Float On

Part 2

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Over the next three weeks, I manage to make tremendous progress. I've gotten myself into the routine of going to the coffee shop four nights a week, Sunday through Wednesday. Some visits I get a drink and a snack, and others I just go over to sit inconspicuously in a comfortable out of the way stuffed chair with my iPad or laptop to work for a few hours. Something that I didn't consider is how many other people stick to a strict routine as well. There are a few new faces every night, but regulars mostly occupy the shop. Because of this, I'm able to examine people and their words at my own pace, and so far, there haven't been many overly uncomfortable or disturbing floating messages. I've also gotten more adept at never looking up high enough to see the words at all.

I've had a few small setbacks along the way, like when an entire cheerleading squad came pouring through the doors along with all of their loud yelling and tangle of words above their heads. My chest had tightened and I had to make a desperate escape before I completely broke down in public. It took me three days before I could bring myself to cross the street again.

Right now, I'm wearing my favorite blue hoodie and am curled up in my usual chair that has a good view of the entire shop. I'm fighting off some writers block by struggling through a new anime review, but, distracted, my eyes are wandering lazily around my surroundings.

The usual group of three college boys is sitting off to the side working on homework as they do at least two nights a week. One of them is particularly cute, but I am more amused by his collection of quirky shirts. Today it's a short sleeved button-up with a cactus print. The other guys are interchangeable, but he always stands out. There's an older gentleman with a cane who always sits at the table in the front window, reading his newspaper and drinking plain black coffee. Two twenty-something girls, apparently keeping the same schedule as I do, sit in the same loveseat in the very back of the shop and for some reason, the dark haired one was almost always crying about something. Another woman is there most nights and each time I see her, she's reading a different book. One evening I almost ran into her while getting a refill and accidentally read the words above her head: 'I hoard things made of paper.' I guess that probably explains all of the books.

I shake my head and try to focus again on my writing, sucking the last bit of iced mocha through the straw. Maybe all of the caffeine I've had in the past few weeks is what's causing my writer's block. Maybe I should look that up on Google to see if that's a thing. No, wait. Concentrate on the review. Urg. Getting nowhere, I switch over to my drawing app to clear my head and quickly get lost in my sketching.

"That's really an amazing drawing."

Startled, I jump at the voice coming from close behind me.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" the owner of the melodic male voice says again. "I didn't mean to sneak up and scare you like that."

I'm desperate to look and see who is speaking to me but caught off guard, I'm terrified of what words might be floating over him. So instead, I just glance behind me quickly, only getting an eyeful of black jeans and the sense that the owner of the voice is tall.

To my surprise, the person doesn't go away but instead flops into the plush chair next to mine. I take another quick peek and my heart starts to pound. I didn't look at his face, but I don't need to because I would recognize that cactus shirt from anywhere. It's him. Looking up, I search out the group of three college guys, but find only two of them, confirming my suspicions. And much to my surprise, they are both looking in my direction but quickly turn away when I catch their gaze. One of them, I notice, is the 'doesn't wear underwear' guy I almost ran into on my first visit. The other, a short redhead with freckles, suddenly bends down to dig something out of his backpack that's sitting on the floor, and the words that were just safely above his head are now in my direct line of sight. 'I only study business because my dad makes me.'

"I see you in here a lot," the dark haired boy continues. "Do you go to school at King's College?"

"Oh, um, no, but I used to. I just live across the street actually," I answer softly, staring down at my drawing, the stylus nervously shaking in my hand.

"Really? I love the coffee and croissants here. If I lived across the street, I would probably just stay in here all day. I only live a few blocks over but it seems I always find my way to this shop more than I probably should."

He continues to babble on about coffee and I'm finding it impossible not to smile. His voice is so animated and the joy in it is practically contagious. As I listen to him talk, I find myself hoping that he doesn't stop, but I know I'm in danger of that happening if I can't manage to carry on part of the conversation like a normal human being. Taking a deep breath and steeling my nerves, I look up at his face and concentrate on his eyes, not daring to look up any further than that. The last thing I need right now is to see the words 'I ran over my neighbor's cat' or 'I set my dorm room on fire' floating above him. Although the way my brain is short circuiting because the most beautiful baby blue eyes that I've ever seen are currently locked onto my brown ones, neither one of those things may be deal breakers.

"So what do you do if you don't go to school?" he asks in a friendly voice, bringing my focus back to him.

"I have a blog for my artwork and reviewing anime and a YouTube channel for drawing tutorials," I say, feeling a little self-conscious about my glaring lack of a real job.

"I wish I could draw like that," he says, stretching over closer to look at my iPad. "Even my stick figures look like they're in distress of some sort. Maybe I need to go check out your channel and take a lesson or two. Actually, I'm sure I'll need more help than that."

I can feel my cheeks heat up when I realize he's now only about a foot away from me. He's close enough I can smell his shampoo and it's all I can do to keep myself from leaning in and sniffing his black hair. My eyes focus on my drawing, but unfortunately, his proximity is also making his floating text drift into my peripheral vision. Thankfully, he leans back and makes himself comfortable in his chair again.

"What's the name of your channel?

"Dan is not on Fire."

"Oh!" he exclaims loudly. "I didn't even ask you your name or anything! So you're Dan?"

"Daniel. Or Dan. I mean, either is fine," I stammer back as I try to stifle a smile again at his never-ending enthusiasm.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Daniel," he says with a huge smile. "I'm Phil."

He looks back over at his friends and his face puckers into a frown. "I guess we're leaving," he grumbles as he watches his friends stand and pack up their books.

I'm surprised as I'm suddenly flooded with disappointment at his quick departure.

"So, um, I wish we could have gotten to talk some more," he says, sounding flustered. "Do you think you might be back here tomorrow night?"

"Yeah," I answer quickly. "I'm usually here on Wednesdays."

His face lights up with a gorgeous smile and I'm almost left speechless.

"Ok, then, maybe we can have coffee together tomorrow night? I mean, unless you want tea. It's a coffee shop but they have tea, too," he rambles. "And maybe you could show me some more of your drawings? If you want. You don't have to if you don't want to, but they're really fantastic."

"Phil, come on!" his red headed reluctant business major friend calls from across the room.

"I better go. So, tomorrow night, yeah? 9:30?"

Completely flustered, I can't do anything but nod yes. Phil rewards me with another big smile before he trots off to his friends. When they reach the front of the shop, he stops and turns around to look at me again with a big goofy grin on his face. Realizing that he has stopped walking, one of his friends reaches back and grabs the collar of his cactus shirt and yanks him out of the door. I try not to laugh at his flailing around to keep his balance, but fail miserably.