Now I'm Seen

I cannot believe I was staring at the hot coffee I waited ten minutes for splattered on the male who was decidedly, standing too close behind me when I turned around. I thanked the barista and spun on my heel, met with the perfect amount of pressure to pop off the white lid. A mess. This was a mess. Instead of apologizing immediately, somehow my body thought it’d be a good idea to groan and say, “Ugh, my coffee.” 

I still had half of my large size, but the other half saturated the charcoal gray shirt I was staring at. 

“How unfortunate…for you.” I glanced up at the muscles contorting beneath the dark gray that resembled something close to black now from the liquid spillage. A wince at the sight. 

His arms were open on each side of him, tattoos swirling different designs. If it weren’t for the lack of empathy I seemingly had, his stance looked as though he was going to bring me into a hug. Except, instead of a smile one would don for a hug, his mouth was flat and his eyebrows shot up. Probably at my audacity. 

Today was not my day. I only wanted a sugar free vanilla latte with an extra shot of espresso. Opting out of the six shots I desperately desired. Something that will take me away from the dreary life that was my own. 

I had to stop seeking validation from my father. He was so successful and regardless of how he felt when I told him I was dabbling in poetry for fun, I turned my favorite one into a poetry contest. With little hope, but it felt good to put my work out there. 

Dad berated me on the fact it didn't make me money, and I'd been wasting my time. However, he did in fact teach me a plethora of other important life lessons. 

Work ethic. Self worth. What to look for in a man–what to not look for. What he didn’t teach me, was how to handle spilling a burning liquid onto a complete stranger while being at your lowest mentally. 

The male's eyes met mine. Deep green as if emeralds themselves climbed into his irises and settled there. 

His jawline was very much defined. High cheekbones. Muscles. Excellent golden tan. If I were a better woman, I would be grabbing napkins and profusely apologizing. If I were in a better head space, that would totally be something I would do. 

The male scoffed when he realized I wasn’t going to say anything else.

“Nick with the black coffee.” The barista yelled behind me. Swiftly, the tatted male maneuvered around me and grabbed his beverage. 

I scrambled to the ground and snatched my lid that plopped to the floor. With a sigh, I threw it in the trash and stared at the napkins that were filled to the brim. 

A hand forcefully began pulling multiple out at once. Black tattoos starting at his wrists, too many designs to decipher here. 

“Let me buy you another coffee.” The stranger who I presumed was Nick wiped his too-far-gone shirt with the cheap napkins this cafe supplied. Explaining the excessive amount wadded in his large hand. 

I shook my head before looking at him. Unsure if he was talking to me. Sure enough, when I craned my neck, he was looking down at me. 

Wow, he was tall. 

“You want to buy me a coffee? After I spilled half of mine all over you?” My brows furrowed. 

He shrugged. Throwing away the cheap napkins that barely soaked anything up. “I was standing close behind you.” He gestured to the small cafe. Voices vibrating and booming. No one seemed to pay attention to us. Too busy to notice anything outside of their own bubble. “So it was kind of my fault.” 

“Kind of?” 

“Well, yeah. It was kind of me. Mostly you.” His lip quirked up at the side ever slightly. 

I gaped at him. Jaw open. He placed his free hand into his black jean pocket, grabbing his coffee with his other one. I noticed his pristine medium length chestnut hair. Gelled into a wave, one rebellious strand curled above his right brow. He was unnaturally handsome. My heart stuttered as if forgetting how to beat for a moment. Which probably had less to do with his hotness, and more to do with the caffeine I began sipping on. 

Perhaps it was my chest telling me to break off my unhealthy relationship with caffeine. I chose to acknowledge it as my body doing a happy dance for embracing its vice. There were worse things to be addicted to after all. 

“I feel like I should be the one buying you something.” A small humorless breath escaped me. “Plus, you obviously don’t have a lot of money if you’re choosing to get a black coffee opposed to…well, anything else on the menu that is better.” I smiled internally before remembering to display it on my face informing him of my sarcastic nature. 

Sam, my best friend, told me I needed to smile more when talking with strangers. My sense of humor was about as dry as the Sahara Desert. Most people didn't understand dry humor, either. I’d gotten flack for it in college. People thought I was being mean, but I was really just joking with a straight face. 

If you asked me, I thought it to be the superior humor, but I digressed.

Nick gave small nods. “If you have the taste buds of a spoiled white girl, you can just say that.” I took a sip of my coffee. He was joking. I could tell he was, but…his face said nothing short of serious. Oh, I could play this game. 

“If you have the taste buds of an eighty year old man…” I shrugged. “Just admit it.” This time I didn’t smile either. 

His lips upturned at my rebuttal. “Witty.” He said, gesturing back to the long line. “We better get in line if I’m going to buy you a new coffee.” 

