Serendipity Brew

Gina stomped toward her daily caffeine cathedral, Seattle Shotz. Her stilettos clicked like a metronome against the sidewalk. She shoved on the glass door, craving her afternoon pick-me up.

Nada.

Gina's eyebrows did a full-on scrunch. She gave another push. 

Still nothing. 

Her eyes narrowed on a handwritten note behind the glass: "Closed Today. Open Tomorrow :)"

The smiley face felt like a passive-aggressive slap.

"Are you kidding me?" she huffed. Arms akimbo, she glared at the note. This was the cherry on top of a week teetering on the edge of a full-blown meltdown. First, HR is on her back about one-on-one meetings, the executive chair she ordered is lost, and now this? 

Gina yanked her phone from her fancy-ass tote. She stabbed the screen with her manicured nails: "My day is in the toilet. Shotz is CLOSED.”

She stood, shifting her weight back and forth like a damn hummingbird on crack. The idea of attending meetings without caffeine made her want to curl up into a ball and die. Which was a pretty standard Tuesday for Gina.

Her phone buzzed. It was a text from Ellen, her best friend: "Breathe. His kid could be sick."

Gina shot back, "Tony’s kid is thirty."

She shoved her phone back into her bag. Then, with a dramatic hair flip started the uphill trek back to the office for whatever gruel was left in the pot.

Her phone buzzed in her tote like a trapped wasp. Gina answered.

Ellen's chipper voice sang, "Darling, don't stress. I’m at Jet City Coffee. It's cute, cozy, and there's live music."

Gina groaned, "Ugh, I'm already stressed, and you know how I feel about change."

"Routines are ruts in disguise. Live a little! Plus, the barista is tall, tatted, and could charm the pants off a nun."

Gina rolled her eyes, "Yeah, yeah. But can he make a decent cup of coffee?"

Ellen cackled, "Oh, honey, their black coffee is life changing. It'll make you forget all about that overpriced chair you ordered."

Gina sighed, "Fine. But if it tastes like coffee crystals, I'm blaming you."

"I’ll save us a table," Ellen said, her smugness audible.

She hung up and glared at the green expanse of the playfield. Her caffeine-deprived brain conjured images of feral children and rabid squirrels. With a dramatic eye roll, she started towards Jet City.

Gina's lungs burned after the forced march across the damn playfield. She entered Jet City, tugged at her blazer, and felt professionally overdressed.

"Gina!" Ellen's voice chirped from a table nestled between the brick wall and a small stage.

"This place looks like a set from a Portlandia sketch,” she said, approaching her friend with cautious enthusiasm.

Ellen, unfazed, shrugged. "It has a rustic charm that reminds me of home."

Gina scrutinized the tiny stage. She imagined some sad-sack with a ukulele warbling about their feelings. "I'm sure."

"Sit, relax. You look like you could explode."

"I'm close," Gina grumbled, collapsing in a chair. "I'm dealing with HR, I’ve got an hour to pull myself together, and now I'm caffeine-deprived." She eyed Ellen's drink. "Is that the 'life-changing' coffee you promised?"

Ellen smirked. "No, but it's amazing. You should try one."

Gina, channeling her inner CEO, marched up to the counter. A Pinterest Barbie barista with a forest of tattoos greeted her with a smile of good vibes.

"I need coffee. Something to make me forget my entire existence," Gina deadpanned.

Pinterest Barbie, chirped, "Our single-origin pour-over is like a warm hug for your soul!"

Gina raised a skeptical eyebrow. "A soul hug? Is that a new age thing?"

Undeterred, the barista smiled. "It's amazing."

"Give me a drip, regular," Gina sighed, regretting her choice to listen to Ellen.

The barista, who apparently was also the town crier, hollered, "Hey, Ben! Mrs. Johansen needs her drink!"

Ben, looking like a rock star with his floppy hair and guitar, glanced up. "On it!" he chirped, placing his guitar down like it was a Fabergé egg. Gina watched him grab a tall glass filled with what looked like swamp water. At that moment a guitar string went rogue and snapped like a rubber band, striking his leg.

