Coffee isn’t really my thing. I say that a lot, and it’s mostly true, even though I stop to pick up a latte on my way to work, every day, at the same coffee shop. Sometimes I sit in the coffee shop on the weekend too, just to get out of the house while I work on a few things, using their wireless connection. But really, I’m not big on coffee. I guess it’s easy to think otherwise, but I never have more than one a-day. Well, two a day, at most.
The best thing about getting my coffee every morning was Sue. Sue’s smile charged my day every day, setting me off to work with a happier demeanor than I’d woken with, without fail. Smiles can do that and Sue’s smile was friendly, radiant and a sight for tired eyes.
Sue looked to be in her early thirties, older than the rest of the staff, but her mature beauty was a stark contrast to the tattoos, piercings and unnaturally colored hair most of the employees used to assert their individuality. Sue’s individuality was classical good looks that were hard to ignore. Her hair was light brown and naturally wavy. Her eyes were blue, her mouth lush and inviting and her skin was a slight olive color that exuded health. It was her smile that created my attraction to her though. Ever-present and warm, Sue appeared to be genuinely happy to be working in the shop and helping the working masses in her small way.
I’d never exchanged more than a few words with her in all the months she’d worked in the shop, the only reason I knew she was “Sue” was her name tag, but every morning I looked forward to seeing her smile and secretly harbored a wish that there’d be an opening to get to know her better. When she wasn’t there during my morning stop my day started a little heavier.
I was a realist though. The chances of something like that happening – me getting to know Sue better – were slim to none. Barring some intervention by fate…
I certainly wasn’t expecting fate to be friendly that Saturday when my Internet connection dropped at home and I decided to head to the coffee shop for a couple of hours, hopefully while the cable company fixed the issue. I got there shortly after lunch and found a nice soft armchair with a small table next to it – home from home for an afternoon.
It was an hour later and I was starting to think about a second latte when Sue arrived. Rather than walk in with her work apron in her hand, she wore blue jeans, a lime green summer top and carried a laptop bag. After she’d greeted all of the staff she looked around for a seat and decided on an armchair a few feet from mine, sharing the table. As she unpacked her laptop and plugged in the power cord she looked over and smiled a silent “hello”. Leaving her laptop to boot up, she went behind the counter and fixed herself a drink, then came back to settle in to whatever task she was here to pursue. Without as much as a word from Sue my Saturday just got better.
And essentially that was where my work finished for the day. Sure, I continued looking at my documents, surfing the web and generally looking intently at my screen, but I wasn’t working. I was thinking about Sue, wondering what she was doing and hoping I got the chance to talk with her some more.
After a while I left my seat to get a fresh latte. When I got back Sue was watching me and I took the opportunity to open the conversational door. “Aren’t we supposed to get away from work on the weekend?”
Sue beamed that wonderful smile at me. “We are, but I’m just making use of the facilities.” She nodded at her laptop, obviously indicating Internet connectivity. “I just moved into a new apartment and don’t have Internet yet. At least, not when my neighbors protect their wireless I don’t.” She smirked playfully.
“Understand.” I nodded knowingly. “Hope you get free coffee too.”
“Just let me know when you need another one,” she quipped, “I get my own.”
“Where were you five minutes ago?” I held up my fresh cup.
Sue looked sheepish, but her face still beamed.
I didn’t want to let Sue’s attention go to waste, so I asked her what she was doing, not wishing to pry, but wanting to keep her talking. Fortunately for me she was only doing a little research into possible college courses she might start in the fall. The follow-up was much more interesting – that she was looking to start college again because she’d just got divorced; a year after her marriage fell apart. Since then she’d been living in several apartments and the job at the coffee shop was currently more about keeping her from becoming a recluse, rather than a career.
Sue gave no sign that she wanted to return her attention to her laptop and as our conversation continued she began asking questions about my background and joking that I shouldn’t be there on a Saturday either. Normally, I would have agreed with her, but today, I was happy being where I was.
She was as easy to talk to as she was to look at. After a few minutes we both started to enjoy the conversational interaction and it was good to see her relax as we talked. I felt more at ease too, up to a point. More than ever I wanted the opportunity to get to know Sue better, and that desire always brought a little tension to my consciousness.
I was given hope that Sue was thinking the same when she turned towards me in her chair, twisting to get closer to facing me while we talked. I also noticed that several of her hand gestures and the timing of her smiles and laughs mirrored my own. It wasn’t cause for too much hope, or relaxing, but it certainly helped me by understanding that Sue appeared to be enjoying the company as much as I was.
We had both put away our computers after an hour and Sue got our drinks replenished as we drifted on the afternoon and deeper into learning about each other.
“Your nails?” Sue nodded towards my right hand as she sipped at her drink. “You play guitar, right?”
I glanced down at my hands. The nails on my right hand were longer than those on my left hand, a dead giveaway. It wasn’t the first time someone had noticed and I shrugged playfully. “I play a bit. Not too much these days. The nails are an old habit rather than a necessity.”
“I’ve been learning to play for a few months. Had lots of time to practice.” Sue smirked. “I’m not very good, but I enjoy it.”
“That’s the most important thing.” I agreed with her. “Enjoy it and Practice. Practice, practice, practice. Practice makes perfect.”
Sue laughed at my impersonation of a strict music teacher. “Don’t think I’ll ever be perfect. I just want to play a little, be good enough to play something recognizable.”
“Not everything I play is recognizable.”
Sue asked if I played in a band, or with other musicians, but it had been a while since music had been anything other than a hobby for me.
“I’d like to see you play.” Sue casually commented. “I’m sure you’re better than you’re saying, and I’m sure I could pick up a few tips from you.”
