You

It was at the height of summer when I first saw you.

You are sitting there by the window in that little café, your eyes a striking amber in the filtered light.

Your hair is up in a messy bun; the dark strands that stubbornly stray free lay softly against the light skin of your cheeks. As you gently press the end of your pen to your lips, you have a faraway look as if in deep thought.

I hear my name being called and I pull my gaze away from you; I awkwardly stumble over to grab my iced tea. I was staring way too long. I hope you didn’t notice.

The only open table is the one next to yours; the one with a single chair facing your direction.

“Of course it’s the only one,” I huff to myself as I try to quietly pull the chair out without scraping its wooden legs noisily across the floor. No success there.

I glance up to meet those amber eyes staring at me. A small squeak leaves my lips as I quickly look down at my tea; my face feels flushed as butterflies flutter in my stomach. I clumsily toss my bag on the table, shuffle into my seat, and set down my cup. I can’t help but glance back up again, but you’ve returned to your writing.

Surrounded by people typing away on laptops, here you are writing in a spiral notebook while sipping on what appears to be hot tea. I smile as I turn my focus to unzipping my bag and pulling out a small brown leather book embossed with wildflowers. As I carefully flip the pages, I see the various drawings of flowers, landscapes, and animals spotted during my nature jaunts; some pressed flowers that were too beautiful to leave behind.

I take a sip of my iced tea as I glance at you again. Why can’t I keep my eyes off you? I need to focus on writing down the genus names of the flowers I’ve collected for my nature log; not stare at some random beautiful stranger.

You seem to pause in your writing, and I realize I’ve been staring for too long. I go to glance away when I notice your eyes trail up to meet mine again. I pause for a moment, being drawn into those piercing eyes, before sheepishly going back to my doodles.

An hour passes as we play this game of glancing at each other and looking away. Each time I look at you, I notice something new: your black nail polish slightly chipped and worn, a small spring of lavender tucked delicately behind your ear, a small black and grey tattoo of a flower on the underside of your wrist. Have you noticed anything about me? Probably not.

Disappointment fills my chest as I watch you pack up your things. I had been needing to go as well, but I lingered in hopes that I could find the courage to say something to you.

As you slide your notebook into a small purple backpack, I spot the gleam of an enamel pin as the sun catches on it. Such a simple little pin, and yet my heart stops when I see that cute rainbow frog.

You glance at me again as you begin to walk past my table towards the door, and for a sheer dumb luck of a moment, a bubbling of courage stirs inside of me. It comes out in a bit of a blundering stutter, but I manage to say, “I th-think your lavender looks pretty.”

Wow. Smooth. Very smooth.

You slow for a moment, and I hear a heart-skipping giggle.

“Thank you, I like your shirt,” you say with a wink before you continue over to the door. You stop as you open the door, smiling at me as you call out, “perhaps I’ll see you again soon!”

And then you’re gone.

Did I stop breathing? I think I did.

Nobody around me seems to have noticed this exchange, but I sit here relishing in this happy little moment. I need to see you again.

…

This happens again and again over the next two weeks. I usually only come to the café twice a week, but now I’m here every day at the same time and so are you. We sit at those same two tables glancing over at each other every passing day. Each time you go to leave, we exchange a compliment and a smile.

I’m getting better at this; braver, bolder. You seem to be reciprocating this with bolder compliments of your own. These little moments grow longer as we start to ask quick questions in those passing times you go to leave.

I ask you what you’re writing about; you answer “ideas and dreams” before asking what flowers I’ve collected today. I smile and pull out a pink wild rose, still fresh from the field I plucked it from this morning. To my surprise, you lean in closer to look. You’ve never been this close to me before; my heart drums in my chest. You’re so close to me that I can tell you smell of honey and lavender.

It’s like we’re in our own little world where no one else seems to notice.

You look up at me and I watch amazed at the twinkle in your eyes when you start to smile at me. “It’s beautiful,” you whisper.

I surprise myself by reaching out for your hand, and even more so by how soft your skin is as I turn your hand in mine. I place the little flower in your palm as I manage to blurt out, “Here. For you.”

My face is hot as I pull my hand away quickly, almost knocking my iced tea over with my elbow. I awkwardly manage to save it from falling into my lap. You chuckle and place your other hand on my shoulder as if to calm me, gratitude leaves your lips in such a shy manner as you say, “thank you.”

