The Coffee Shop

Author's Note: I appreciate any comments or constructive criticism on this piece, as it is one of my first Literotica posts. Duly note that this submission is copyrighted solely to me, LilyArc, and that any coincidences made in the story relating to people, places, or events are just that. Thank you for reading, LilyArc.

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The only logical thought in her head was that she shouldn't be staring at him like this.

A litany of reasons as to why bubbled up in response:
He was five years her junior.
He was still in high school.
You're behaving like a cougar.

The last excuse gave her pause and she lowered her eyes from the pale narrow face of her eye candy to the magazine in front of her.

Every morning for the past three months, Peyton Gray had come into the Side Street Brewery, a quaint little coffee shop just on the edge of the artsy district of Hamish, Maine; a sleepy fishing town tucked back into a guarded cove and well off the beaten path.

Peyton could go on and on in description of the colorful beachside houses clashing with the modern seaside fishing cottages along the harbor front, or the abrupt overgrowth of temperate forest that shot to the heavens along rocky and mountainous terrain. She could describe every shop in the town if she had been in a better mood, but ever since her return from California three months ago, her emotions had taken a turn for the worst.

And it was all because of her coffee shop eye candy.

Three months ago, while tucking away into a novel with a glass of Napa Valley wine, Peyton had gotten the urgent phone call from her mother to return home. Her childhood friend and lifetime muse had been killed in a boating accident.

Without a thought she had packed up a suitcase and caught the first flight out of Los Angeles, fighting the urge to dissolve into tears the entire route. Aiden Hart had been a good person, naïve and sweet and unwilling to cause anyone harm. As children she had harbored him like the rocky cliffs of her hometown, weathering the storm as she guarded his childlike nature from corruption and ill will.

She had been the one to help him "come out" to his family at the age of fifteen, and gave him solace when he felt like no one could understand him, which was normal at that age to feel. It wasn't too long after, at seventeen, that Aiden met his lifetime partner of William Morris Hunt and their life together had turned out grandly. The couple had stayed in Hamish after returning from the university, raising stray pups and the occasional coon, and ran their small comic book store and William's bar on the weekends.

To think that peaceful, easy life had been ripped apart one stormy night at the docks absolutely floored Peyton. Aiden, ever the curious type, had taken to boating and quite often went out of the harbor into the wide open sea to catch dinner. It was his way of reciprocating for William's manliness, no doubt, and he had become quite the seaman. But all the talent at the helm hadn't prevented him from navigating, and ultimately drowning, in one of the worst storms to hit the Maine coastline in almost half a century. William, a stout fisherman type, had been all but destroyed at the news.

Needless to say, after the funeral, William had sold the bar and comic book shop, packed his things, and transported his furry friends and his alcoholic bum to sunny Key West, Florida, with no intention of returning.

But Peyton had stayed behind, lingering at the place of her childhood for reasons she couldn't understand. Her folks had long since moved, coming back to Maine only when it suited them. That's where Peyton stayed now, at her parents' rusty red cottage on the rugged cliff deemed the "Overlook", well within sights of Lighthouse Island and well away from the charming town she had so many memories of.

And one day, when she had been in an explorative mood and in need for coffee, Peyton had wound up here, at Side Street, where her unhealthy curiousity (she refused to call it "obsession") had begun.

That first visit to the shop she could distinctly remember him not working the espresso machine, in fact she was fairly certain that the boy hadn't been at work at all. If he had, she would've cut tail and run, making note to never go back, but it hadn't played out that way. No, her merry ass had skipped into the shop every day for a week, making herself a familiar face and adding new friends to her small list that seemed to be ever-growing the longer she stayed home.

The second week was when the eye candy had made his appearance, and immediately she found herself floored when ordering her coffee. If it hadn't been for dear Margaret, the elderly co-owner who also baked the breads and other treats for the shop, Peyton would've floundered at the register for an eternity grappling for a response to his "Good morning, what can I get you?" salutation.

Her eye candy, this boy five years her junior, was as reserved as they come. Peyton quickly grasped the notion that it was not out of shyness that he kept his mouth shut, but out of choice. Nothing in his careful, labored movements as he saddled up her coffee spoke of a twitchy teen boy. Nothing in those ice green eyes told her anything. The soft but firm way he spoke to her suggested in every sense that he was there to serve her coffee, not spirit away her good sense. He was polite and efficient, controlled and aloof.

It frightened the hell out of her.

