Beautiful Coffee
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" He said it to her with such confidence, in such a way that meant that it was on solid foundation. The foundation of stones, and bricks, and mortar. But, it was out of the blue, out of nowhere, out of sync with the moment at hand, and she turned to him and she said, "What's beautiful?"
He looked into her green eyes, level with his own, and if he admitted it, maybe slightly higher than his. And maybe if he admitted he might have been closer to five-six than five-seven, but they were very nearly there, and he looked, and he said, "Us." She smiled broadly and stared out into the spaces outside the cafe windows, and she nodded as though the universe had made the statement, as though the universe were staring at her through her barely there reflection in the window that overlooked the street. She nodded and said, "Yes, yes, that is beautiful."
She turned her eyes to look at him, and she said it first, she said it next, and she said it full of affection-confidence, "You're beautiful." And he became flushed, and he blushed, he looked out the window of the cafe, and saw his barely-there reflection and he saw the broad and full smile on his face, and he felt the emotional weight of her love. A love that made him visibly alive with a glow that he didn't think he could possess. He dropped his eyes, and he smiled knowing that he wore that face, and he looked at her, and he showed her his smile, and his watery eyes, and he said to her,
"Thank-you."
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