Such a Little Thing Ch. 01

"Well, I don't normally let close friends pay but, since we won't be that until tomorrow, I guess I'll have to," she sighed. "Skinny latte?" I nodded and she walked behind the counter to start making it. "Amber, do you want to put an advert for your shop in here? Or some leaflets perhaps? I know you've not seen it, but it does get busy in here at times."

"Thanks, that's very kind and an excellent idea. Maybe I could include a discount voucher on the leaflet. Oh, and if you want to do the same in my shop; not likely to bring you many customers I know, but still. If I ever have someone waiting I'll certainly suggest they come in here."

"Thank you," she said loudly over the hissing steam, "we can help each other."

"Perhaps we should just knock a doorway through and share customers," I suggested, laughing.

"Now you're just after unlimited access to my wonderful coffee, aren't you?"

"I hadn't thought of that but, now you mention it, I'll be back with a drill to cut that doorway this afternoon!"

She placed the coffee on the counter, once again with its leaf patterned foam. She held out her hand, "Two pounds twenty, please."

On impulse, I slipped my hand under hers and held it as I placed the coins into her palm. I don't know why I emulated what she did at our first meeting yesterday: it simply seemed a fun idea but she gave me a strange look, as if the action meant more than I realized. Unsure of what else to do I smiled and said, "There you go, Milla," before gently releasing her hand.

"Amber," she said a little hoarsely, "you didn't mind my coming in yesterday after I closed did you?"

I blinked at her in amazement. "No, no, not at all. In fact, I really enjoyed it and... well, I sort of missed your company after you went. Will you come over this afternoon?"

"Of course, I'd love to," she smiled, almost, it seemed, in relief.

"Excellent!" I exclaimed. "I've a tricky bit of glass cutting to do so you can pick up any fingers I accidentally sever! Only kidding," I added at the look of dismay on her face. "I'd better go. See you later." I glanced back as I closed the door and she waved at me.

There was only one customer that afternoon so I took the opportunity to fire up the shop computer. 'Fire up' turned out to be an appropriate term as it was so old it was practically steam powered! I wasn't exactly a tech wizard but I obviously had more idea than Uncle Graham and resolved to use my laptop in future. In the meantime, the PC allowed me to clunkily navigate Google to find some guidance on cutting glass in curves, circles and ovals. Applying what I'd found to some offcuts of glass, I found that it wasn't as difficult as I'd feared and the hardest part would be scoring the oval onto the glass with the glasscutter freehand.

It had now gone half past three and I was tempted to wait for Milla before making a start on the glass. She had her fancy coffee foam art so why shouldn't I impress her with my skills? However, common sense prevailed: I really didn't need the extra pressure of an audience and so I began cutting the oval. Unfortunately, I soon hit a problem; this oval was much larger than my practice pieces so I couldn't score it continuously and with even pressure so when I came to snap it, the oval broke in two. I tried again, even more carefully, but while this was better, one end of the oval still broke off. "Shit!" I swore loudly.

"Are you alright?" Milla's voice was full of fear and concern.

"I'm fine," I replied, turning to her and holding up my hands. "See? All fingers present and correct!" My eyes settled on the cup she was holding. "Ah, an angel bearing coffee! Thank you," I said as I accepted the cup.

"I'm glad you're not hurt; I'm really not good with blood. So, what are you swearing about?"

I explained about the oval frame, showed her the card mount that I'd cut and how I was having problems with the glass. "They make special oval glass cutters but as I don't have one I need to do it freehand and it's not working," I concluded grumpily.

She looked at the glass, the frame and the mount for a minute, thinking. "Why don't you use that card -- the mount, you called it? -- why not use that as a template to trace around with the glasscutter thingy?"

I looked at her and smiled. "Of course! You're not just a pretty face, are you, you clever girl?" I dumped the broken glass in the glass bin and laid a new piece on the bench and placed the oval mount on top. "Here goes," I said.

A few minutes later and after the final sharp crack! the perfect oval lay on the bench surrounded by the four waste offcuts. I looked up at the sound of Milla clapping. "Well done!" she congratulated me.

I gave a small bow. "Thank you for your clever suggestion, Milla. Without that, I'm sure that I'd still be breaking glass." I raised the coffee cup to her as a toast. "Cheers!" She sat as I wiped the glass free of dirt and fingerprints and began assembling the frame as we talked. "How was dinner with Nonno Carluccio?" I asked.