"Son of a–" Ben yelped, yanking his hand. The glass of swamp juice did a freakin' ballet routine in the air. It crash-landed on the counter. Ice cubes scattered like startled cockroaches. A tidal wave of green tea flowed towards Gina.

There was no escape. 

The tsunami crashed onto her blazer, soaking the fabric. She stood like a perplexed intern.

Ben's face went pale. His voice dripped with remorse. "Oh my, I am so sorry. I didn't mean to... I'm such a klutz." He flashed a smile, the kind of smile that made you want to hug him and punch him in the arm.

Gina's brain did a quick rewind to the cheerful customer service rep from Ergonomica. The one who'd somehow managed to soothe her white-hot rage over her delayed chair. Ben's voice was like a carbon copy, all warm and fuzzy and way too understanding. Maybe that's why she didn't immediately unleash the Kraken.

"It's... fine," she said, though her tone suggested it was anything but.

Ellen, always the yenta, couldn't resist meddling. "Ben, why don't you join us a minute before your set?"

Ben looked at Gina, then at Ellen, then back at Gina. "If it's okay with—"

Gina, surprised by her own audacity, blurted out, "Sure, why not?" What fresh hell is this? she thought, but her mouth had already made the decision for her.

Ben's face lit up. "Awesome!" he chirped. "First, let me clean up, then I’ll bring out your drink. What’d you order?"

Gina crossed her arms "Coffee. Black." Her tone implied it was a challenge, adding, "And it better be the best damn coffee I've ever had, or so help me..."

Ellen snorted into her whipped-cream-laden beverage, earning a death glare from Gina. "What?" she said, batting her eyelashes. "He's cute."

"He's... something," Gina muttered, returning to their table, taking a napkin to dab at her ruined blazer. She watched Ben grind beans and alchemize a drink.The guy was a walking ray of sunshine, and Gina wasn't sure how to feel about him.

Ben sauntered over. He balanced Gina's coffee in one hand and wielded his guitar like a lumberjack in the other.

"Gina, this is Ben," Ellen proclaimed, as if unveiling a statue at a museum. "Ben, meet Gina."

Gina took the cup, letting the heat seep into her fingers. "Thanks," she said, not used to this kind of earnestness. She took a sip. "Not bad."

It was perfect.

Ben extended a hand. Gina eyed him like a suspicious toddler confronted with a plate of broccoli. She relented, and an awkward handshake ensued.

Ellen, the human embodiment of a Hallmark card, was practically foaming at the mouth with Ben-praise. "Sunshine and rainbows! He could charm the pants off a disgruntled badger! Did I mention how positive this guy is?"

Gina shot Ben a look. "Is this true? You some kinda magical unicorn?"

Ben cool as a tattooed barista shrugged. "My mom always said, 'Kill 'em with kindness, Benny-boy,' so that's what I do."

Ellen giggled like a schoolgirl. Gina, on the other hand, was pretty sure her face froze into a permanent grimace. Ugh, feelings.

"So, Ben," Gina said, trying to sound like a human and not a robot programmed for sarcasm, "What was your childhood like? Did you, like, negotiate with playground bullies?"

Ben set his guitar down and sat. "Nah, pretty normal. Absent musician father, overworked mother, and me making life a little better."

"So, you're basically a walking cliché," she said, unable to resist an urge to poke the bear.

Ben laughed. A warm, genuine sound that made Gina's insides shimmy. "Guilty as charged. But hey, clichés are clichés for a reason, right?"

"Touché," Gina said, surprised to find herself enjoying the banter.

Ellen, chimed in, "Ben played at the music festival we went to at the fairgrounds in Monroe."

Gina's eyes went wide like she'd found a winning lottery ticket in her bra. "Wait, that festival? No wonder you seemed familiar!" A wave of relief washed over her. Thank God he wasn't the obnoxiously cheerful customer service rep. The one whose birthday she'd nuked with her chair-related tirade. That would've been a whole new level of mortifying.

Ben turned a shade of pink. "Yeah, that was me. The crowd was amazing, even if it felt like we were playing on the surface of the sun."

Gina nodded, flashing back to the sunburn that left her looking like a boiled crustacean. "We loved it. Especially that last set on the main stage."

