The young woman’s carmine umbrella bobbed through the cobblestone streets, shining beautifully against the sea of black. Raindrops flecked her dark hair. She pulled her mustard-yellow coat tight around her, trying to block the chilling breeze that whispered of winter. Dry leaves whisked around her boots as she reached the bus stop. She exhaled and leaned against the sign.
Edmund sipped his macchiato, his dark eyes never leaving her figure. The rain pattered soothingly on the awning of the café. A half-eaten croissant rested by his book: Anna Karenina.
The Queen’s Cup was his favorite café in Oxford. Excellent espresso, exquisite pastries, and a snug atmosphere welcomed the bookish people of town. On a dreary day like this, however, most customers gathered inside to enjoy the warmth. But if he did that, he wouldn’t be able to watch Caroline.
Edmund had learned her name after listening in on her phone call a month ago. She put away her phone now and rested her umbrella on her shoulder, hazel eyes gazing at the clouds rolling above. Her lipstick was a warm Venetian red, a different shade than what she normally wore. He liked it.
Steam from his macchiato curled into his face, fogging his glasses. He took them off and swiftly wiped them clean on the edge of his wool coat. After inspecting them for smears, he put them back on and resumed to watching her—only to almost spit out his drink.
A man was talking to Caroline. A young, attractive man with a strong jawline and curly hair that rustled in the wind. His blue eyes were warm as he extended a hand to her in greeting.
Edmund gripped the table.
Caroline smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear. A sign of emotional interest. She fidgeted with the end of her scarf. No doubt a quickened heartbeat too. The man said something, and a snort escaped her lips. She clapped her hand over her mouth, cheeks flushing pink. But the young man only laughed, and the embarrassment fled from her face as she joined in.
The cup slipped from his fingers, clattering onto the table. No.
A bus as red as Caroline’s umbrella rolled to a stop next to her. She made to leave, but the young man stopped her, offering his phone to her. She hesitated, then smiled bashfully and typed something—her number—before climbing in.
The bus groaned to life and trundled down High Street. Rain splattered against the windows, turning Caroline’s beaming face into a dripping smear. The man stared after it, a faint smile on his freckled face, then he started walking down the pavement and toward the café.
He strolled by Edmund, his coat brushing against his leg. Edmund’s hand twitched. He let the man take a few more steps before flexing his fingers and rising from the chair, leaving behind Anna Karenina as dark espresso slowly dripped onto the pages.
Nicole Hirt is a senior studying English and Creative Writing at Palm Beach Atlantic University. She is an editor at Living Waters Review. Her works have appeared in The Bluebird Word and Westmarch Literary Journal, and are forthcoming in Runestone Literary Journal. In her free time, she enjoys wandering through cemeteries.