“You’re serious?” I said. “Do you know you’re feeding into a terrible addiction by buying me more caffeine?” 

He lifted his hand from his pocket and put it against his heart. “Oh no…” He scrunched his thick eyebrows that obnoxiously didn’t need any plucking like mine unsurprisingly did. Men. They always had it so easy. “Maybe I should check you into rehab? There’s a caffeine withdrawal facility down the road. I’ve been there a few times too. It’s always nice to talk to someone with similar struggles.” He placed his hand back into his pocket. “We should probably get dinner tonight so I can help you.” 

We made our way back to the long line, his shirt beginning to dry. I couldn’t help the laugh that bellowed from me. “It seems you’re in a good place to be doing that for fellow caffeine addicts.” I gestured to the red paper cup in his left hand. 

His smirk took my breath away for only a moment before I recomposed myself. “Decaf.” He shook his black coffee in front of my face before taking another sip. 

“And I didn’t think black coffee could get any worse. You took the best part out.” My head shook in disapproval. 

“Spoken like a true addict.” He took another sip. I watched his eyes scan my lips a couple moments short of inappropriate. 

Nick took three steps away from me by the time I grabbed my newly steaming cup of coffee from the counter. When I turned around, he had his hands up in mock defense. My eyes rolled, unable to do anything but giggle. 

***

Dinner with Nick was in a few hours. Reluctantly agreeing after he bought me a new coffee. In truth, I wanted to stay at the cafe and talk. I liked the way he didn’t cower from my jokes but instead piggy-backed on them. 

It was my day off from the small reporting outlet I worked at. Where I didn’t particularly do anything important besides coffee runs and faxing papers over.

Someday.

Instead of heading home I went for a walk in hopes to drum up more ideas for different poems. I’d always loved creating with my words. Poetry was the outlet I needed after my mom died of cancer. Since then, my dad held me to higher standards.

I knew he didn’t understand the art of manipulating words on paper to evoke feelings. Or the flood of grief and weighted chains that left my shoulders and chest once vomiting them onto paper. Nor did he attempt to. It’s why I took everything he said on the subject with a grain of salt. He wanted the best for me and nothing less. He wanted to see me successful like him. I wanted that too. Albeit something I enjoyed doing. Which turned out, wasn’t getting coffee for people who don’t give me the time of day. Or faxing papers for those who are immune to thank-you’s. However, I knew that was just life with poetry as my hobby. 

Dad and I didn't discuss my poetry anymore. Agreeing to disagree with each other of its importance. 

Tears streamed down my face as the stroke of my pen glided and flew across a small blue notebook mom bought me a few weeks before her death. Three years. I still had it after all this time. She believed in my work. 

The ground is wet with sorrow,

No promise of another tomorrow,

Battered and broken are my bones, 

Who will be there to catch my fall?

Someone who sees me for everything I am,

Someone who loves me for everything I am.

Dad would be there in specific falls, but not all of them. Not for the things he didn’t agree with, even being an adult woman. One of the reasons I missed my mom so much. A built-in best friend taken too soon.

I opted for a decently natural look tonight. A couple swipes of eyeliner, a pop of shimmer in my inner corners. Things had been natural earlier with Nick. Refreshing. I hadn’t been on a date in over five years. My hands were clammy and shaky as I guided the fitted red dress with crimson velvet floral embellishments up my curves. The dress was modest, dropping into my chest without showing anything. 

Its length stopped mid calf. After zipping the side up, I looked in the mirror and exhaled. Simple curls were what I went with for my blond hair. 

The black modern door creaked when I opened my bedroom, slowly making my way to the onyx stairs lined with glass railing. 

“I just need to make sure your intentions are clear, uh..” Dad’s voice echoed from the living room. Conveniently out of sight through the curved walkway to my left at the end of the stairs. 

“Nick. Nicholas Salvino.” My heart stopped beating when I heard his voice. Almost like the fact I was going on a date with the man I spilled coffee all over earlier and still hadn’t apologized for, hadn’t set in until now. 

Turning the corner, I watched dad shake Nick's outstretched hand. Dad’s face deadpanned. “It’s odd going on a date with a girl you can’t tell me the name of.” He told Nick, stopping me in my tracks. Oh my…I didn’t tell him my name, did I? Floorboards creaked beneath my attempted silent footsteps. 

Dad dropped Nick's hand, both of them turning to face me. Dad smiled and Nick...Nick started at my feet and slowly, methodically, sensually, worked his gaze up, up, up, until meeting my eyes. A smirk lined his lips. A spark of curiosity tore through me. How would those lips feel on mine? My cheeks heated both at the thought and unwanted attention. 

