He kept to himself, content with his own company. At closing time he'd drop enough cash on the table to pay for a week's worth of coffees, along with one of his sketches. It was a picture of a coffee mug. He had added a very detailed face complete with freckles and steam billowing from the top. The character looked ill, with a thermometer in its mouth. The caption read, "Coughy." It made me giggle. So I folded the picture and tucked it into my apron.
A couple of nights later, he came in for more coffee, darkened his name on my wrist, then left behind a drawing of the same coffee cup character. It had droopy eyes and looked like it was trying to walk with wobbly legs. The cup was empty and the word, "Drunk" was written above it. Brando's pictures were silly but clever. It had become the highlight of my nights, and when I got home, I put the drawings in my nightstand drawer. Sometimes I pulled all ten out and stared at them. Then I would glance at his name on my skin. There was something hot about seeing it there. It also meant I was probably losing it a little, too. Brando was making it harder and harder to remember why I'd been staying away from him in the first place. He was giving me plenty of distance and at the same time wooing the hell out of me from afar. How much more could a girl take?
I'd decided the only way to make it stop was to ignore him. So next time he walked in I pretended not to see him. I had hoped my co-worker, Harley, would make her way over to his table. She loved to go over there and tease him. I'd hoped that if I held off maybe she would wait on him and I could start distancing myself. When time continued to tick by with nobody moving, I spotted her at the bar staring doe-eyed at her boyfriend, Fox.
The Fox family owned Annette's Catch, the beachside bar where I'd been working for the past eight months. That also made Fox my boss. Interrupting their love-fest wouldn't have gone over well. I rolled my eyes at them and then pulled my notepad from my apron. With each step toward Brando's booth, my heartbeat quickened. I tried concentrating on my shoelaces instead of the man in front of me.
"Hi," I said, my gaze shifting from my laces to Brando's large black boots and blue jean-clad legs that were planted under the booth. I waited for his response and as each second ticked by, the harder it was for me to breathe. I bit my lip and slowly lifted my head, meeting eyes the color of warm molasses. Having seen them up close, I knew tiny flecks of gold were speckled around each rim.
"Hey." Brando gave me a relaxed grin as he stretched an arm along the back of the booth.
"Are you ready to order?" I returned my attention to the notepad, no longer able to handle the way Brando's long fingers slowly caressed each page as he thumbed through the menu. More seconds ticked by with him hoping to catch my eye again and me, doing my best to resist.
"Last call," Fox bellowed from behind the bar.
"Well, I guess that means food is out." Brando slid the menu away. "Tell me you've made some of that amazing coffee I love." His slow drawl was so velvety smooth that the sound floated into my ears and slid effortlessly down the length of my body, setting fire to desires I'd been trying not to think about.
"Um, yeah," I answered hoarsely, working to regain control of myself. "I'll get you a cup." I scribbled the word 'coffee' on my notepad unnecessarily then scurried off. When I reached the brown swinging doors that led to the kitchen, I gave it a hard push and met resistance.
"Ow!" Harley yelped from the other side of the door. "What the hell, Carina?" She stared at me incredulously as she rubbed her nose. Her long chocolate brown hair was no longer in a bun, and her apron was rolled up in one hand.
"Sorry, Harley. I didn't see you." I made a hasty apology and went to the freshly brewed pot of coffee I'd made minutes before, specifically for Brando.
Harley stood on her toes to peer through the foggy kitchen door window.
"Oh, I see." A slow smile stretched across her face, reminding me of the Cheshire Cat. "Brando is here."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I sputtered, suddenly feeling defensive.
"It's okay. Trust me, I get it. I used to date his brother, remember?"
"Harley, please," I groaned, not wanting to discuss Brando with her. "Will you stop it. It's not what you think," I lied, knowing it was exactly what she thought.
"Mm-hmm. Sure." Harley nodded and picked at the black hair tie on her wrist.
"What now?" Annoyed, I put a hand on my hip and glared at her.
"Hey, did you get a tattoo?" She reached out, and I put my arm behind my back.
"It's nothing," I mumbled.
"Carina Risto. I know Brando, and he's clearly into you." She leaned against the door with her arms crossed. "Why do you think he comes in here late at night for coffee when the stuff we serve is cheap and crappy? Don't think I haven't noticed that you start a fresh pot just before ten o'clock, hoping he'll walk in. What I don't get is if you're into him and he's into you, why the resistance?"
I didn't have an answer or at least one I wanted to share with her. Instead, I settled on a lame response.
"It's complicated." I shrugged and continued with preparing Brando's coffee.
"It's only as complicated as you make it. Trust me, I know a thing or two about that." She sighed then shook her head. "Anyway, I'm taking off. There's a race tonight. Are you going to be okay closing by yourself?"
"Yeah, I'll be fine."
"Okay, but will you do me a favor?" When I nodded, she continued, "Get out of your own way. Brando's one of the good guys." Harley finger waved as she disappeared through the double doors.
I wanted nothing more than to do just that. To confide my secrets and let Brando in. It was hard sharing things about my life while avoiding questions I wasn't ready to answer. Very significant information about myself. Where had I been for the past six years and what caused my sudden return? Why had I been working for tips at a little mom and pop restaurant and renting the small studio apartment upstairs, especially when I was from the wealthiest family on the island?
I poured the coffee, placed it on a tray, then pushed back a loose strand of red hair that had escaped from my messy bun. Slowly, I carried the steaming cup to Brando, counting each step as I moved, one, two, three...hoping it would calm my nerves. Seven, eight, nine...
"Thanks." Brando smiled gratefully then wrapped his palms around the warm mug and lifted it to his lips. Harley was right about one thing; the coffee was the cheap stuff.