You motion with your eyes to the other side of my table, towards the extra chair that happen to be here today, “may I?”

We talk for hours; about flowers, books, tea, everything. I love the way you look at me, but what does it mean? It takes my breath away.

The café is closing, and I really need to go. I have a research report to write.

You carefully tear out a page from your notebook, then quickly scribble down your name and a number.

You hand it to me with a bashful smile, “I really like talking to you. Call me?”

I smile like a goofy lovestruck dork as my fingers graze yours while grabbing that little piece of paper; I see the slightest hint of blush on your cheeks.

All I can manage to choke out is, “definitely.”

…

The month flies by and summer ends; the air is crisp and cool. Today we are walking through a little park with nicely trimmed green grass. Hints of color are starting to appear in the trees.

You hold my hand as we talk about life; ours plans and our dreams. I brush some stray hairs from your face so I can keep gazing at those stunning amber eyes. How did I get so lucky to find you?

We take a seat at a cute little bench made of wood and iron; you cuddle into me as I wrap my arm around you. Not only am I lucky to have found you, but somehow you seem to actually like this awkward person that is me.

With my other hand, I trace my fingers along the soft skin of your arm. It feels too soon, but I want to tell you I love you. I keep those words trapped in my throat as my fingers stop along your tattoo. Since the day I first saw you, I’ve had the chance to observe that you had adorn yourself with a simple yet charming sprig of marigold and a small semi colon along it’s stem.

I remember the first time I asked you about it, I made you laugh when I asked if it was some type of Tagetes. I had to clarify that I meant marigold; most people don’t randomly know the genus of a plant as I apparently do.

“So why did you pick a marigold?” I quietly ask as I trace the lines drawn into your skin. Something felt meaningful about it and the curiosity has been eating at me for a while.

There is a stillness about you in this moment as if you are making some sort of life altering decision. A look of grief appears briefly across your face. I run my fingers through your hair as I try to soothe you, “It’s okay, you don’t have to talk about. Tell me when you’re ready.”

“Thank you,” you whisper in a voice thick with sorrow and appreciation, “it’s… hard to talk about. I lost someone special to me… and marigolds remind me of them so those are my favorite flowers.”

I wrap you up into my arms and hold you close as I kiss your forehead.

“I’m so sorry…”

An idea forms in my mind and I ask you, “do you have any other plans today?”

“No?” You seem a little confused by the sudden change in topic, but I can see an amused twinkle in your eyes and the beginning of a smirk.

I gently help you up and grab your hand as I smile softly and announce, “Come with me. I want to show you something…”

…

We drive for a while to get here, then we walk a winding trail through the woods as the sun prepares to set for the day. I softly wrap your eyes with a strip of black cloth as we near the end of the trail and I tell you not to peek. I take one of your delicate hands and carefully lead you around the bend that leads us out from the shadow of trees.

“We’re here,” I murmur into your ear as I remove the cloth to restore your sight; I hear an audible gasp escape your lips. The chill October wind gently combs through our hair as I watch you stand in awe at the sight before us: a field of marigold. Bright with red, orange, and yellow flowers swaying in the late afternoon breeze.

“How did you find this?” you whisper softly.

“Part of my job,” I chuckle with a wink and a goofy smile.

Excitement seems to overflow your body as you suddenly throw yourself at me and grab me in a large embrace. The momentum of your hug sends me off balance and we go tumbling into the flowers.

The sky turns a beautiful pink and purple as we lay there tangled together laughing. You lay your head on my chest as I tenderly run my fingers through your hair.

“Thank you,” a gentle voice escapes you lips with the slightest twinge of sadness.

“Is it too much?”

“No... it’s perfect.”

We lay there in silence as the colors in the sky grow deeper and darker with the approaching evening.

“I miss them.”

I glance down at you, surprised at the break in the silence, “yeah?”

“Yeah, we were really close…”

“What happened to them?”

You lay back with your arms outstretched, tracing your marigold tattoo with a finger, “they died…”

“I’m sorry…” My heart hurts for you.

Another question stirs in my mind, “Who were they to you?”

You lay there in silence for a moment before pulling your arm back into your chest as we roll to face each other.

Despite the warmth of love in them, there is a haunted look in those amber eyes that sends a chill down my spine. Something seems off; I can see the marigold through your face now…

“Me.”