Ben flashed a grin. "Yeah, that was me, after our set, I may have celebrated a tad too enthusiastically and ended up face-down in Chase's van."

Gina's left eyebrow did its signature skyward leap. "Chase? As in Chase Wilson, the human embodiment of a spreadsheet?"

Ben shrugged. "The one and only. You know him?"

"He's on my team," Gina said, her voice dripping with disbelief. "He gave me VIP passes to the festival. That's why Ellen and I went."

Ben's face lit up like a kid high on sugar. "No way! Small world, huh? Chase is a good dude. Always has my back. Great drummer.”

Gina leaned back. "This is too weird."

Ben's laughter filled the coffee shop. "Hold up, Chase works at DigiCross? That explains a LOT," he said with the enthusiasm of a cheerleader. "I went to one of their seminars, all about setting up a sole proprietorship for my music, you know? Legal mumbo jumbo, state paperwork, the whole nine yards. YOU were one of the speakers!"

"Small world," Gina muttered.

Ellen, leaned in. "Speaking of connections, remember that charity trail run for the WTA? You both were there. Funny how you two tripped over each other a million times and never actually met."

Gina's eyes darted between Ellen and Ben. It was like she was watching an intense game of ping pong. "Interesting.”

Ben leaned back, a flicker of recognition in his eyes. "You know, I had this strange feeling that I knew you from somewhere."

Gina mentally flipped through the Rolodex of her life, coming up blank. "I might've felt something similar," she hesitated to admit.

Then, a lightbulb went off, Ben snapped his fingers. "Your CHAIR! The fancy executive one stuck in customs. You're Gina Harper!"

Gina's eyes widened, then narrowed. "You're Ben, the one from customer service!"

They both burst into laughter. The kind that starts in your gut and bubbles up, leaving you breathless and a little teary-eyed. Gina shook her head, still in disbelief. "I was such a raging inferno that day. You were way too calm for your own good."

She paused, studying Ben like he was a brain puzzle. "This is crazy.”

Ben's voice was like a warm blanket in fall. "It’s serendipity.”

Gina let that sink in. Could it be that simple? A bizarre, almost too-convenient connection.

"I guess familiarity breeds... something," she said, not convinced but willing to see where this crazy train was headed.

"It’s trust," he said, like it was the most delicious word ever spoken. "Excuse me, I need to start my set." 

Ben ambled over to the stage. It was less a "saunter" and more of a "shuffle-and-trip-but-somehow-recover" situation. The stage itself looked held together with prayers and duct tape. The perfect backdrop for a performance that screamed "potential lawsuit."

He grabbed the mic, which screeched like a banshee on a caffeine bender. "Afternoon, everyone," he said, his voice cutting in and out. "This first song's about, uh, new friends and old memories."

The speakers made Ben’s voice sound like an AM broadcast during a thunderstorm. But, ever the optimist, he plowed on. The crowd squinted and tilted their heads like a pack of confused puppies.

Gina watched from her table with a morbid fascination. This was a train wreck, but damn if it wasn't entertaining.

The audience exchanged looks and shifted uncomfortably in their mismatched, hipster seating.

Ben strummed his guitar with the desperation of a man trying to start a fire in a blizzard. Then another guitar string snapped. 

The crowd gasped in unison, a choir of horrified onlookers at a musical car crash. Ben, with futile determination, improvised with the remaining strings. His fingers danced a frantic tango. Another string committed hara-kiri and the microphone cut out completely.

Gina watched Ben struggle with the detached curiosity of a barista taking a complex drink order. She sighed, stood up, and made her way to the stage. Ben stepped aside and shrugged, giving somewhere between "I’m done" and "Be my guest."

Gina examined the microphone with the critical eye of a jeweler appraising a cubic zirconia. Her hands went to work, swift and precise. Memories of her childhood wiring projects flickered in her mind. Within moments, the mic crackled back to life, a phoenix rising from the ashes of its own incompetence.

"Try it now," Gina said, her voice cool and sharp.

Ben took the mic and tapped it. "1.2.1.2." he tested. His voice crisp and clear over the speaker.

Vibrating with relief, he wrapped Gina into a hug. She patted his back, feeling like a cardboard cutout of a human.

