He didn’t do it. Why didn’t he do it? And why was he staring at the menu overhead, asking himself this question when he should’ve been ordering? He knew what he wanted. A large coffee with a double shot and a few pumps of vanilla. Cindy was working the register. She knew what he wanted too. It made him feel pathetic sometimes… always doing the same thing. He’d been with Jess for four years now, it sounded harsh but she was beginning to become just another one of his habits.

Predictable was not an attractive trait. But someone that was predictable was also reliable… reliability was an important element in marriage, wasn’t it? Why didn’t he know the answer to this question? And why couldn’t he just get it together long enough to fucking order already?

So he didn’t do it, big deal, it was probably for the best anyway. For all he knew she was in cahoots with some psychopath, Bonnie and Clyde-ing it up, working as a team to trick dumb asses like him: randomly call someone, pretend she had the wrong number, get the idiot who answers the phone interested so that next thing he knows she’s the only thing on his mind, gets him to ask for her name, log in her number, schedule a day and time to meet up, and then BAM! Found dead in the basement of some sick fuck’s house.

He shook his head, I watch way too much TV, and tried focusing on the menu again. Maybe a mocha this time?

“Large blended chai with whipped cream for Greta.”

He almost made himself dizzy looking around the room in a kind of excited, panicked frenzy. Greta was a slightly unique name, that must’ve been her. That had to be her! But where was she? The only people in sight were an old man, his equally old lady friend, and a guy with shaggy black hair.

“Small decaf latte for Isabel.”

Greta. Isabel.

That was most definitely her. Before his heart could stop from an overwhelming sense of anxiety two women brushed past him, the one on the right running into his left arm. She steadied herself, clutching his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry!” Is this Greta or Isabel? “Oh God, are you okay? I’m such a clutz, I have the hardest time paying attention to my surroundings, I just fall over everything and everyone, I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

She notices that she’s still clutching him, holding onto this complete stranger that is probably ready to freak out on her for touching him. She takes a step back and bumps into the woman behind her.

“Greta!” The woman rolls her eyes and heads to the counter for their drinks.

Of course, this one is Greta. The babbling. The excessive apologies. The sweet, innocent, sincerity in her voice.

He should introduce himself… shouldn’t he?

She blushed. “It’s a curse. Clumsy and uber talkative.” Glanced at the counter. “And now Izzy’s giving me the evil eye which essentially means shut the fuck up.” Laughed softly, embarrassed. “Again, I’m sorry; but I’m glad you’re okay.” Turned to walk away.

It was like word vomit the way he blurted his name. The old couple was startled. Cindy smiled, amused. For the year and a half that he’d been coming here she’d never seen him so animated. It was usually shuffle in, mumble order, tip two bucks, shuffle out. She leaned against the register for a better view, while Isabel stayed back sipping her latte intrigued.

Greta turned back to him. “777-6263 Justin?”

He nodded.

She grinned. “Wow.” Took him in slowly. “You’re hot. I mean---! You’re super attractive. You sound cute on the phone, but in person you’re, like, really good looking.” Should he thank her? “You sort of resemble Alec.” Her two-timing asshole boyfriend? Never mind on the thanks.

He scoffed. “I sound ‘cute?’”

Her eyes widened. Guys hated cute the way she hated being referred to as “sweet.” “No! No, not at all, you sound---”

Isabel handed her the chai, her eyes on him. “Hi. Isabel. Excuse Greta, she has no people skills.” She tugged on Greta’s arm. “Come on dork, we’re late.”

But being one that always knew what to say even in the most awkward situation, Greta didn’t budge. “Let me pay for your coffee. Please. It’s the least I can do.”

“Did you hear me? We’re late.”

Greta looked from him to Isabel. “But…”

He found himself saying once again, “It’s cool. You don’t owe me anything.”

And before she could talk her way out of it, Isabel was pulling her out the door, down the street. If he did say so himself, she was “super attractive” too. Extremely adorable in her multicolored scarf.

“It’s disarming.” Cindy caught his attention. He finally made his way to the register. “I’ve never met anyone as genuine as Greta.”

He pulled out his wallet. “She’s a regular?”

“Yep. Isabel, too.”

He knew this would sound weird, but he had to ask. “What does she usually order?”

But if Cindy was suspicious at all she didn’t show it; she just smiled. “Chai.”

“Does that have caffeine?”

“Uh-huh, but not nearly as much as a coffee with espresso.”

“I’ll try one.”

Her smiled widened. “Small, medium, or large?”

“Large. With whipped cream.”

A large chai with whipped cream… that was so distinctly different from a red eye with vanilla… coming from the man that seemed to know nothing about variety. This excited Cindy. She didn’t really know him or Greta on a personal level, but as a barista she’d become perceptive enough to know that a person with Greta’s personality could be good for someone like him, someone who seemed so utterly bored with life. By ordering this drink he was already taking a step in a more stimulating direction.

“That’ll be 4.10.”

He gave her a five, told her to keep the change, and put a twenty in the tip jar. “Is Wednesday her usual day?”

“Wednesdays with Isabel. Friday mornings she comes alone.”

He and Jess were having breakfast on Friday. Fuck.

Still, in thirty seconds flat he’d written a note on his receipt and handed it to Cindy. “Cool, can you make sure she gets this then?”

Cindy's mouth dropped.  This was more than a step in a more stimulating direction, this was making history.