6th July 2014
Dear Genevieve,
You were there first person I thought of speaking to but of course, you are not here. I cannot say for sure if it means anything yet. His name is Noah.
I was packing up to leave when he came over and leaned against the counter, watching as I stacked coffee cups and straightened napkins. His brows furrowed and the muscles around his mouth tightened. He struggled as he tried to form the right words. I stopped what I was doing and set my hands on the counter opposite his.
“Can I help you?” I asked him politely. He coughed nervously.
“Do you want to grab a coffee or something?” he asked, and then quickly reconsidered. “Well maybe not coffee, you must associate coffee with work.” He trailed off nervously. I laughed and his cheeks flushed pink. “Forget it, it was a stupid idea.”
“No.” I almost yelled, afraid he would leave. I laughed as his face brightened. “I like coffee.” He sighed a breath a relief and smiled widely.
He brought me to a dingy place off Gregson. It was a small hole in the wall, with peeling chairs that smelled of tobacco. We stayed until closing, talking. He was wasn’t shy, he seemed to be holding something back. Like me.
We drank coffee, he told me he likes to draw. I told him I love to bake; he said my carrot cake was the best he has had. I was so at home with him, like he had pushed through some sort of defence system I had built to keep people out. He walked me out to where my mother was waiting for me and made me promise we would do this again. I promised and he said he would call me.
He called the next day.
With love,
Lydia
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