"It was lovely. I like being with him and he's a great cook. How was your evening, Amber?"

"Nothing exciting: I went for a run, had dinner then just flopped until bedtime."

"Do you run often?" she asked with interest.

"Well, when I get into it I try to run three times a week. I'm not always that into it though. Do you run?"

"Um, sometimes; the trouble is I get a bit bored running on my own and I'm not good at motivating myself," she admitted.

"We could run together, if you'd like," I offered. "We'd make a good team: I'll motivate you and you can make sure we don't get lost. We could go this evening if you'd like."

"It's a deal, but I was going to ask if you wanted to come over to my flat for dinner this evening? I'm not as good a cook as Nonno, but I'm not too bad, I promise."

I laughed. "Can you cook more than omelette and chocolate muffins?" She nodded, puzzled. "Then you are a much better cook than me and I'd love to come. Can I bring anything? Wine, perhaps?"

"That would be great," she smiled.

I finished reassembling the oval frame. "Milla, could you pass that roll of little stickers on the shelf behind you?" She turned and picked them up and passed them to me and as she did so our fingers brushed together. Though the contact was slight and fleeting, I was acutely aware of it: a sort of warmth lingering where her skin had brushed mine. Why was I so hyper-sensitive to this woman's touch?

"Amber?" Milla's voice broke through my reverie.

"Sorry!" I replied, snapping back to reality, "I was, er, just thinking about something."

"What?" she asked, leaning forward and looking at me intently. Our heads were closer than they'd ever been and I looked into her eyes. How had I not noticed them before? My artist's eye saw they were a deep brown -- burnt umber perhaps -- around the pupil but further out the iris shaded to a dark gold, no, not gold: amber! I laughed.

Milla pulled back, a slightly offended look on her pretty face. "Sorry, I wasn't laughing at you, I promise."

"What was it, then?"

"It was your eyes. I've... I didn't really notice them before. They're..." I felt my cheeks blush slightly; I wanted to say they were beautiful but I was worried she'd think I was gay, "...amazing. The way the brown in the centre becomes, well amber. That's what made me laugh, even though it's not really funny, is it?"

"No, it's not funny but, well, nice. I like that we share a colour -- and it proves we are meant to be close friends," she said firmly.

I conceded the point and peeled off one of the little labels that had the name and address of the shop printed on it and stuck it on the back of the picture. "There, all done!" I declared as I stood the frame up.

"It looks good. You're very clever, Amber; I couldn't do any of this," as she gestured around the workshop. "All I do is make coffee."

"No, you make excellent coffee," I corrected, "and run a very lovely, warm and friendly coffee shop. I'm so glad you are my neighbour."

"Me too," she smiled happily.

Just then, a customer came in and I had to head back into the shop. It was oval picture woman who had called in 'on the off-chance it might be ready.' She was very pleased when I told her that, yes, it was indeed ready and I went back into the workshop to fetch the picture. Milla was stood by the bench at the side of the room looking at something. However, I had no time to see what it was and hurried back into the shop with the oval picture.

Ten minutes later I walked back into the workshop. "Woo-hoo! My first sale and my first, and very satisfied, customer," I exclaimed. Milla turned to me and without thinking I took three steps and gave her a big hug. She seemed to hesitate and I almost pulled away, thinking I'd upset her, before she hugged me back. We fitted together well, despite the difference in our heights; my arms under hers and her shoulder would have been just the right height to rest my cheek upon. I was still reluctant to let her go: I felt very cared for and safe at that moment. However, I became conscious that her breasts were resting and pressing in the tops of mine and, while a pleasant sensation, it made me awkward.

"Thanks for helping with the glass, Milla," I said as I broke the hug, "I'd not have had it ready otherwise. I definitely owe you one."

"Really? Well, maybe we can talk about it over dinner. Speaking of which, I must get on with cooking so I will see you later. Is half past six okay?"

I nodded and she stepped closer. I wondered what she was about to do but she just squeezed my shoulder as she moved past and left the shop. I felt... nervous? Yes, all sort of jangled, excited, and apprehensive. I tried to analyse my thoughts and feelings. I could I still feel that hug I'd given her -- it had felt unexpectedly good. I'd had a boyfriend until a few weeks ago and we'd done lots of kissing and had fairly regular sex so what was it about being with Milla that felt, well, so much nicer? And then it hit me: it was affection. Milla seemed to care about me as a person. She wanted to spend time with me and to talk and, yes, to listen. She wanted us to be friends, even when all she'd seen was a frazzled, caffeine-craving girl! Max had only cared about me as his girlfriend, not as me, not as Amber. I felt used but then it occurred to me that it was as much my fault as his: how often had I introduced myself as 'Max's girlfriend, Amber'?

