The Girl with a Thousand Freckles nods...

Today I walk across the city centre square and the rain wets my face like tears from Heaven.

I have an umbrella, but it’s a coward and fights to stay in my shoulder bag. Tangled up in the cord from my laptop charger. So I let the wetness touch my skin and feel refreshed.

I grab a national from the newsstand at the corner.

The news guy has an umbrella that isn’t afraid of the rain. I pay him. Stuff the national inside my jacket. Walk the last twenty yards to the coffee shop.

The usual suspects are huddled around a couple of tables under the awning on the outside. They’re friends of Mister Nicotine. I nod. They nod.

I push through the doors and make for the bar and Little Italy.

She smiles when she sees me. Why so serious, she says. It’s a shit day out there, I say. She shrugs. Shit happens, she says. It’s just another day at the office, she says.

She raises an eyebrow. You got a new jacket, she says. I smile. My old one’s a coward, I say. It’s not brave enough for a day like today. It lets the cold in. It doesn’t keep the rain out. And it’s blue. Green jackets are warmer, I say. And braver, she says.

You need a new drink to celebrate your new jacket, she says.

I look up at the chalkboard on the wall above the stainless steel machine. A cafe mocha jumps out at me. Espresso…liquid chocolate…whipped cream…Belgian chocolate shavings on the top.

Damn that sounds good, I say, pointing to it.

Little Italy nods. Tastes good too, she says. Go sit down, I’ll bring it over, she says.

I turn and make for a vacant spot against the far wall. Two tables away from Romeo and Juliet on the left.

Today they’re not silent, lost in each other’s eyes.

Today they’re found. Full of sound and movement and conversation.

They touch and stroke and laugh and sigh. The rest of the world has gone to Hell.

I sit and take the National out of my jacket.

The front is full of celebrity death. The passing away of fame. Not necessarily talent.

I flip the pages. Genocide is relegated to a small column on page three. Bigger stories get smaller cover.

My mocha appears on the table in front of me. I didn’t even hear it arrive.

Off to my left, The Girl With A Thousand Freckles sees me and nods. Red wavy hair moves with the gesture. Her eyes blink slowly.

I live on the dark side of the moon. She lives on the bright side of the sun. Maybe in another life. She looks away.

I look down at my mocha. Pick up the cup. Take a sip. Let the taste crawl all over my tongue and slide slowly down my throat.

Over in a corner by the window, The Hermit is wearing his best tenth-generation baggy hand-me-downs. He hugs his Americano and disappears into a million memories.

Little Italy knows one or two of those memories and she throws a nod at the box on the wall. The box catches it, reaches down and picks up number 128.

The curtains open. Nat King Cole is standing on stage. Opens his mouth. Out comes a voice to die for.

When I fall in love…

The Hermit closes his eyes and remembers.

*********************************************************

The above is an extract from my book Love & Coffee (available from all good Amazons).

It's about the lives and loves of the customers in a city centre coffee shop.

And it's about the woman who takes care of them.

You'll find Love & Coffee (along with all my other books, Ad Lib, Ad Hoc, Ad Infinitum, and Heaven Help Us) waiting for you to fall in love with, any time of the day or night. Right here...

Love & Coffee: https://amzn.to/28IWaHq

Ad Lib: https://amzn.to/2kd4LKf.

Ad Hoc: https://amzn.to/2Nx8GL8

Ad Infinitum: https://amzn.to/3pof7Uq

Heaven Help Us: https://amzn.to/2nkQ1Jk

So grab a coffee, grab a chair, and grab a sneaky peek.

Then grab a copy.