded, there was a sense of purpose around me. All of the people commuting in Upper Manhattan seemed to know exactly who they were and precisely where they were going in their lives. I truly admired their perceived self-assuredness. I rarely knew what I was going to have for lunch, let alone who I was actually going to be in life. School was really kicking my ass and I needed something to keep me grounded before I went crazy. I didn’t really have a lot of friends in New York, most of them were back home in West Virginia. Games of Love seemed a perfect choice to fill the yawning void and help me along the way.
A little swinging wooden sign, twisted in colorful Christmas lights above a polished wooden door just ahead of me read Harlow’s Coffee and I grinned, crossing the busy street amid honking horns and vague curses in my direction. My fingers were painfully frozen in my pockets and my teeth chattered from the cold. I opened the door, sighing happily in the flow of warmth that greeted me. A little bell tinkled familiarly above my head and behind the counter, a familiar voice yelled. “Sorry, we’re closed! Come back tomorrow!”
I shrugged off my soft coat, smiling and shaking my head, and piled it haphazardly in one of the leather booths with my hat and bag. The building was small but lofty—tall ceilings and exposed brick combined to make it cozy and welcoming. It had once been an apothecary of sorts, back when such things unironically existed in the thriving New York atmosphere. There was a rough little brick fireplace burning brightly and crackling peacefully on the side wall with plush, worn velvet armchairs scattered strategically around the spreading warmth. The polished wooden counter was directly in front of where I stood and there were packets of rich brown coffee grounds displayed over the clear glass case full of freshly-baked pastries and desserts. There was another main room full of leather booths and then a little reading area. It was cozy and atmospheric, complete with another, smaller fireplace in the corner and several tall shelves of richly colored books on the wall-to-wall shelves. Shiny paperbacks and heavy bound books waited there for the numerous customers that would browse the selection, There were two short couches and several leather chairs there too, where caffeine-deprived book-lovers usually lounged in various displays of ease, cradling precious, used books in their hands. The room boasted beautiful mosaic windows, made of brightly colored stained glass, and it added to the soft ambiance of the coffee shop. I absolutely loved the place. At the end of the day, every day, my favorite part of my hectic life was coming into my brother’s shop for a hot coffee and a few laughs. Harlow’s Coffee was like another home to me, and I took a deep breath of the familiar sweet smell of fragrant, hot coffee in the air.