I wasn’t sure what to say. The door was open for me to make a suggestion to Sue but I looked long into her eyes and saw only a giddy excitement that made her appear much younger than her age. I offered, “Well, you can come round sometime and I’ll show you how inept I am, on the guitar.”
“Deal.” Sue accepted immediately, thrusting out her hand to me to shake our confirmation. Her hand felt soft and warm, echoing her face’s homely, excited smile.
I left it at that for a moment, not wishing to push too hard. We went on to discuss some of the music she liked, and naturally on to books and movies. It was almost a shock when I realized that it was after four in the afternoon already, the time had just slipped pleasantly away.
As I started to think about wrapping up my afternoon I looked over to Sue again and simply offered, “Hey, you’ve probably got plans for this evening, but if you haven’t and want to play a little guitar… I only live a mile away.” The words came out naturally, like it was the expected progression of the day, rather than the crunch question it probably should have felt like.
Sue’s eyes lit up as the offer sunk in. “I’d love to. You don’t mind?”
“Hardly.” I laughed. “I have no plans, and you’ve made me want to pick up a guitar for the first time in weeks.”
“Let’s go.” Sue was now ahead of me, already reaching to pack up her bag.
We got in separate cars and Sue followed me to my apartment block. Once parked, I ushered her up the single flight of stairs to my apartment, opened the door and allowed her to walk into my life. A life, that had, thankfully, been tidied that very morning. I led her past the bedrooms, swiftly indicating what they were, and on to the open lounge, kitchen, dining room area.
“You have a lot of guitars.” Sue almost shouted with excitement when she emerged in the lounge. I had four guitars on hangers decorating the wall. All of them were a little dusty, but very useable.
I put down my backpack and reached up for an old Yamaha acoustic. “This is what I play in here mostly.” I told her while I plucked the strings and listened for the tuning. Once I was sure it was playable I handed it to Sue. “Here, play this while I get you a drink.”
“Just some water please.” She took the guitar without hesitation, sat on the sofa and let it rest comfortably on her knee.
As I went to the kitchen and pulled two bottles of water from the refrigerator, I heard Sue form a couple of chords and slowly strum the strings. I could hear that she was playing pretty basic things, but her fingers were moving well. She was a beginner, but had obviously been practicing hard.
“That doesn’t sound too bad.” I told her truthfully, handing over one of the bottles.
“I’m getting there.” She seemed to appreciate my opinion. “I want to get to the point where I can play lots of songs, and a few styles. It seems slow going at times.”
“It will be,” I assured her, “but one day you’ll realize you can play things you never thought you would, then you’ll realize you can play most of what you want to. It’s a bit like that when you’re learning.”
Sue held the guitar out for me. “Here, play something.”
I’d heard those words countless times over the years from friends and acquaintances alike. “Play something.” It was kind of a catch all demand to show that you really could play. I took the Yamaha and fingered a G chord, checking the tuning again. I sat next to her and quickly ran through a bunch of options in my mind, searching for something Sue might recognize. Because I was holding the acoustic and making a G I picked out the first few bars of John Mayer’s “Why Georgia”.
Sue’s eyes widened visibly as I played through the intro and first part of the song. When I stopped she gushed, “I love that song! You play it so well. Is it hard to play?”
I showed her slowly that the chords were fairly basic and that the trick was knowing which strings to pick, with which fingers. I knew she wouldn’t be able to play it without lots of practice though. “I can write it down for you, and then you can learn slowly, at your own pace. It’ll take a while to put together and get the timing right.”
I was impressed when she asked for the guitar back and formed the first chord. She tried three times to make just the first three notes, each time completely missing the subtle hammer-ons with her left hand fingers. Rather than show frustration, Sue laughed, looked up at me briefly then went back to concentrating on the fret board and trying again.
Her fingers looked petite and were occasionally slow as she tried to improve her coordination. I watched carefully as she bent over the instrument, giving me an unexpected view of her cleavage between the V of her green top. Her flesh moved against the guitar as her hands moved, bunching up her breasts and making them bulge against her bra. Her skin looked sublime, and I imagined a better view, just managing to avert my gaze to her fingers before she looked up and caught me staring at her boobs.
“I can’t even get the first part.” Thankfully, Sue was laughing.
“You’re nearly there.” I got of the seat and kneeled down in front of her. I reached up to take her hand and adjusted the position of her fingers slightly. “If you start like this, it’s easier to make the next change.”
Sue tried again, almost making it. “I see what you mean, but I just can’t make my fingers work.”
“Practice.” I reminded her, reaching up to correct the position of her fingers again.
This time Sue looked at me, not our fingers. The look in her eyes was suddenly intense and the temperature in the room soared even before she said, “If I take the guitar away, would you keep your hand there?”
I resisted the urge to swallow and simply nodded.
Sue carefully pulled the guitar away with one hand and placed it next to her while I remained on my knees and kept our fingers entwined. Her eyes never left mine.
“I’ve not been with anyone since I was divorced.” Her tome was almost confessional. “”You touch… your fingers… felt so good. I hope… you don’t mind.”
“No way.” I pulled her had towards me and lightly kissed the back of it. Her skin was warm and soft. “It’s nice to meet you Sue. To meet you properly.”
I reached out for Sue’s other hand and brought that one to my lips also. When I looked up at her face the intensity was still there, her eyes slightly watery now and her skin flushing with the new heat. “I… it’s been so long. I’m… not sure I know what to do… how this works again.”
I smiled and pulled on her hands gently to come and join me kneeling. “You don’t have to worry about that. It’s nice that you’re here. Beautiful that you’re here.” I dropped her hands gently and wrapped my arms around her in a hug.