Getting a cup of coffee

The morning sun was only peeking over the French hillsides. Slivers of light began sneaking into the Paris streets. The cafe she was seated at felt as though it was out of a story book. It’s bright red trim travels its way around the window and doors against an old brick exterior. Enormous purple wisteria flowers come tumbling over the balconies above. Seated outside the cafe near the window with a flower basket that fills the morning air with fresh carnations. She sits patiently waiting for her coffee, but the young woman is prepared. Dressed in jeans and sweater with a long black overcoat, she knew she wanted to spend her morning here. She took in a deep breath enjoying the morning, as if it was her first breath. 

There was a bell that rang as if it had rung out through time. The door to the cafe opened. There emerged a tall man with rough dark hair and piercing blues eyes. She had known those eyes for what had seemed to be a lifetime ago. Once she had stared into those eyes and trusted her life, devoted her love, and broke his heart.

His eyes connected to her beautiful hazel eyes that felt as though you were staring into pure amber. His heart jumped and in that moment he couldn’t help but forgive everything his heart had held bitter. It seemed to melt away as his mind couldn’t help but wander to the day they met.

The fire alarm screamed through the hotel hallways. He calmly walked up the hall as the hotel patrons ran past him to the exit in horror. The light flashed red across his face as he reached the hotel room. He tried the handle first, locked. With a smirk he pulled an automatic machine gun from under his jacket, destroying the door knob sending sparks and panic through the air. The patrons scream as he kicks in the door, slowly entering the hotel suite. The back wall of the hotel room is a  balcony with a beautiful view of Saint Lucia sunset over a beach. The Prime Minister of Saint Lucia dressed as a maid is hog tied to the bed on the left.  The tied up maid shouts, trying to convey something of importance, yet the agent can't make it out. The door closes, behind stands a beautiful woman in green lace lingerie, in her hands is a pistol pointed at his head. 

“Well, well.. This most certainly is not the scene I had imagined” his British accent added a certain amount of charm to the sarcastic comment. The secret agent feels the barrel of a gun dig into his back. The machine gun bangs onto the hotel floor, he kicks it away, placing his hands up in the air.

“Well, we were having quite a nice night till someone cut my plans short” referring to the fire alarm he had pulled. She cocks her gun, showing that she means business. Classic American move.

“CIA? What could they possibly want with this piece of rock” the agent is pushed into the room by the gun in his back.

“Well, you know, spreading the American dream” she jokes as he’s pushed onto a chair in the far corner “Why don’t you take a seat”

“The real question here is, why do the British want to keep a hold of this piece of rock” her comments come backed behind a gun.

“Are you going to kill him? If that’s the case, unfortunately love, I can’t allow that” gesturing to the prime minister tied on the bed. The prime minister gives a panicked look at the woman.

“Oh no” she laughs “He needs to sign-in to order some very important paperwork, isn’t that right Mr. Prime Minister” the comments come off as if she was talking to a child. The prime minister nods frantically, muffles something unintelligible under his gagged mouth.

“Well, that’s nice to hear. I was sent to do the same” they both laugh for a few seconds basking in their twined assignments. Then he pulled a gun out of his pocket, pointing it straight at the prime minister. The hogtied maid barely has time to scream before she shoots, barely hitting the chair above the agent's head. Cushion and fabric burst around him. His ears ring. He backs down while grabbing his blown eardrum. 

“Christ!” he expelled.

“Sorry handsome, but our rides almost here” 

Outside the hotel a helicopter flew down onto the balcony. The women then shuffled the prime minister off the bed, out onto the balcony, where men in black tactic suits take away the captive. The woman stays behind, gun pointed at the agent.

“Do you always dress like this for assignments?” He jokingly called out over the chopper.

“Why not, when I look this good” her confidence, her grace, the way she held herself. 

His charm, his cocky humor, the way he understood her within seconds.

It was that moment.

They fell in love. 

In the months after, they met again in Moscow, only this time they were on the same side. Bringing down a systematic government was child’s play as they glued a revolution together from scraps. They spent everyday together, turning the tides of fate, bugging a phone here and there. But every night, as hard as they’re days were, they would both sit for a glass of wine before bed. 

One night they were so exhausted, bruised and bleeding from a meeting with some Russian mobsters, that they just sat in silence staring up at the cosmos. The presents of their souls sitting in the same space was enough to calm them both. It was that fateful night out of their silence and pained breathing that he would look over at her, and she would do the same. She silently toasted him, struggling to hold out her arm. Their glasses clinked. The wine tasted as though it was a gift from the gods. Even after all the extreme situations he had been placed in his life, his hand still trembled as he reached out for her. To his surprise, she took it. They both felt as if this was the day their life’s actually started. 

Over the next few months they fell further into love. He would wake up with her in his arms, pistols on each nightstand. Warm, despite the Siberian cold. As those nights turned into months, their assignment became difficult. It seemed at every turn they were met with resistance from God's plan. Russia seemed destined for destruction. In a turn of events, the leader revealed he was to be the next communist ruler of Russia. The agent had been deceived. The woman he loved stood by the  revolutionary leader's side like a faithful hound. The Americans, believing they could have better control over the situation if Russia was to fall, had made a change of plans. In the dark Russian basement, tied to a chair he mourned their love, and what is soon to be his life. The revolutionary leader's entourage leaves the basement, giving orders to kill the agent to the last goon in the room. The woman that betrayed him gives one last look of a broken heart before the door closes. The large russian goon walks across the room. His footsteps echo in the silence. He points his gun at the secret agent's head.

“Any last words” the Russian asked in a thick accent. The agent lowers his head.

A gunshot rings out through the basement.

The agent looks up through confused eyes as the large Russian collapses to the ground.  In the doorway stands his love, silenced pistol in hand. She rushes over to cut his ties.

“Help me with this”  she solemnly asks, and he complies. They shove the large dead Russian into the chair. She finds a can of gas that was placed on a workbench  pushed up against the wall. She then dumps it  over the goon. Quickly a match is lit. The body roars into flames. The couple look at each other through blurred eyes.

He embraces her without second thought. They kiss as though their souls, in these moments, are struggling to unknot themselves. She then rushes to the door, grasping the handle, worried that if she didn’t leave now her plan to save them both may be ruined. She turns back to him, wiping away a tear.

“I will mourn you, my love” as swift as the wind she is gone, and he is all alone.

Her betrayal held a firm grip on her heart as she stared onto her past love in that coffee shop. How she wished to jump into his arms but how could he love her again after all this time.  She had deceived him, even in a sense killed him. They locked eyes for what was only seconds, felt like a lifetime. Her soul reached out for him.

Then she smiled, and he smiled back. With two cups of coffee in his hands he said “good morning, my love”