Too Good.

With steam billowing in my face, I asked myself, what kind of psychopath orders hot tea on a thirty-five degree summer day? How off your head do you need to be to also request seating in the garden!? Some people just defy all reason. I took a deep breath to try and calm my unsolicited rage, but it continued to brew as steadily as the tea upon my silver tray. I impatiently watched the leaves swirl and spread amber within the glass pot, until it was finally, just the right golden shade to serve.

“That one’s for table nine, Luce. Might as well take your break straight after, you look like you need to cool off”

“Thanks Mia, I’d appreciate that.” I replied, without protest.

Expertly taking up the burdened platter, I balanced teapot, cup, saucers, tiny milk urn and a selection of artisanal sugars, then dodged my way through the empty tables and chairs, to the back door of the Maisley house cafe. 

Feeling calmer to be on the move and relishing a cool breeze against my skin, I realised my anger was fuelled more by the heat than by a strangers choice in beverage. The steamers, kettles and sandwich ovens did not mix well with the long-sleeved shirt and dark pants that were required attire for a barista at the stately house. Presentation was everything when you were serving people before a stone museum that once catered to nobility. What management failed to realise though, was that their workers were human, and the pretence of flawlessness always became more difficult to uphold as the day wore on. I could almost hear the crunch of ground coffee dust in the neat pony tail that held back my sensible hair. I knew a pungent aroma awaited me within my closed black shoes and the sweat running down my cleavage was a constant irritation. Ignoring it all, I plastered a smile on my face and swung through the doors to the manicured tea garden to seek my tea loving maniac.

He wasn’t difficult to spot, the place was almost empty by late afternoon and he was at table nine as expected, which wasn’t always the case with ditsy customers. As soon as my eyes fell upon him, I hitched a breath. Sitting beneath the fruiting orange trees, with the sunlight dappled against his olive skin, was the most beautiful man I had ever seen. He perched on the edge of an ornate garden chair, completely lost in his laptop screen, which sat upon a swirling metal table of intricate design. His knee was braced out to one side, his tan chinos riding up just enough to reveal the expensive black leather of his loafers. The white linen of his shirt wafted in the breeze, its buttons open to a point that was almost too low to be decent. Cleanly cut, dark hair seamlessly met the stubble that covered his chiselled chin and bordered bright white teeth that were smiling…directly at me. I leapt into action at my discovery, almost losing control of the heavy tray as I attempted in vain to keep the blush from my cheeks. I marched directly over to him and, futilely trying to cover my staring, said something along the lines of finally tracking down the owner of the order. His eyebrow raised to scan the empty cafe, but he politely said nothing to the contrary.

The stranger’s piercing blue eyes met mine after I had placed his order oh-so-carefully next to his computer. I could not afford a blunder of that magnitude. 

“Thank you,” He said through his yet unbroken, perfect smile, “It must be a nightmare working in this heat, I appreciate you indulging my habit for tea leaves, despite the temperature”

I had to physically tense to stop the quiver that ran through my body at his words. It wasn’t just the classy British accent, the kind that they show in the movies, the one that was as far removed from my own as a piano is from rusty spoons in a bucket. It was the fact that he had, without prompt, seen, understood and addressed my discomfort. I had rarely experienced that from a loved one, let alone a customer.

“My pleasure” I giggled, to my dismay, like a school girl. His eyes remained locked on mine and his smile would not waver. The scrutiny would normally have made me squirm in discomfort, but from him it was welcomed, and flattering. 

“Say, working here, do you get to learn much about this place? About the people that used to run such a house?”

He couldn’t have asked a more perfect question. Never did I get to share my passion. For the second time, he had hit the sweet spot effortlessly, and spoken the exact words to board the express lane to my heart.

“Yes…actually I’m a history major at the local university. I took this job to help pay my way…but also to immerse myself in the place. I love the Victorian period; the fashion, the lifestyle, the class. I find it so romantic and captivating!”

I had to stop myself. If I had learned anything from the countless, failed first dates of that year, gushing about one's passions before they even knew your name was a disaster in the making. I looked away, a little coy about continuing. But when I looked back, his incredible smile seemed all the more genuine.

“Then I consider myself lucky, you might be just the girl I need,” I could blame it on the heat, or the tightness of my green apron. Perhaps even on the fatigue of the day. But I knew deep down, it was his words that made it hard to breathe in that moment, “you see I’m working on a novel. It’s a period piece, a romance…and I’m a little out of my depth. I could really use some insight, if you have a moment?”

