beach sits. So I could ask Bill the cop, or Sally at the rental office, or a half dozen other people who would know who is renting there. But I won’t have to because Shannon, who called me ‘cheeky’, is coming to my coffee shop at nine and I can ask her myself.
I set off at my best pace, no longer jogging, actually running. Maybe I will dress a little better today…
Shannon
He practically ran me over. Joe practically ran me over. He has a name now, isn’t just “that jogger” anymore. I can’t remember if he actually ran into me, or just practically ran into me. Whether he did or didn’t, I spilled my coffee. Which is probably a good thing. I didn’t spill it all, about half of it. And then I told him that that was probably a good thing because I was going to be jittery.
And then he did the craziest thing. He just grabbed my mug and tipped it over and poured out the rest of the coffee. I couldn’t believe it. It took me so much by surprise that I think I channeled one of my favorite British tea movies and called him “cheeky”. Who calls someone cheeky? Nobody calls someone cheeky. That’s who calls someone cheeky. Nobody.
Then we talked a little bit. Not like a real conversation, but about my toenails of all things. He noticed my toenails. Which is kind of odd in a man. But then he told me his sister runs the little day spa where the girls got their nails done. So maybe it’s not so odd after all.
And then he invited me to come to his coffee shop for the best cup of coffee I could ever imagine. I like confidence, but he was bordering on cocky, or arrogant. Maybe he’s just proud of his coffee. I still cannot believe that I agreed to meet a man at his coffee shop, where he is going to make me coffee. No-one makes me coffee. I make the coffee. I always make the coffee. I am the first one up, and everyone knows to not mess with my coffee. But for some reason I agreed to have him make me a cup of coffee. This ought to be an adventure. I wonder if I have anything suitable to wear for a first cup of coffee…
Joe
My sister Karen is hurrying down a wet latte in between early morning toenail appointments. I see that she has noticed something and that soon I will be answering questions. She always has questions. Perhaps she has noticed that I am dressed differently. It’s the type of thing she notices, and asks about.
“ Joe?”
“ Yes,” I answer.
“ How come you’re all spiffed up? Do you have to run down to Wilmington or something?”
“ No. And what do you mean spiffed up?”
“ Well, for the first time in maybe forty or fifty days, or a few years, on a day that you aren’t being the grand Poobah of one thing or another, you are wearing something other than shorts or blue jeans. And for the first time since I can remember, no wait, I can remember, it was when we went to that wedding, you are wearing something other than a t-shirt.”
“ You call khakis and a polo spiffed up?”
“ For the overwhelming majority of the population no. But, for you, let’s just say… I don’t know…. YES.”
“ Alright, so I’m spiffed up.”
“ Which returns us to the original question. Why exactly are you spiffed up?”
“ Nothing else is clean.”
“ That never stopped you from wearing something dirty and wrinkled before…”
“ Okay. There’s someone coming in for a cup of coffee.”
“ I should certainly hope so. You do own and run a coffee shop after all.”
I raise my left eyebrow at my sister. It is a look she knows well.
“ Ohhhh….. You mean there’s someone someone coming in for a cup of coffee?”
“ Yes.
“ Anyone I know?”
“ Actually yes. You did her toenails yesterday.”
“ A renter?”
“ Yes.”
“ Joe. Come on. A renter?”
“ She’s different.”
“ Right.”
“ No, really, she’s different.”
“ Different how?”
“ I don’t know. Just different.”
“ How did you meet?”
“ I was jogging, and I saw her on the
I set off at my best pace, no longer jogging, actually running. Maybe I will dress a little better today…
Shannon
He practically ran me over. Joe practically ran me over. He has a name now, isn’t just “that jogger” anymore. I can’t remember if he actually ran into me, or just practically ran into me. Whether he did or didn’t, I spilled my coffee. Which is probably a good thing. I didn’t spill it all, about half of it. And then I told him that that was probably a good thing because I was going to be jittery.
And then he did the craziest thing. He just grabbed my mug and tipped it over and poured out the rest of the coffee. I couldn’t believe it. It took me so much by surprise that I think I channeled one of my favorite British tea movies and called him “cheeky”. Who calls someone cheeky? Nobody calls someone cheeky. That’s who calls someone cheeky. Nobody.
Then we talked a little bit. Not like a real conversation, but about my toenails of all things. He noticed my toenails. Which is kind of odd in a man. But then he told me his sister runs the little day spa where the girls got their nails done. So maybe it’s not so odd after all.
And then he invited me to come to his coffee shop for the best cup of coffee I could ever imagine. I like confidence, but he was bordering on cocky, or arrogant. Maybe he’s just proud of his coffee. I still cannot believe that I agreed to meet a man at his coffee shop, where he is going to make me coffee. No-one makes me coffee. I make the coffee. I always make the coffee. I am the first one up, and everyone knows to not mess with my coffee. But for some reason I agreed to have him make me a cup of coffee. This ought to be an adventure. I wonder if I have anything suitable to wear for a first cup of coffee…
Joe
My sister Karen is hurrying down a wet latte in between early morning toenail appointments. I see that she has noticed something and that soon I will be answering questions. She always has questions. Perhaps she has noticed that I am dressed differently. It’s the type of thing she notices, and asks about.
“ Joe?”
“ Yes,” I answer.
“ How come you’re all spiffed up? Do you have to run down to Wilmington or something?”
“ No. And what do you mean spiffed up?”
“ Well, for the first time in maybe forty or fifty days, or a few years, on a day that you aren’t being the grand Poobah of one thing or another, you are wearing something other than shorts or blue jeans. And for the first time since I can remember, no wait, I can remember, it was when we went to that wedding, you are wearing something other than a t-shirt.”
“ You call khakis and a polo spiffed up?”
“ For the overwhelming majority of the population no. But, for you, let’s just say… I don’t know…. YES.”
“ Alright, so I’m spiffed up.”
“ Which returns us to the original question. Why exactly are you spiffed up?”
“ Nothing else is clean.”
“ That never stopped you from wearing something dirty and wrinkled before…”
“ Okay. There’s someone coming in for a cup of coffee.”
“ I should certainly hope so. You do own and run a coffee shop after all.”
I raise my left eyebrow at my sister. It is a look she knows well.
“ Ohhhh….. You mean there’s someone someone coming in for a cup of coffee?”
“ Yes.
“ Anyone I know?”
“ Actually yes. You did her toenails yesterday.”
“ A renter?”
“ Yes.”
“ Joe. Come on. A renter?”
“ She’s different.”
“ Right.”
“ No, really, she’s different.”
“ Different how?”
“ I don’t know. Just different.”
“ How did you meet?”
“ I was jogging, and I saw her on the
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