Some one brought a cup with steaming liquid. He smelled it. It was black, strong, bitter coffee that he sipped at slowly. She smiled gently at his expression and brushed over some sugar and cream thoughtfully so like her mother. First one packet, then two. He stirred itidly watching the dance floor slowly thin out at a slow dance. He lifted the hot cup to his lips and drank the entire contents of the cup in three swallows. Bitter coffee. That happened in the city when the pipes were old. Copper pipes. Sugar & cream on a table in a dance club. A slow movement caught his eye as he stared trying to fathom his fear in the empty cup on the table in front of him. She rewound the scarf from her throat as she sat, looking calmly at him and waiting. From her shoulder to the clavicle was a familiar looking scar. (‘Plastic surgery can correct that. But I’m afraid that in her mind, you will always be someone she hates. Only time can heal that wound. And her willingness to admit what happened.’). He commented on how good she smelled too. They drove out to the beach. Driving around, she pointed out sights that had changed over the years. As they rode, her arm was on the arm rest next to his and their fingers would graze each others. After a few times of this happening, their fingers magically entwined with one anothers. It felt so right. It only took a little while for the two of them to loosen up and get over the shyness and be theirselves. After a late lunch at a local cafe, they decided to take a walk on the beach. Joking around and talking and just enjoying the walk. While walking their hands kept touching, almost like they were reaching for one another. He finally just grabbed her hand, and held firmly and tight, not wanting to let go. They played and giggled and tickled one another until they collapsed down on the sugary white sand. She fell back with him slightly on top of her and they gaze into one another's eyes. He leaned in and kissed her softly, then again, this.
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