MELISSA

She didn’t understand why it excited him—taking cheap shots of her in her underwear—but it did. It made her feel grimy, as though she’d eaten in a cheap burger place where the meat was of questionable origin.

Melissa recoiled at the thought of it, remembering how humiliated and dirty she felt. It was the kind of dirty that brought a smile to his face. As it had last night when she’d had no intention of staying over.

“You look so hot,” he’d whispered hoarsely, before he slipped her bra strap off her shoulder. “You can do better than that,” he told her, when she wouldn’t kneel like he said. She’d winced, wondering how they’d gone from making out to this. It seemed to turn him on—the idea that he could make her do things she wasn’t comfortable with. Melissa blushed at the memory, the color heating her cheeks. She’d sat back down on the bed and buttoned up her shirt after the shame of it all. Like trapped gas, a feeling of discomfort lodged deep in her stomach and made her uneasy.

And yet at other times when he was good, he was the best. Her friends at work thought he was hot. Not just cute-hot, but hot-hot. And he was. No arguing with that. She’d seen the way girls swept their gaze his way even when she was out with him: buying tickets at the cinema or ordering at a restaurant. They didn’t try to hide their lust.

It always made her feel invisible. The way she often felt when she went out with her friend Heather—her outwardly ditzy persona adding to her beach blonde look, complete with smile and curves. She got noticed. Melissa did not.

“Skinny latte to go,” a barista on autopilot announced into the air.

“Skinny latte to go for—Melissa.” Another announcement, spoken in a world-weary voice.

“I think that’s yours.” A gentle touch of a hand on her arm and a soft voice close to her drew her back into the bustling buzz of the early morning coffee shop, just across the road from work and a few minutes walk from the gym.

The gym where she’d spend a couple mornings a week before work. She glanced at the person who’d spoken to her. He pointed to her cup. “You’re Melissa, aren’t you?”

Her attention had been snatched back and she acknowledged him with a nod, this stranger with the soft eyes. “Huh? Yes.” She stared vacantly at the tall coffee cup, then glanced at him again, his face registering familiarity. She’d seen him here before.
His hair was the color of dark chocolate, longish and swept back at the sides.
With an effort she grabbed her coffee, voiced a quiet “thanks” to him and turned to head out the door.
But collided head-on with a motorcycle courier who was removing his helmet. His oversized frame knocked right into her and the sharp bite of instant heat singed her chest.

She yelped in agony as the sensation, like hot prickly barbed wire, stung her skin. The motorcyclist turned, saw what he’d done and rushed to her side as she pulled her sticky, coffee-stained shirt away from her scorched skin.

“Oh, damn,” she groaned.

“I’m so sorry.” The courier turned crimson when he saw her drink had spilled all over her. Luckily her coat and scarf had absorbed most of it.

“Here.” The familiar guy with the soft eyes handed her some tissues, which she gratefully accepted.

“Does it hurt? Do you want to sit down?” The motorcyclist asked, fussing over her. She shook her head, truly embarrassed at what had happened even though it hadn’t been her fault.

“Can I at least get you another drink?”

“No, no, I’m fine.” Melissa wiped the stubborn stain and kept her shirt away from her body. It had cooled fast, but she still felt a slight pinch of soreness underneath.

“I’m sorry,” the motorcyclist repeated, as if the mantra would fix the situation.

“It’s okay. I’ll be fine,” Melissa said, with a finality she hoped would get through to him. He shrugged and left, heading towards the washroom.

An assistant came over to ask her if she was all right and whether she’d like another drink. “No, thank you.” She was eager to get out, to not draw even more attention to herself.

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed. It wasn’t your fault.” The guy with the soft eyes told her. She looked at him, her face flushed from attracting too much unnecessary attention.

“Maybe getting a drink might help. A small comfort for the pain?” She was too dazed to reply. Instead, she watched as he turned to the assistant who still hovered around. “She’d like a skinny latte and a blueberry muffin, please.”

“I didn’t get a blueberry muffin today.”

“No, but you sometimes do.”

Startled, she patted the stain and stared back at him. Long eyelashes, she concluded.

