The new hot barista.
I stare at the dragonfly on top of my latte and wonder, for a moment, if I should mess it up by drinking it. I settle for snapping a picture of it with my phone before testing out the new guy’s latte making skills.
I hear the tiny bell at the front door jingle again and just like that, The Grind House is empty again. Just the way I like it.
The stone wall constricting my chest is starting to move away, allowing me to breathe easier. I can finally focus on getting some work done. I take another sip of my drink and smile a little. New guy’s latte skills aren’t half bad.
“I saw you take a picture of my art. You like it?” I hear the barista’s deep voice and it makes my eyes dart up.
“Yeah, it’s cool,” I reply with a nod. His proximity makes me hyperaware of the bed head I’m covering up with a bun. Are my eyebrows doing that weird thing? I smooth the tail of my brows and fidget in my seat.
“So, what’s your name? I figure you must come here all the time if you have a usual.” He pulls up a chair and plops his tall frame down across from me at my table. He props his foot on top of his knee and does that thing where he maps out my features again.
This can’t be real.
I bring the yellow mug to my lips and drink to avoid answering him right away. I need time to think. I’m not used to anyone being so close to me. So in my space. I can smell the detergent clinging to his hoodie. I can see fraying threads on the hem of his yellow apron. I can see how gorgeous he is.
“Sage,” I finally answer. Hearing my name brightens his face and a smile takes over.
I notice how perfect his lips are. I’ve never seen a more beautiful Cupid’s bow. It’s like the hands of an artist created him.
The thoughts in my head have butterflies multiplying relentlessly in my stomach. Their wings stretching and flapping against my insides.
“Cool name. I like meeting people with unique names,” he smirks.
“What’s your name?” I ask, after taking another long drink of my latte.
“Mars.” The four letters tumble from his lips effortlessly. I slide my knuckle along my bottom lip and give it a few quick taps.
“Mars?” I say. I steal glances at him in between sips of latte. I’m drawn to his features. They’re perfectly arranged. I start to paint him in my mind before I realize he told me his name is Mars. With a furrowed brow I say, “Like the planet?”
He lets out a groan and stretches his long legs out. They’re so long his feet stick out the other side of the table.
How tall is he?
“Why can’t anyone ever say Mars? Like the god of war?” He sighs and pushes long fingers through his thick mop of hair. Loose strands fall against his forehead and I take another sip of my drink.
He catches me peeping over the mug at him and chuckles. “Not a girl of many words, are you, Sage?”
“Not usually, no.”
“You go to school here?” His eyes fall to my messenger bag. A bright pop of orange pokes out against the black canvas and Mars—the perpetual space invader—plucks it from my bag. “Poli Sci?” He thumbs through my political science book then slides it back in the pocket he stole it from.
“Do you always take things out of people’s bags without asking?” I shoot the question at him, and he deflects it with a charming smile.
“Is that your major?” he asks.
“Yes. It is.” I drink the last corner of my latte and try to look anywhere but in Mars’s eyes. They do stuff to my brain I don’t have time to unpack right now.
“You don’t look like a Poli Sci girl.” His eyes go all squinty like he’s reading pages from a book only…he’s looking right at me. I search desperately for the crushing feeling from the stone wall of anxiety, but it never comes. Only warm ears and slick palms.
“What kind of girl do I look like?” I wonder aloud. Mars’s fingers are cool to the touch as he pulls my hand away from my face and uncurls my fingers gingerly, like they’re petals on a flower. His thumb brushes over paint smudges on the pads of my fingers.
My breath catches on something in my chest and refuses to come out.
“You look like a girl who loves colors.”
The bell at the front door of the shop jingles, and Mars flashes a smile at me before taking his place behind the counter.
I look down at my hand, still the way he left it, uncurled with muted colors smudged on my fingers. My mouth is dry and my wild bird of a heart is beating against my chest with anxious wings. He managed to catch me completely off guard and now I feel unraveled.