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Well, maybe I did. I can’t remember.
I’m more worried that I don’t know how I’m going to get coffee.
Also, as I inch up closer to the counter, I realize I don’t even remember what my favorite coffee drink is. Is it a latte? Espresso? None of that sounds good.
Do I like those multi-colored drinks with the chocolate syrup that looks like it was made of unicorn shit? Yes. That’s what I like. I like stripes and sugar and whipped cream.
How is it that I remember drinking corporate unicorn sugar buzz drinks but I can’t remember my name?
I must be a sugar addict.
Something about this place tells me I have no chance of finding a beverage with chocolate syrup and two pumps of whatever plus whipped cream.
This place is hardcore.
There might be coffee fairies in the back giving every single bean a name before hand-roasting it over a tiny open flame.
Oh lord. Maybe I should go find one of those mermaid places. What’s the name? I don’t remember, but I’m sure there was a mermaid on the sign.
Or maybe none of this is real and I am a mermaid? I can’t remember anything because I just got my legs and Ursula took my brain cells
as well as my vocal chords?
Great. Geography, knitting, coffee shakes and Disney movies. This mental inventory should help me build a new identity from scratch.
Standing there biting my lip and squinting at the coffee menu, I feel someone’s eyes on me.
I know there are about a dozen pairs of eyes on me right now, ogling my boobs in this nightie.
But I sense another pair of eyes that are not doing anything close to that.
I look over. Standing at the espresso machine is…him.
Do I know him? I can’t remember.
But whether I know him or not feels irrelevant.
His are the first pair of kind eyes I’ve seen all morning. They are piercing, brown and locked on me and me alone. The stare is so definite, I don’t need to turn around to make sure he’s not making eyes at someone behind me.
He’s got shoulders for days, a strong jaw, and brown skin that glows from within. He’s so beautiful I have to control myself from audibly sucking in my breath.
I do not feel ogled by this man. I feel warmed.
He’s wearing a gray tee-shirt with the name of the place, Cortex, across the chest in minimalist lettering, and a black mini apron. He’s got two full sleeves of tattoos. His arms are sinewy and muscled. My heart races.
He looks like he wants to talk to me, but I wouldn’t know what to say if a fine man such as this ever came close to me.
And now, he’s approaching. He’s carrying little ceramic cups in his hands.
I freeze in place under his thrall.
“I’m sorry, I’m not sure what I’m doing here.”
The man smirks, but not in an unkind way.
“Sample?” His voice is deep and opens up a fissure of curiosity in some unexplained layer of ice down deep in my body.
I nod. “I am definitely craving caffeine. I’m not sure you make anything I like here.”