“They’re probably hoping you don’t sue,” he said quietly as he waited by her side. “Does it hurt?”

She shook her head, even though it stung a little. “My scarf got most of it.” She unwound it from her neck and scrunched up her nose as she inhaled the smell of stale, cold coffee. Wonderful. Now not only was she wearing yesterday’s clothes, but she smelled of old coffee too. “Thanks for the tissues.”

“No problem.” The corners of his mouth moved up a little and an unsure smile tried to break loose. He looked away but continued to wait by her side with his hands in his pockets and a backpack on his back.

“I’ve seen you here before,” she commented.

“I’ve seen you.” The corners of his mouth moved up a little more until he actually gave her a smile. She responded, and at the same time wondered why he wasn’t joining the line to place his order, why he was so intent on waiting with her.

“I’ll be fine, thanks.” She didn’t want to tell him to go, but she also didn’t want him to think he had to stick around. She wasn’t incapacitated.

She looked down at the ugly wet patch on her blouse and groaned.

“It doesn’t look too bad.” But his reassurance was futile because they both knew it did.

She pulled the edges of her coat together and placed her hand across her chest, holding the coat down with her hand. They stood in silence, smiling politely. “Don’t you want to place your order?” she asked.

“I’m waiting for it,” he said, as her cheeks heated some more. He’s not waiting for you, silly.

“Here you go, ma’am. Have a nice day.” Melissa took her order from the assistant. “Thanks,” she said to the guy next to her.

“No problem,” he replied. “You might want to get that burn looked at.”

She shook her head and dismissed the idea. “This little thing? It’s nothing.”

He cocked his head, as if doubting her for a second. “It doesn’t look like nothing to me. But at least you’re okay. Have a good day.”

“You too,” she replied, feeling suddenly uplifted.

***

NOAH

Noah stared after her long after she had walked out of the coffee shop. He watched through the glass windows as she made her way across the road, her now familiar thick, long hair falling loosely over her back. It had been the first thing that he’d noticed.
Shiny, luscious almost caramel brown, it had been the thing that had drawn him first. When he looked at the face framed by such beautiful hair, he’d been startled to see a face so full of sadness. It immediately made him want to know why.

The more he became aware of her, the more he seemed to bump into her even though he knew she hadn’t noticed him once.

Until this morning. And then it had been a double whammy. Not only had he found out her name, but he’d managed to speak to her too.

He collected his order but his thoughts strayed back to the girl; this morning she’d seemed even more distant than usual.

There was more of the sadness; it was subtle and hidden, but it was there all the same. He could sense it somehow, the signs that gave things away. Signs that revealed discomfort. And unease.

Of people hiding things that pained.

Once he, too, had known someone who was sad and hurting so much inside that she had hidden it completely. He hadn’t known it then. But now, in the fullness of time, he was able to look back on it all.

He knew of the carefully constructed, polished to perfection exteriors people put up so that they could hide the very things they didn’t want others to see.

Maybe Melissa had sadness and secrets too.

If he’d only been as observant before, he might have been able to do something.

Melissa looked nothing like Bree; that wasn’t the reason he found himself looking out for her. His memories mingled with the aroma of coffee beans as he remembered the girl he had lost.

“Bree like the cheese?” he’d asked her, going back a decade to the first time he’d met her, when they were both freshmen in high school.

“I hate cheese.” She’d laughed, crinkled up her nose. They’d started dating not long after. It was a high school romance, full of angst and discovery, new highs and bottomless lows.

But it was nothing compared to the depth of love the second time around, when he’d come back home from college.

This time around it had been the real thing. But now it, too, was gone. It was time to lay those ghosts to rest and try to move on. That was what everyone around him said. It didn’t make it any easier though.

He took his coffee, brought himself back to the present. Following in Melissa’s footsteps he dragged himself from the warmth and out into the wall of gray coldness outside.

At least he now knew her name.

Melissa.

She didn’t know it, but she was the first girl who had ignited a flicker of interest in him.
His parents kept telling him, as did his friends, that a year was a long time and he had to move on. And that was exactly what Noah proposed to do.