Hot Chocolate

They had been together for two years. Nearing their third, they were well acquainted with each other’s breaths. She had never looked better. As they waited for the concierge to give them their room key, they decided to casually stroll to the Starbucks next door. Of course she picked the cozy corner table with the perfect lighting. She asked him if he’d like his usual but he had just eaten and didn’t want anything, softly asking her to go ahead and get something to drink if she’d like. Her brown eyes scanned his cut jawline and then moved up to his brown eyes, paused for a minute as if she were reading the back cover of a book before deciding to buy it. He looked back at her briefly. They both knew they were in love. They had been for a while now. Except for her hidden tiredness, nothing had changed.

She got up and stood in line to order. He sat there now staring at his phone with his bright yellow headphones plugged into his ears, their sole purpose to drown the world out only to indulge in another. She looked back at him over and over again, hoping his head would occasionally or at least once look up at her, watch her every move the way he used to. Her hair falling over her eyebrows, the way she would look down and sign the receipt, the way she would smile at the cashier and say thank you.

But he was tired too. He had seen her every move, or so he thought. She turned again to look at him. Wondering now about the sudden existence of a silent and small sadness in her. She sat back down at the table with him, having placed her order. He finally looked up, a few seconds after her arrival. “Did you get your hot chocolate?”  She looked up at his confident, assured face and smiled, “How did you know?”

“I know you.” He replied.

She smiled and looked down, pretending to blush but secretly and efficiently hiding that sadness that seemed to be growing now and puzzling her even more of its seemingly strange purpose there. He went back to his phone, fully satisfied with himself and his few words and now giggling at the lit screen in his hand, while she sat there, quietly watching him. His athletic shoulders, chiseled face, his strong nose with tiny freckles, and his big hands. He looked the same. Just as good. She sat there, her eyes now moving on to other people, thinking, daydreaming, envisioning the next few hours just to be pleasantly interrupted by the words she was listening for.

“Lemon Ice Tea!” the barista yelled at the perfect decibel to catch her attention.

She stood up. Walker over and grabbed a straw on her way.

He looked up and watched her go.