It was a cold rainy November when crossed paths. You stood behind me in the line at a local nondescript coffee shop buried in the bowels of an unremarkable glass encased office tower. I was lost in the inevitable ennui of middle age. You were transfixed on swiping right on another opportunity for disappointment, wondering how long before you become jaded by the experience.
You shuffle forward, following the subconscious pulse of the line; a hive mind dreamt up by industrial design and efficiency studies. I remain resolute in my lack of rhythm and your step forward plants your phone into the small of my back. An insignificant collision under any other moon, under any other circumstance.
I turn around and smile, as to say *no problem, don’t worry about it* in one simple gesture. Your face flushed and you mutter out an apology. I roll out a quip to defuse your embarrassment and you return a smile. We inch forward, falling into a conversation as deep as milk in a saucer. But our smiles turn into laughter and by the time I reached the counter, I offer to buy your latte. You pause, briefly troubled by my request, but you simply smile and say “thanks.”
Somehow between the order and the frothing of the milk, we fell into orbit. If asked when we connected, neither one of us could recount the moment. Maybe it was the dry joke about the current state of affairs that rendered us in tears. Maybe it was how we stood side by side waiting for our coffee, drawn closer together.
“My next meeting isn’t for an hour, so I am going to have my coffee here,” I say, studying your face. “Mind if I join you,” you ask, eyes twinkling softly.
*I don’t mind at all*
“Sure, let’s grab a table” We found a two top in a dark corner with a wobbly leg. It did not matter. The corner was dark and quiet. We share our lives over our coffees and lost track of time. That afternoon shared more that we would ever would with a stranger but with each turn of the conversation we became more raptly attentive of each other. You regale me with frustrations of dating, while I candidly share with you the struggles of a marriage gone sour. The months of therapy and counseling all for naught. We lean in closer like co-conspirators, our knees brushing each other in a passing collision.
Lighting shuddered though our bodies and the invisible string between us tightened. My heart was beating out of my chest and your lips parted slightly. Your hand brushed mine, and I did not pull away. Your hand returned, tentatively, like a bird settling on a precarious branch. Our conversation turns more intimate. Our knees press together and your hand explores mine, instinctively covering my wedding band.
The coffee shop emptied and the employees scurry about, cleaning up before the end of the day. We look up then at each other and simultaneously utter “oh shit.” We get up quickly and make our way out to the door, laughing like kids about to be busted for skipping school. I turn to you and smile, saying that I am going to get my bag. Somehow, it was implied that you were going up the stairwell with me. We walk briskly across the lobby and open the door to the seldom used stairwell. As soon as the door shuts behind us, you lean up and press your lips against mine.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/f8mar1/mf_what_was_meant_to_be_part_1