Ben's face split into a grin as they detached. "Thank you. Um... but I’m a few strings shy for this next song. Could you help with a duet?" 

Gina recoiled. "Oh, hell no. I don't sing, dance, or do anything graceful in public."

"You don't have to sing, just... hum along? It's a simple melody, I promise. My guitar's about to give up the ghost. I need all the help I can get." 

Gina muttered, "This is outside my window of tolerance, Ben."

Ben started humming. The tune was sweet and familiar. It tugged at Gina's heartstrings. Her eyes widened. "Wait a minute... I know this. My dad hummed it all the time."

"See? It's fate! Come on, Gina, let's give them a show they won't forget."

Gina hesitated, then, with a sigh, took his hand. "Okay, fine. But remember, if I barf I’m aiming for you."

She felt every bit the imposter in her fancy red silk shirt and "I mean business" pencil skirt. Meanwhile, Ben, in his worn-in jeans and black T-shirt, looked like he'd been born clutching a guitar.

A sea of plaid and ironic facial hair stared back at them. They sipped overpriced lattes like it was the nectar of the gods. Gina squinted, half-expecting to see a familiar face from the office. Oh, the joy of explaining THIS when she got back.

She started to hum. Her lips closed. The sound vibrated in her chest. Ben’s voice soared, warm and smooth as melted butter. He did have a gift, she thought.

As the song progressed, Gina found herself loosening up. Her humming took on a melodic quality. Ben grinned and leaned in closer, their shoulders touched. Gina felt a jolt of electricity shoot down her spine.

Gina swayed her hips.

Ben bobbed his head.

The two of them moved in a syncopated dance that was half musical number, half mating ritual. The crowd ate it up.

Gina was breathless from the sheer fun of it all when they finished. The audience clapped, and Gina felt a ridiculous surge of pride. She looked at Ben and couldn’t help but smile.

Ellen stood, clapping, and giving thumbs up signals. Ben and Gina stepped from the stage to join her.

"Nice work, you two," Ellen said. "Gina, you moved like a dream."

Gina rolled her eyes, suppressing her grin. "You’re too kind."

Ben placed his hand on Gina’s back. "No, she’s right. You like to groove."

Gina gave him a playful swat. "Don't you have a latte to make?"

"I’m still on break," Ben said, adding, "But I could make something special for my new bandmate."

Gina hesitated, her eyes flickered to Ellen. "Actually, Ben, I could use a walking drip."

"Coming right up," Ben said as he swaggered away.

Gina sat and leaned into Ellen. "He's going to kill me with this, you know."

"You looked like you were having fun." Ellen said with a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

"Fun's not the problem," Gina whispered. "I don't have time for a relationship."

"All you do is work."

Gina leaned back. "I don't like leaving things to chance."

"It's not chance, it's strategy. And sometimes the best strategy is to take a risk."

Gina observed Ben chatting with Pinterest Barbie behind the coffee bar. "I don’t know what kind of risk I’m taking?"

Ellen grinned like a Genie. "The best kind."

Ben returned. He placed a to-go cup down in front of Gina and felt a slight chill. "One drip coffee."

Gina took a sip. "Thanks, Ben.” She could feel Ellen’s eyes burning a hole in the side of her head.

Ben looked from Gina to Ellen and back again. "What'd I miss?"

"Nothing important," Gina replied, setting the drink down. "I need to get back to the office, tackle the usual fires."

Ben stepped aside as Gina got up. "Sure, see you some other time?"

His tattooed arm brushed against her shoulder. Gina's brain did a full-on disco dance. What the hell is happening? she thought. It was like someone had spiked her coffee with a shot of "go for it, girl!"

Ben, bless his oblivious heart, was beaming. Ellen, the human embodiment of a Cheshire Cat, was practically glowing with smugness.

Gina took a deep breath. "Give me your phone," she blurted out, her voice a strange mix of bossy and breathless.

"Are you serious?" Ben asked, disbelief in his voice.

"Don't get too excited," Gina warned. "It's an experiment." An experiment in what, exactly? Insanity? Self-sabotage? Falling headfirst into a vat of unknown emotions?

Ben's grin was contagious. "Experiments can be fun."

"Yeah," she whispered. "Sometimes they are."