But yet, every day, Peyton was back for more torture. She was careful about it, of course, arriving the same time every morning and leaving after an hour of looking through a magazine or reading a chapter of a new book she had picked up from a local book vendor. She did not go out of her way to greet him or illicit conversation; she did not longingly stare over her coffee cup at him though she was sorely tempted to.

No, Peyton was a good girl and was adamant about doing the right thing, which only placed her in the current funk she was in.

Which brought Peyton the present. She was currently breaking one of her own Golden Rules, her pulse picking up swiftly at the wrongness of it. Yes, she was staring, and yes, she was attracted to his entire package; it couldn't be helped.

Today he had decided to wear something outside of his normal baggy t-shirts, opting instead for a grey Hanes tee that clung to his defined chest and rather broad set of shoulders, his dark hair was unbound and falling to his shoulders. In the past three months Peyton had noticed he was bulking up, and she had assumed it was for that cute blonde girl with freckles and sky-blue eyes that had also begun to show up at the same time Peyton did, stealing away his attention from her the moment she skipped into the coffee shop.

Peyton lowered her gaze back to the magazine and closed it with an irritated sigh. Her inner thoughts were beginning to sound jealous, and that threw her completely.

She packed away her magazine into her book bag that also served the dual purpose as her purse, latching the flaps closed. Peyton stood up when the blonde girl – his girlfriend, probably – skipped in for her morning espresso, beaming Peyton's eye candy with a brilliant smile.

Peyton tried not to grumble at that.

She forced herself to follow her usual routine, her moves calculated and slow as she tucked in the iron-wrought chair under the table and tossed her biodegradable cup into the proper trash bin. Margaret, who had been standing at the glass counter that was covered with trays of baked goods, eyed the antique clock with raised white eyebrows, her blue eyes watching Peyton closely.

Damn, had the old woman noticed?

Yes, Peyton had skimmed ten minutes off her usual coffee hour, her predictable schedule thrown off by her eye candy's girlfriend. Usually she could share the space, gritting teeth all the while, but today she couldn't keep up appearances. The thought of it made her blueberry muffin shift uncomfortably in her stomach.

"Leaving already?" Margaret chirped from her spot at the bakery section, her blue eyes inquiring.

Damn her.

Peyton smiled politely, feeling his eyes on her as she spoke. It was both unnerving and unexpected, but a pleasant surprise that had Peyton admitting more than she should have. "My editor will grill me if I don't meet deadline. The manuscript is due at three and I haven't yet finished."

This was true, Peyton did have a deadline and her editor was a ball-buster of the highest order, but the manuscript she was working on wasn't due for weeks.

But Margaret didn't know that, her inner voice taunted, which makes it such a perfect excuse.

Margaret's blue eyes widened in surprise before they quickly turned to twinkling orbs of mischievousness. The muffin in Peyton's stomach shifted again.

"Well in that case you'll make it up to Margaret tomorrow and eat a slice of her infamous coffee cake? You're the only one in town who keeps turning down my offer, you know. Caleb will make a special pot of coffee to go with," she cajoled with a wink.

"Just for you, Margaret," Peyton said brightly, taking the jab with a returning wink and teasing smile. "See you tomorrow."

Feeling devilish, Peyton broke one of her Golden Rules again to look over at eye candy and felt the breath she had been inhaling burst free from her lungs.

His ice green stare ripped right through her, the intensity of the gaze calculated, like something about her or her response pleased him. The frankness of that very stare left her more vulnerable than she had ever felt in a very long time, and Peyton quickly exited the coffee shop and escaped down the street, her breathing ragged and her heart a tumbling mess of bass drum.

Finally she reached the boardwalk and collapsed onto a wooden bench, facing the sea. While the blue skies and bright sun promised nothing but good weather, the distant thunderheads that hung low over the stretch of sea spoke otherwise. Tonight would be one hell of a storm.

While Peyton caught her breath, she looked out over the docks. Many of the fishermen were heading in, eyes on the clouds as well, quickly hauling in their early morning catch before calling it a day. The sea gulls weren't absent but certainly less in number, attesting that a storm was indeed on its way.

With a sigh, Peyton stood up shakily, straightening her noodle-like limbs and refused to think about what had just happened at the coffee shop, at least not until she was booking a great deal of wine in her system and was safely tucked away in the privacy of her parents' cottage.

Shouldering her bag, she began the ten-minute trek to the "barn on the Overlook", using the soft cool sea breeze to clear her head. By the time she ambled up the gravel drive and crossed the yard to the front path that led to the barn, the "coffee shop incident" was a dark thought shoved into the back of her conscious.

Peyton hoped, idly, that the memory would stay there.

Permanently.

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All constructive comments appreciated!! =)