So, what had I thought Milla might do when she moved towards me? I didn't know. Hug me? That would have been nice. Kiss my cheek? Yes, that's was the truth: I thought she might kiss me and now I felt a slight disappointment that she hadn't.

"Get a grip, girl," I said out loud. "You're being ridiculous!" Perhaps three months being single was getting to me and, though I hated to think I was that needy, it would explain why I responded so strongly to Milla's friendship. I didn't know whether Milla had a boyfriend but suspected not as she hadn't mentioned anyone. Maybe we could go out together and try to meet some lads.

It was time to close, so I shut the shop and headed out to buy some wine. I settled on a bottle of Pinot Grigio, figuring that an Italian wine would be a good idea. Back home I couldn't settle. Despite the talk I'd given myself I was still nervous and excited so in the end, I gave up and, at ten past six, I was knocking on Milla's door. She was wearing a cotton bathrobe that she was holding closed; her long wet hair was pulled in front of her left shoulder where she'd obviously been brushing it and she looked surprised to see me.

"Amber, are you okay?" she asked.

"Sorry, Milla, I got bored waiting. I'll come back when you're ready. Sorry."

"Nonsense, come in!" she stepped back and held the door wide for me.

"Thanks for inviting me to dinner. You're not about to go and put on some stunning cocktail dress, are you? I already feel bad for not having showered and changed from work!"

"I just needed to get the smell of coffee off me and I don't own a cocktail dress, stunning or otherwise, so you're quite safe on that score."

I entered and handed her the wine as I gave her a kiss on the cheek. She took the wine in one hand and put the other on my arm as I kissed her. As a result, her bathrobe gaped open, revealing her breasts and one soft, dark nipple, her smooth, trim stomach and abdomen that curved down to her hairless pubis. Naked, her figure was even more stunning.

Hastily she snatched the robe closed and turned away. "Oh God! I'm sorry about that," she apologised, "how embarrassing for both of us."

"Hey, it was an accident," I consoled her, "and I'm not embarrassed."

"Well I was; a bit anyway! I guess you've seen lots of naked women over the years." I wasn't sure what she meant by that. "I was looking at your drawings in the workshop when you were out serving that customer. You've got quite a lot of drawings of naked women and men." I recalled that I had left my portfolio in the workshop thinking that I might frame one or two of the still life drawings for sale.

"Yes, one of the tutors was big into life drawing. She claimed that the human figure was a good way to learn to draw what we saw rather than what we expected to see. And Milla," she looked at me, "you really have nothing to be embarrassed about; you have a great body!"

She smiled bashfully. "Thank you. I've never been admired by an artist before." She led me through to the sitting room. "Dinner will be another half hour yet. I hope you like lasagne," she said as we sat. Her robe gaped again but the fact that I could see her breast no longer seemed to worry her.

"Ooh, yummy," I replied and she glanced down at her exposed breast and smiled. I, of course, went bright red at the implication of her glance. "I meant the lasagne, and you know it!" She began laughing.

"You said I had a great body a moment ago, so I was just checking whether you were just speaking artistically or... something else."

"Definitely artistically," I assured her, "Perhaps you should get some clothes on, you're making me feel overdressed." This slightly sexual banter with a girl was, well, odd. I didn't exactly dislike it but it was a little uncomfortable.

"Well, if it's a problem, I'm sure I have another robe you could borrow," she replied mischievously.

"You should have warned me that the dress code for this evening was 'semi-nude'," I retorted, keeping the banter going. Uncomfortable or not, I wasn't going to let her have the last word.

"Why, would you still have come if I had?" she asked and though her tone was teasing, the question confused me. I wanted to say, 'No, I wouldn't have come' but that wasn't true; of course I would have, to see her...

"Go and get dressed, you incorrigible exhibitionist!" I exclaimed to cover my uncertainty and, thankfully, she left but made no attempt to keep her robe closed and I couldn't help looking and admiring her body.

