Another late night. It is a writing night at the cafe.
There abide walking into the all-night cafe. The pace was even in its stride while holding a cognac-coloured leather Bobobark backpack purse slung over my shoulder. Impatient is the wait but eventually, coffee becomes ordered. Two cups of brew, extra large, peppermint flavouring and an additional cup of ice. Then off to my usual corner.
The corner booth seat is kind of mine. The hidden space is dimly lit and seems tucked in a natural nook at the farthest end of the service counter. It is a sweet spot of a hiding place. On weekends it becomes occupied during most Saturday nights. The late-night weekend staff reserve it at midnight. They privately understand that Emily Willow Windstorm visits.
All night usually, all night I become tucked in.
The cafe is a hideaway of a place that gathers large amounts of patrons during the day and evening. The coming of midnight renders a snail’s pace of a good three dozen regulars coming and staying for short spurts before going. This breathing of expected customers is an easiness that is friendly pseudo social with no one bothering anyone outside of polite greetings. Thus, I am safely nestled in the semi-secret spot to enjoy whatever.
The Cafe door opens wide just minutes after three in the morning. Next comes the bustling between incoming and outgoing patrons. Hence the brisk winter breeze sweeps into the little brew house. It gifts a chill bringing shivers to almost everyone. Otherwise, a short chat exchange occurs. It does and my attention never leaves the laptop computer’s screen as typing is at a radioactive speed. However, the chat is heard but dismissed.
” Sorry, too much luggage. Sorry, and thank you, ” This Is shared via a female American-sounding voice.
” I am stranded here too. So, I understand and please let me help. ” States a husky male voice before each goes on their way.
After this energy exchange, the cafe quiets to its usual. The norm of ordering, sitting while enjoying the piano jazz in the solitude of watching the snowfall. Snow is falling, the large white flakes caressing the window beside me as the rhythm of public solitude lay like a comfy blanket over everyone.
” Hi, may I sit here? ” This swings into capturing attention as a petite brunette positions table side. ” I am Ilaria, New York, stranded and if I could…” She hesitates as my eye flutters upward to look at her face.
Breath taken, breathing gasps lightly with thoughts flooding in. ‘ Pretty. Eyes, darkly chocolate, enchanting, oh my …eyes. ‘ Eyes that do seem to own my mind as she continues in a wish to share the booth seat.
” This window seems perfect to enjoy until my hotel room is ready. May I please join you? ” Those deeply brown eyes warmly peer at me as the upper-crust New Yorker accent sings into my ears.
The mind spins at high speed. Eyes are seeing the beauty of a woman in her early thirties. Sexy and almost could be a model. Ilaria dresses like one too. But what keeps my attention is the instant pheromonal scent. It strongly drifts into the nostrils bringing dizziness. And to top that, Ilaria gasps as she awaits permission.
Fire enters those eyes. Heat as she removes the outer winter coat. The coat comes held as she scans these dazzling emerald green eyes. Connecting. She is peering into the soul with no stopping in the looking. Those dark eyes hold confidence as the delicate sensual athletic curves stand before me declaring that destiny comes.
Destiny and presence indeed, yes she has that in abundance. The beauty of shoulder-length brunette tresses is a powerful flooding of modern intellectual classiness.
Silence holds as I directly gaze back, Eyes giving a barely interested roaming but then a sweep from head to toe. As always I am dismissive of everyone. A personal standard practice in meeting anyone. Yet in those few breaths, the other person’s soul is summed. Then I begin calculating how much precious writing time will be allowed to be stolen.
‘ An hour… max! ’ Drifts in thoughts to spur on a wooing into my acceptance. ‘ Go on allow her to join. It is winter, and cold, and she is cute. Be nice to her .’
“ Please do, welcome to the Island. I am Emily. ” Arrives as that acceptance with addressing her in Islander friendliness.
“ Thank you. “ Arrives in appreciative exhaustion in finally being able to stop movement.
The pretty young thing tosses her winter coat into the corner of the booth bench seat opposite me. She gingerly places the ‘moments ago’ acquired steaming hot beverage on the table, while does not remove that gaze from me. The cup is set down on the table to allow the positioning of the two luggage cases. She nudges them to be in front of the table on the floor. Within a bundle of quick minutes, Ilaria nestles on the seat. The settling in comes followed by swinging a larger-sized over-the-shoulder black leather purse onto the bench seat beside her. Lastly, a tugging on the shoulder strap to remove the matching business satchel that arrives next to the purse.
‘ Traveller indeed, ’ Enters my thinking in reaching for a partially filled cup of that delicious peppermint coffee.
“ A pleasure, Emily, ” A smile worthy of a playfulness of the muses possessed Ilaria’s lips.
‘ A cat, the cat that is eating the mouse. ’ Leisurely wanders thoughts as sips of the coffee are found to be pleasing.
‘ Feeling, feeling it, yes, I am. ’ Surrounded by the whispers of erotism. Yes, it owns air between us. Automatic seduction pours into a lightness. Air carries such energies for people with an in-tuned erotic soul. And that existence tells that she is like me in that truth. Oh yes, erotism is willing to be instantly there, to be felt.
Ilaria fumbles around with straightening clothing to adjust in the seat before hand-cupping that beverage. Then a hand brushes back several wayward brunette tresses.
‘ Ah yes, the attempt to draw my eyes back to you ’. My gaze keeps view of her face as a peripheral while staring out the window. But now a direct glance to see the pleasing play of those shimmering strands hugging her ear, her face. A genteel artisan body feature that begs to be kissed. That leads to a daydream to begin. Yet the notion is to push it off as she gives recognition that she caught me. The understanding was displayed by her sweetly smiling.
A smile, a winsome grin in knowing about her seductive power. ‘ Damn! ’ exclaims in the mind for it feels like this mouse of me is going to be eaten.
‘ Eaten, eaten, babe… it’s been a while since you have been. You might need that. ‘
WindWhisperer 