Meet-Cutes

I slip on my sleek, black heels before promptly applying a fresh glob of lip gloss, shade Princess Passion, of course. If I head out of the door in one minute, I’ll be getting in my regularly scheduled leave-the-apartment-in-a-rush right on time. I pause in front of the mirror, give my hair a flip and a fluff, then exit my door with a quick breath. When I turn the corner, I see him behind the slow-closing elevator doors. 

Right on schedule. 

“Hold, please!” I scurry across the hallway using one hand to grip my Saint Laurent purse and the other to hold my baby-pink coffee tumbler. When Jackson’s eyes meet mine, I give him my most bashful smile. The corners of his mouth turn up, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“Morning, Genevieve.” He sighs. I could listen to him sigh all day. 

“Good morning, Jackson. Thanks for holding the elevator for me. You know how my mornings get.” I laugh and hold up my coffee tumbler. 

“You know, it doesn’t hurt to set your alarm a few minutes earlier.” Jackson glances at me quickly before using his index finger to push up his glasses. The dark frame complements his jet black hair perfectly, making his ice-colored eyes even more intense. I laugh off his retort. I love how he is comfortable enough to flirt with me.

“Somehow when I do that, I end up getting out of bed even later. Maybe I need someone to come in and personally wake me up!” I poke my elbow at him, but he just stares in return. I laugh weakly then cough. 

“My girlfriend has one of those watches that won’t stop shocking you until you wake up. Maybe you should try one of those,” Jackson suggests while shifting his gaze to intently watch the elevator level number. My heart stops. 

Girlfriend?

I've never once seen him in the presence of another female figure unless you count his senile grandmother. To be fair, I also only ever see him in the elevator. The more I think about it, the more I realize this could work. I could be the hot, adventurous woman who makes him realize everything he is missing. This is no problem. Every protagonist has conflict. Just as I’m about to shoot my rapid-fire questions about this so-called girlfriend upon him, the rueful ding of the elevator interrupts me. Jackson exhales and slips out the door before it’s fully finished opening. 

“See you later, Genevieve,” he calls over his shoulder. I sigh and shake my coffee cup. Amid my prepping this morning, I forgot to actually fill it up. 

My heels clack and echo incessantly against the marble floor of the entryway. I smile when I reach Tom, posted just outside of the door. 

“Good day, Ms. Woodbury,” he says warmly while pulling the door open for me. Tom has been the doorman ever since I moved in. Granted, that was only three weeks ago, but I’ve grown to love him like a second dad. 

“Good morning, Tom!” I give him a nod as I walk through. Once I’m out, I pause to look at the stunning view in front of me. Even though I couldn’t pay off my debt from living in New York by selling all my bone marrow, it does come with its perks. I look up at the gleaming Empire State Building and listen to the sounds I’ve learned to call home. Cars honking, a distant echo of laughter, and the unmistakable sound of a trickle of urine splattering against the pavement. 

I continue down the sidewalk to my favorite coffee shop – keeping plenty of space between me and the peeing man. As I take my next step, I can see everything play out in slow motion. I overcompensated my step to avoid the splash zone, making my stiletto heel slip ever so slightly off the curb. I start to fly backward, my eyes shut bracing for impact; yet, the impact comes much quicker and softer than I anticipated. 

“Oof!” I hear a grunt and grab on to what must be the arm of my savior. We continue the fall backward, but he steadies us. 

“Oh God, I’m so sorry –” I start but immediately stop when I look up at who just broke my fall. The sharp contour of his jaw could cut glass, which only melds beautifully with the five o'clock shadow highlighting the rigid edges around his face.

In this instant I forget about Jackson and the “girlfriend”. This is it. This is the meet-cute (and I didn’t even have to plan it). My hand reflexively shoots up to my hair to smooth out any fly-aways. I look at him through my eyelashes. 

“Thanks for catching me. I guess these heels aren’t proper footwear for city-walking,” I say with a smile. I could drown in the chocolate pools that are his eyes. 

“It wasn’t as much catching as it was getting dragged down with you. If you don’t know how-to walk-in heels then don’t wear them," he mutters while discarding my hand from him like a piece of loose lint before stalking off. I stand in the middle of the sidewalk, bewildered. I hear a distant cackle. 

“Sounds like he didn’t like you too much!” The man says. 

“Oh, piss off!” 

