The café was nearly empty; the early morning customers had left as the afternoon came sweeping through the door. The dim lighting had yet to be inhabited by its outrageously different nighttime babble that would paint its walls in laughter and colour. Still, a few people remained, some sitting againced the poster covered walls, others sliding themselves againced pillows and two people sat slightly to the side, giving the impression of knowing one another, yet still being intimate strangers.
He sat next to her, his eyes gleaming in the low light. “So gorgeous, what’s your name?” he cooed to her, brushing his hair out of his face. “Kate, my name’s Kate.” She almost whispered to him, as if she was telling him a secret. “Kate… it suites you.” He grinned, “well Kate, I’m Storm.” He held out a chiseled hand, it was distinctly masculine yet held glamorously simple beauty. Looking down at it, a small smile played with the corner of her lips. Gently she took his hand into his and held it.“Storm…” she murmured, tasting each letter of his electric name. His head shot up, looking her in the eye. He just stared for a moment, “tell me… tell me something Kate.” He requested. Tilting her head to the side she sighed, “what would you like to know?” he lent into the space between them, tenderly he took her face in the hand not wrapped around her own. “Everything.” He breathed, then letting her face go and leaning back, sensing her discomfort, then continued, “how about we just start with what your comfortable telling me.”
Gazing at him she parted her mouth slightly. “I sing in the shower. I love the colour red. I enjoy baking sweet things, but often don’t eat what I cook.” She paused, biting her lip gently, and then continued, “I’m not always happy. I like to think I can paint.” She looked down at the table, digging her fingernails into it as she did, “oh, and I’ve been told I’m a little bit… well crazy.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “Crazy hey?” he smiled, “well, I’ll remember that.” She looked up at him, surprised, then smiled too. “Tell me about yourself?” she almost begged. He took her hand in his and kissed it gently.
“I enjoy long walks on the beach and romantic candle lit dinners.” He looked deadly serious for a moment, then laughed, “no, really. Ok, well, I play guitar, obviously.” He grinned, running her fingertips over the callused edges of his, “I like to think of myself as following a shamanistic path. I enjoy writing. Most of the poems on these walls are mine. I adore coffee, which is why I work in a café, well that and the owner lets me play here. I also like to cook, but not so much sweet things.” He looked into her eyes, and she felt as if he was looking straight into her soul, “I like trying to put broken people back together, it makes me feel like I have wings.”
“I have wings.” She simply said and he tried to swallow his laugh. “Oh?” he asked, wondering if she was trying to prove she was crazy. “Yep.” She popped her P like popping bubblegum, “On my back, its my newest ink.” She smiled. “You have ink?” he sounded amazed, captivated and impressed. She nodded. “Perhaps I can see it sometime?” he whispered, leaning closer to her and breathing the words into her ear. Giggling like a schoolgirl she replied “we’ll see… perhaps I can see yours sometime too?”
He sat back, surprised, “how did you know I had ink?” he looked down at his conservative work clothes, which covered each of his mystic tattoos. She blushed deeply, “when you were playing guitar…” she trailed off. He looked down at his sleeve, which was rolled up to his elbow. “I see…” he raised an eyebrow at her, and then smiled.
He looked around the now empty café, excluding the two staff still working and muttered, “man I’m hungry.” Then he looked at her mischievously, “well Kate, how about we get out of here and find somewhere to eat?” he held out his hand to her, and gracefully she took hold of it.