whip it

‘Do you want whip with that?’

I’d been sorting through my pocket, trying to find two pennies, when her question startled me. It was a perfectly normal question for a cashier to ask, standing in a coffee shop. But when i noticed her budding smirk, I realized it was her tone that grabbed my attention. My eyes moved from her lips, up to her eyes. They were sea-green, framed by a slightly cocked eyebrow, and a shoulder-length cascade of auburn hair.

I grinned. ‘Yes. I would love some whip.’

Reaching across the counter with my two cents, I noticed dozens of freckles sprinkled along her pale, slender arm. Her hand slowly unfolded, starting with her pinkie and spiraling down to her thumb.

‘Give it to me,’ she said.

I held the coins just over her hand. ’You’re going to have to come and get them,’ I replied. As I watched her fingers, waiting for their next move, suddenly she pulled away.

‘Actually,’ she said, punching keys on the register, ‘How about I come and get them later? Maybe about 8 o’clock?’

The register whirred. I looked into her eyes. She brushed a newly-generated receipt along my fingers and said, ‘That is, if you promise to bring more whip.’

My ears burned. My chest throbbed. I would’ve brought her any kind of whip she desired. But it was the kind of promise I couldn’t keep.

whip it


Portland, United States

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