“Already am!” He makes a crude gesture. I clench my fists and continue my trek to the coffee shop, careful not to slip on any uneven ground this time. I shake off my last encounter and give myself an internal pep talk. Almost taking down a man while avoiding bodily fluids isn’t the most romantic setting, so I can’t really blame him for his response.  

When I arrive at the shop, I open the door and let the familiar aroma of freshly roasted coffee beans envelop me. There’s no better place to meet someone than a coffee shop; it’s the poster child for meet-cutes. I’m waiting in line when I catch the eyes of the barista.

He’s a stunning, Greek god of a man. His curly hair has the perfect bounce to it, and when he smiles at me, a dimple appears. 

That’s right. A dimple. I twirl my hair and return the smile. I’ve never wanted to order coffee so badly in my life. 

After what feels like an eternity, it is finally my turn to order. 

“Good morning! How are you today?” he greets me. His voice melts like butter on hot toast. 

“I’m doing much better now, thanks for asking. How about you?” I grin and bat my eyelashes. 

“Doing alright, can’t complain. What can I get for you?”

“I’ll take a dirty chai latte, please. Make it filthy,” I say, trying to use the huskiest voice I can muster. His cheeks redden slightly, and he clears his throat. 

“What’s your name?” he says while looking up to meet my eyes. My heart skips a beat. It’s finally happening. 

“Genevieve, what’s yours?” I tuck the hair behind my ear. He gives me a funny look. 

“Uh, it’s Sam. Your total today is $4.25.” He looks down and plugs something into the register. This time it’s my turn for my face to grow hot. I want to smack myself – obviously he wasn’t flirting with me. I quickly pay and step to the side, hoping to hide my humiliation. As soon as they call my name, I grab my drink and practically run out the door.

Instead of going straight to work, I decide to head back to my apartment first and regroup. It been the longest day and it’s only 8:45am. I feel a sting on the back of my heel, and I silently curse myself for wearing these damn shoes. Of course I’d be getting a blister. 

I take a cleansing breath and let the warmth from the sun caress my face. I try not to let the events of today get to me, but by the time I arrive back at my apartment, I feel a wetness on my face and realize I’m crying. I quickly wipe away the tears so as not to draw attention, but it’s a futile attempt. When Tom sees me, he frowns. 

“What’s wrong, Genevieve?” he says, voice full of concern. I smile to try to reassure him. 

“Nothing serious, just a bit of rejection is all.” I shrug my shoulders. Tom looks at me with a pitiful smile. 

“Now what’s a beautiful woman like you doing getting rejected? Those men must be out of their minds,” he says while patting my shoulder. I laugh regretfully. 

“It’s not as easy as it looks, Tom. No matter what I do, I can never get something to work out like it does in the movies or books. Everyone else makes it look so easy.” I feel a quake in my voice and immediately tense up. I will not cry again. 

“Why are you trying to live everyone else’s story when you should be living yours?” 

“Because I want everyone else’s story! I’m never enough for anyone when I’m just being myself. I’m tired of feeling so alone. Ugh! I just want my own meet-cute.” A rogue tear escapes my eye. Tom looks at me endearingly. 

“I don’t know what a meet-cute is, but what I do know is that you are enough. If anything, you might be a little too much!” He winks at me as I playfully slap his arm and scoff at his remark. 

“In all seriousness, you don’t need to rush. There’s no grand prize at the end of life for whoever finds their soulmate first. Any guy should be counting his blessings if he’s given the opportunity to court you.” Tom pulls me into an embrace. I close my eyes and wrap my arms around him tightly.

“You think so?” My voice comes out muffled by his chest. Tom releases me and holds me by the shoulders. 

“I know so! And heck, for all you know, the right guy could just be waiting around the corner!” 

“Thanks, Tom. You’re the best hype man out there.” I squeeze his arm, and he gives me a proud smile. 

I walk confidently toward the elevator, holding my head high. A weight is lifted off my chest that I didn’t even know was there. I smile to myself, finally feeling happy for simply being me.

As I round the corner, I hear a man’s voice echoing in the hallway. I turn and match the voice to a man who is at least 6’3" wearing a doctor’s coat. He quickly looks me up and down and grins, making me flush.

I mean, Tom did say he could be waiting around the corner. Maybe one more meet-cute isn’t going to hurt anybody.