“I mean…yeah…I’m just about to start my break, I’d love to help.” I whispered, in complete disbelief at my good fortune.

“Great! Take a seat, I’ll grab you a mug and we can share this pot. I can never finish one by myself anyway.”

Before I could protest, the most charming man I had ever met was already half way across the garden to do my job for me, without expressing a single thought otherwise. In his absence I had to physically pinch myself. I could not compute what was happening. This unexpected newcomer, made in the image of Adonis was well dressed, clearly intelligent, creative and had the gentlemanly manners of all those fictional Casanova’s I had spent hours indulging in. He shouldn’t exist, I had been so sure that class of man had gone extinct well before my time. Snapping myself from my wonder, I hastily removed my apron, while partaking in a mint meant for his bill and brushing down my boring uniform. I fixed my hair as much as was possible and set myself gingerly onto the seat next to his, waiting with the butterflies that had taken up residence in my stomach.

When he returned, he handed me a mug as promised and deftly poured half his tea into it, before moving to fill his own. After my first sip, I resolved to be more level-headed, to stop acting like an innocent maiden who had never been introduced to her lord before. Somehow, I succeeded, and I was able to hold a conversation like an actual human being, rather than a fawning girl. I learnt that his name was Conrad, he was in his late twenties and just like me, was working a dead-end job in the hopes of following his passion outside of those hours. When he grasped my hand in formal introduction, the fierce, rough grip almost dissolved my front, but I reclaimed it quickly after his dominating fingers receded. He asked question after question, but not the usual dry fact hunting that I had expected. Instead, he wanted to know how a Victorian woman would react to his invented scandal, or how a man of the time would step up to protect his woman after insult. One situation after another flowed from his intrigue and I found myself swept up in the excitement. Talking about history as it truly was, a living reality for those that dwelt during the past, had me imagining myself in the shoes of his characters. His smooth words cascaded through my daydreams, placing me in one romantic affair after another, throwing me between erotic scandals and elicit meetings, until without realising how I got there, my lips were pressed firmly against his.

Awakening to what I had done sent me into a split second panic. I had never done something so bold. To throw myself into a kiss with a man I had just met, with little invite or precipitation, was…insane. As I tensed my back to pull away and begin apologising, his hand found the back of my neck and pulled me closer. His lips met mine more strongly and I allowed him to take control, melting beneath his grasp. He mastered my sensitive lips, hungrily taking as much as he gave, until finally releasing me, breathless and dizzy. His striking blue eyes holding mine in earnest, he said,

“I was hoping I would get to do that. It would have happened sooner, had I not been so transfixed by your tales.”

“Oh…” I managed to utter, then gathering my wits, “I’m…glad it was welcome.”

“Oh Lucy, how could it not be? Meeting someone as beautiful and interesting as you, in a place as idyllic as this, it is perfection. Our kiss amongst the orange trees will be something I hold dear, whether you agree to meet me again or not.”

My heart hammered in my chest, the heat of my body rising from more than just the summer day. He wanted to see me again? After meeting me in the state I was in? What if he changed his mind when he saw me in a normal setting? What if the sun was getting to him as well? He must be delirious…surely someone like him could never be so passionate about little old me. He wouldn’t call. What if he did call? What would I say? I would probably ruin-. Before I could complete my free fall of self doubt, he took hold of me, pulled me close so that my chest was pressed intimately against his and lifted my chin into another kiss that sent my head spinning. Darkness edged into my vision and I heard a tea cup shatter on the floor as the iron table was pushed carelessly aside. The dripping of the amber liquid formed a rhythm that echoed in my ears like a heartbeat and the world tilted as if I was falling. Everything flashed into full dark then to sudden light.

“What a kiss!” I muttered as my pupils shrank to pinpricks under the sudden brightness. My head pounded and suddenly pain wracked my body as I sat bolt upright. The hard paving of the tea garden was warm under my legs and hands. I glanced around dazed at Mia and another customer I had served earlier that afternoon, both of them looking down at me with worry painted across their faces. A freezing numbness left my forehead as a liquefied cool pack dropped into my lap.

“It’s alright Luce, you’ll be just fine. The sun really baked you today. I think you collapsed. Lets get you inside.” Mia said, gently placing her hands under my arms.

As she pulled me to my feet, I glanced over at table nine below the orange trees. There, doing a crossword puzzle was an elderly gent, looking decidedly miffed that his tea was mixing with broken glass all over the courtyard.

“So, who kissed you?” Mia joked, worry tinging her attempt at levity.

“Someone too good to be true” I said, disappointed at the truth of my own words.