I had begun to regret mentioning my little secret on Match.com. At least before I'd been getting a fair amount of dating proposals from fairly good-looking women looking for a fairly good-looking man. But now my inbox was completely empty.
I sighed and ran my hand through my hair.
A little shakily, I reached for the disgracingly small cup of tea sitting on the brown tray next to my laptop. I stared at the Costa Coffee symbol printed on it for a few minutes, almost entranced.
I often went to Costa's for the occasional treat, or in the mornings when the coffee ran out at home. I would usually get a milky latte or, like today, just a plain tea. Not wishing to break my little age old tradition, I'd also purchased a small slice of carrot cake to nibble on alongside my drink.
I'd taken one of the seats closest round the window, as usual, and decided to plant myself there for a little bit of quality thinking time. I stared out of the window, not really focusing on anything particular, but just admiring the fantastic view of the street.
It was a surprisingly sunny November morning and, despite the wonderful weather, I was stressed, mainly for two reasons, a) because of the little Match.com incident and b) because I didn't have the foggiest idea what to write for my very important news article.
I had plenty of time - three weeks, in fact - to find a special story for our special Christmas edition of The Inferno.
In case you haven't already worked it out, I am a journalist for the weekly newspaper (The Inferno - all the hottest stories, right here for you) and I will probably lose my job sometime in the next three months. I've already missed two deadlines and got forgiven for both of them due to some miracle or another; but my boss warned me that the third time I wouldn't be so lucky.
I sighed again and hit my head on the laptop keyboard, quietly, so as to not get strange stares from the people around me. I picked up the teacup again, staring down at the translucent brown liquid a little sleepily, and carefully took a sip.
I drank a little, coughed, and forced myself to swallow, realising that I'd forgotten to add the milk.
Hastily I closed the laptop, picked up the tray and headed towards the trolley in the far end of the café, where the cutlery trolley and the little pots of milk were situated. I hardly felt awake, and I wasn't paying attention to my surroundings, and as a result, I collided into another man heading towards the bin.
I looked up him and my face turned red. He was a fine specimen of a human male, with glossy brown hair and a handsome face. In his right hand he held a brown tray with a plate and some rubbish on it, and in his left he held a trademark Costa Coffee cup.
"Oh! I'm sorry, my friend, I wasn't looking where I was going...!"
He spoke with a tinge of an accent, put I couldn't put my finger on which.
"Ah... Um, no, it was my fault... I wasn't fully awake..." I stuttered, swiftly turning away to hide my rapidly reddening face.
"Uh... Excuse me, but you forgot your... Leche," he called.
I turned again, red as a tomato, and looked at him, trying to work out what he had just said.
"Um... Milk! I meant milk!" he corrected himself quickly. He passed over three pots of milk and grinned sheepishly.
"That's... Spanish, isn't it?" I said slowly.
"Yes, yes, I, uh, grew up in Spain," he answered.
So that was what his accent was.
"You speak good English," I smiled.
"Um, thank you..."
He disposed of his rubbish and suddenly I felt a strange pang in my stomach.
"Uh... Are you going anywhere in a rush?"
He looked at me, full of astonishment.
"No, no. I just came here today because I felt like it. I don't have anywhere to go after this..."
"In that case, would you... Like to sit down with me?"
I hesitated, already guessing the answer to my in question.
"Of course!"
It was my turn to be surprised. I hadn't expected him to be so friendly towards me. I had more expected him to politely decline and run from the café.
He gestured to the table I was sitting at and I nodded; he sat down, staring at my laptop like a curious child.
"I... Haha... Needed some help with my newspaper article..."
"News?"
There was that grin again, like a little boy who had eaten all the chocolate.
"Have you written about the church Christmas fair yet?"
I shook my head.
"I'm not that much of a religious man, but that church on Abbeywell Road is having a Christmas fair to raise money for British Red Cross," he explained.
He stopped.
"But I suppose... That's not much of a story, is it?"
"Right now, I'm desperate," I told him, "and I'll take anything I can get."
He smiled once more, and I felt that pang again.
It felt like... Longing.
"By the way, what's your name?" he asked, suddenly.
"Darren. Yours?"
"Antonio. Nice to meet you."
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