I cleared my throat before speaking. “Ruth. My name is Ruth. I’m sorry I didn’t get the chance to tell you earlier.”

Dad flicked his attention between the two of us. Nick was wearing black loafers, nice black trousers paired with a deep gray tee and a black suit jacket on top. I could probably take a solid guess at his favorite color. 

His hair was gelled back like it was earlier. The same defiant strand of hair across his eyebrow I noticed had a scar through it. Suddenly my saliva felt too thick to swallow. 

Nick’s stature was that of relaxed. He didn’t look nervous at all. “No worries. You were too busy spilling your coffee and making fun of my beverage choices to enlighten me.” He winked. 

His eye contact caused me to look at the floor. I was not this anxious earlier. I hated I was now. 

He turned to my dad, offered another handshake, and told him how nice it was to meet him before coming over to me and guiding me outside. Warm and familiar salty air grounded me. 

Get it together. 

He looked delicious. I couldn’t find it in me to stop peaking and glancing without making it too obvious I was gaping at how good he looked. 

He walked in front of me around to the passenger side of his white Lexus and opened my door. 

“Thank you.” I murmured, avoiding his gaze. 

Sitting in the deep brown leather seat was a bouquet of yellow dahlia flowers. My eyes widened and I caught myself snapping a surprised look at Nick, who wore a proud smile. “I probably would move those before you sit on them. I don’t think they’d be all that comfortable.” His hand rested on the door of the car, waiting for me to get in before closing it. 

“You sure know how to treat a woman before taking her to rehab.” I joked, staring at the stunning flowers for a minute and then grabbing them, placing them in my lap. Nick chuckled and closed the door.

A few seconds later the driver side opened. When he plopped down, the scent of eucalyptus and soap hit my nose and it took everything in me not to inhale deeply. 

A man should always open the door for you. My dad’s words rang in my head. Causing my chest to pitter patter quicker. And flowers? 

“So where are you taking me to dinner?” I fidgeted with the yellow pedals on my lap. Nick had one hand on the top of the steering wheel. Muscles in his arms shifted and his jaw clenched. I wondered if he was nervous too. 

A devious smile played on his lips. 

“You’re not like…dragging me into the woods and killing me, right? I might regret going on a date with you if I end up dead.” 

He laughed and shook his head. “Maybe, maybe not.” 

We drove for around ten minutes before he pulled into what looked to be an abandoned parking lot covered with sand. It was almost impossible to see the pavement. Palm trees surrounded us. Only a small tunnel opening between bending trees in front and the reflective stilled waters of sunset hours. 

I followed him suspiciously, taking my shoes off when we hit sand to walk through. He offered to hold them for me but I shook my head. I didn’t mind holding them. Plus, the heel would give me semblance of self defense if needed. 

The remaining sunlight beamed off his skin. “Here.” Nick stopped. When I looked, it was a beautiful picnic setup. A light blue blanket, plates, wine glasses, and an overflowing basket with grapes draping over the side. 

“Sit.” he gestured to the spot next to him, the pristine blanket crinkling beneath our weight. 

“This is beautiful.” I told him, in awe. He hardly knew me. Tears welled in my eyes. I couldn’t remember the last time someone put this much effort into me. A tightening flexed into my stomach at the work he went through for…for me.

Nick grabbed a piece of paper from his pocket, the sound of it unwrinkling mixed with the serenity that was the ocean lapping next to us. 

“I walked past the park and watched you pull your notebook out earlier. This fell from your pocket. I was going to give it back to you before it caught my attention. This is going to sound really weird, Ruth.” The look of perplexion had to be easy to spot on my face, but he began reading:

I climb upon the sea of misconception,

Sailing in the depths of the misinformed, 

Tearing through what might never be,

If only to feel free. 

“That’s…that’s my poem.” My chest ached. Cheeks reddened. That was the poem I entered in the contest. A poem of feeling misunderstood since mom left. I didn’t know why I suddenly felt so small and insecure. It was one of my shortest poems, but one that helped me mourn her. It felt fitting to send that one in. Reflexively, I snatched it from his hands. “You read it earlier instead of giving it to me right away?” 

“I should have ran up to you when I caught it in the wind, but the words.” He looked at the paper I white knuckle gripped. “I read those words a week ago.” 

My heart sank. “That isn’t possible. These are my words. I didn’t copy–”

“No.” He cut me off. “I read those words a week ago when I chose it to win the national poem competition.” 

My stomach rose to my throat. Blood drained from my face. Not possible. I took in his rugged bad boy persona. He leaned on one elbow and looked into me with his emerald eyes. 

“What are you saying?” 

He sat up and scooched closer to me. “I’m saying…I’m the judge for the contest you entered. And I’m saying yours resonated with me the most. I’m saying I saw you even when I didn’t know it was you.”