“Day in and day out I mindlessly fill orders, day in and day out I cater to the same mocha-loving zombies, and day in and day out I have but one saving grace. That one grace that I put all my hopes and dreams in to, day in and day out, is thoughts of you. Thoughts of us, together. Thoughts of what our future could be like if I could do more than just daydream in this hell-hole, day in and day out.”

Or so I would have said to her had I known that would be her last day out.

* * *

Who knows how long ago it was, for I certainly don’t. The days in that coffee house were mundane beyond belief, so much so that they ran together like a half-dry watercolor painting left out in a hurricane-grade torrential downpour. As I mindlessly filled yet another order for a tall cappuccino, heavy on the sugar, the bell rang. I looked to the door in what could only be described as a conditioned response hardened by years of repetition, but my eyes lingered upon the figure in the entrance for just a moment longer than prescribed, and rightly so, for this was no ordinary customer.

She was the epitome of petit, no more than five-four judging by the thief-measurement tape running up the door post, yet she carried with her an air of commanding strength that deeply belied her stature. At first, I couldn’t place why she was so striking… was it her snappy business attire? Or her childishly cute bangs? I don’t know what I was thinking when I even suggested the bangs to myself because cuteness does not make a strong woman, as far as appearance goes. But then I noticed.

Her eyes. Those hardened, tempered, steel gray eyes. After I rushed to prepare her iced coffee with what must have been the most saddening display of oafishness known to man, I couldn’t keep myself from staring. They were so… perfect. As she glanced from the screen of her laptop to check the time, I kept staring, knowing what a fool I was becoming. And just as she was about to leave, our eyes met.

I don’t know what she saw. I don’t know if she saw the dinky uniform I sported, as per company policy, or if she was looking deeper, deeper into my being. But her eyes, those steely pools of quicksilver, gave the impression that they could pierce the very soul, and I could do little more than stare back, helpless.

And then she left.

Swept away in the riptide of life, I wondered if she would ever come back. Days passed, and in time those piled into weeks, which, with little effort, metamorphosed into months. Yet still I was vigilant. Every ringing of the bell was a chance, an opportunity for that one woman to return. Thoughts of her and her piercing gaze filled every crevasse of my gray matter. The sobriety of the meaningless work I performed what would appear to be a mechanized fashion seemed somewhat fulfilling, now that I had her to look forward to each and every passing day. But as surely as the sun sets, time makes fools of us all, and my hope began to fade.

My resolve was far beyond beginning to wan. Maybe that past meeting so long ago was no more than chance, and as chance would have it, the results would not be repeated. I settled in my darkness, but like a small child promised all sorts of sweets and goodies, hope would not be so easily defeated. The bell rang out once more, and pinned all my aspirations on one last darting glance at the door.

Fate, you cruel bastard, why must you toy with our simple hearts?

No sooner than when I was ready to give up all hope, she returned. I smiled genially, and to my great satisfaction, she returned the gesture. As I prepared her Irish brew, light on the sugar, heavy on the cream, we chatted about such nonessential topics as corruption in today’s government and business affairs. Things seemed grand, great, and generally awesome, if you will, and as she made ready for her departure, she promised to return. Much sooner, she assured me.

However, this was a promise she would not presently keep.

Not a moment after the door clanged shut behind her, tires screeched just outside the store, immediately followed by a hysterical scream and frenzied footsteps. Uncontrollable spasms coursed the length of my body at the noises, causing me to drop the vanilla frappuccino I was currently mixing. I knew what had happened before I had vaulted the service counter and just about ripped the door off the hinges in my haste. I knew what had happened even before I shoved, jostled, and wrestled my way through the throng of astonished onlookers quickly gathering to get an eyeful of the carnage.

I knew she was dead, pinned to a parking meter, before I had the chance to weep for the silver-eyed beauty that had graced my life with her presence.