by Geoff Gouveia

“He’s come in here before.”

My mouth points at the man gathering his belongings on the table in the corner.

“He gets the same thing every time- a cappuccino – and asks for a small piece of dark chocolate.”

I wipe the counter and purge the steam wand. A momentary hiss of hot water rushes towards my skin. It stings for a second. I continue wiping the basket under the portafilter.

“He always leaves the plate with pencil shavings on it, too.”

I walk out to the table where he sat.  The pencil shavings don’t bother me. It’s my way of supporting his dream and his drawing.

“I draw, you know,” I say to my coworker. She looks up from counting the coffee on the shelf and nods her head.

A customer walks to the counter and I hurry to serve him. The pens in my pocket clack together with my frenzied pace. My right hand leans on the counter while my left palms my back pocket to check for a small moleskine notebook. The customer, a slender man with a white pressed shirt and blue-checkered tie, makes eye contact. He orders a macchiato and asks me to keep the change. I begin his drink with a nod and look back as I prep the shots of espresso. His mouth moves and sounds escape it.

“What?” I question while flicking the grinder switch to cease the loud whirring.

"I used to draw." He drums on the counter with quick fingertips.

"Oh, yeah?”

"Drawing never got me where I wanted to go, though. How could it?"

I steam the milk as a response. The whoosh sound deepened with prolonged contact against the steam wand. The crema of the espresso tiger striped in the glass. The colors spun together into muddy amber. I swirled the milk and tapped the bubbles away, pouring a small rosetta. He smiled at the art on top, but sipped it as his feet swayed. He thanked me and left the saucer on the counter.

My head shook at the man as he walked out. The saucer was clean, not a single pencil shaving to be found.

 

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Thank you for reading that short story! This link will take you to another coffee related one 🙂