By Delbert H. Rhodes
For the past two weeks, Loren has frequented Café Luna. The café is located in a quieter section of the city, and the Italian cuisine is delicious. The man has one other reason for returning here, his attraction to the counter clerk. He thinks she is lovely.
They have shared the usual hellos goodbyes, and small talk, but nothing worthy of betting a paycheck. Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained.
Each time Loren eats at the café and whenever thinking of her, the arrow struck man falls into the same lovesick chasm…
“…Though we are acquainted for just a while, something about you is incredibly familiar. The tenderness in your eyes and loving smile numb me, affectionately. Woman, your soothing sweet voice lures me. “Preciosa,” am I ever to know you? Dare I turn to you fearing you would turn away? Dare I think that you see me?
Lightly wiping his lips with the napkin, Loren distracts to reality. Looking over at the clerk, he imagines holding and kissing her. She is of Irish decent, he thinks. Her chalky skin, coal black hair, and dark blue eyes are small fires burning his (very) core. The lady is a Syren able to lure the (most) distant of men.
This man must win her heart. She wears no wedding ring, though this is never a definite. These days (some) women even choose not to wear the husband’s name. Still, he must try, but when or how?
His meal completed and the day to attend, Loren leaves a large tip for the waitress. He strolls to the counter. “Lovely,” the word seems to slip from his lips as though spoken by someone else. Smiling, he hands his credit card to the clerk. She swipes the card, and completes the transaction. “Thank you sir.” “Please come again.” Such a sweet voice, he thinks. Loren, staring, says, “I will.”
Before exiting the doorway, Loren slightly turns, looking over his shoulder. The clerk, busied by her work, does not see him; still, the man is hopeful that she does…
Copyright 2012 Delbert H. Rhodes