As I sat there alone I wondered: how would I feel sitting semi-naked with Milla? Would I mind? Might I even like it? Tingles in my body signalled that there were bits of me that liked the idea of her naked body quite a lot. And what would Milla think of my disappointingly ordinary body?

After a few minutes, Milla returned, fully clothed in jeans and cream blouse that she had knotted above her waist, exposing her midriff.

"Didn't want to cover up completely then?" I teased and to my surprise, she looked a little embarrassed. "Hey, I'm sorry Milla, I was just teasing." She looked relieved and sat on the sofa next to me. "Anyway, it's your home; you have the right to wear, or not wear, whatever you please." There was a pause so I asked what I'd wondered earlier: "Milla, do you have a boyfriend?"

"No, not at... um, no."

"Like me then: not met Mister Right yet?"

Milla was silent and I noticed her chewing her lip as if debating something in her head. "Amber," she said quietly, "there's never going to be a Mister Right for me."

"Why? What's..." and I realized what she was trying to tell me and lots of things fell into place. I looked her in the eye and saw that she was terrified of my reply. I slipped my hand under hers and covered it with my other hand as she had mine at our first meeting. "You're a lesbian, aren't you?" I asked gently and she nodded. "I'm so sorry," I said, feeling guilty for being so insensitive with the boyfriend question. I squeezed her hand and shifted slightly on the sofa.

She mistook what I said and my movement, thinking I was going to stand up. "Don't go!" she pleaded, grabbing my arm with her other hand.

"Why would I go?"

"Well, because of what I just told you and that's what always seems to happen when I tell people. I didn't want to tell you but I felt I had to, to be honest with you. And now you probably think I was trying to seduce you." A tear rolled down her cheek.

"So, Milla, my neighbour, my new friend and coffee artiste, just happens to be gay. So what? I was thinking this afternoon how much I liked you because you liked me as, well, just Amber. You were kind to me when you didn't even know me. I love being with you: you make me laugh, you're interested in what I say and you're fun to be with! And now you care enough about me and our relationship to tell me you're lesbian. What kind of close friend would I be if I were to walk out?"

"You really mean that? You don't mind that I find girls attractive, er, sexually? You're not worried that I might look at you in that way?"

"I'd probably be flattered if you did, with my boring body!" I laughed. "Listen: when I was at University, Lisa -- the girl in the room next to mine in halls -- was gay. She was a nice girl and we got on well. Apart from a few times when she had her girlfriend to stay and it got a bit noisy at antisocial hours. She did apologise afterwards though." That made Milla smile. "I'm guessing you don't have a girlfriend at the moment."

"No," she shook her head sadly. "I've only ever had one person I'd call a girlfriend: Jenny Paige, we were at college together. It lasted two months, three weeks and six days and we slept together three times."

"What happened?" I asked gently.

"It, well, it was a first for both of us; I think we were both curious. For me, it confirmed I was lesbian but for her... I guess she satisfied her curiosity. Afterwards, she was in with this Christian group and she came to me and asked if I still thought I was gay. When I said I knew I was she offered to pray for me so that I 'might be released from sin' and that she forgave me for leading her astray. Hypocritical bitch: she was the one who suggested we try sleeping together!" I put my arm around her and commiserated. "Thank you," she said.

There was something I felt I had to ask. "Milla, did you think I might be lesbian?"

"I... I wondered, yes. Like, when you held my hand the way I'd held yours... and your drawings, of course."

"What about them?" I asked, confused.

"The way you draw women; there's a tenderness and detail there that isn't in your drawings of men. I thought it meant that you found women attractive and men not. Sorry, I guess my tin-pot psychoanalysis was way off."

Was she way off? I did find the female body beautiful and attractive to look at, though not sexually, never that... surely not? Ah, but what about seeing Milla earlier? And then there was Jackie at school and how we liked to hug. We'd even kissed a few times but that was just to practise kissing, so that didn't count, even if it felt so nice and had made me all tingly. And I was naturally tactile -- I liked to touch and hug my friends. Not guys who were just friends, obviously, because they tended to get the wrong idea...

I remembered Lisa at Uni: how had I felt when I heard Lisa and her girlfriend making love? Wasn't I a bit jealous, a bit 'I wish it was me'? Maybe, but it's hard not to be jealous of someone in the throes of a screaming orgasm when you're not! And I'd had orgasms with Max and a couple of other boyfriends; maybe not screaming ones, but still orgasms. No, I was straight and that's all there was to it. And anyway...