Coffee Shop

Jamison

He met her outside the coffee shop just on the edge of campus. Jules was always breathtaking. But standing in her sky-blue wool coat, the large white flakes of snow resting in her dark hair, shivering in her tights and black heels, she looked like a goddess.

"Jules," his smile spread wide on his face as he ran over to her, scooping her up and spinning in a circle.

She let out a squeak of surprise before she laughed. "Jamison put me down! This is no way to treat a lady. At least in public." she winked.

Warmth spread across his face as he set her down and took her arm. "Well then my lady. Shall we get ourselves some coffee?"

The scent of coffee washed around them as they walked inside. Jules always freaked out about the interior design. Something about a modern, dark, something theme. Jamison just liked the coffee.

They waited in line, a well-dressed elderly man ordering a cappuccino ahead of them. Jamison could have sworn he'd seen the man before, but he shook it off. He wasn't anyone remarkable. He had a white head of hair, slightly balding on the front. His left eye was a little lazy and discolored. But those were his only unique features. Everything else about him was bland; commonplace.

He frowned, trying to remember why he looked so familiar when Jules nudged him. The barista was looking at him. "Oh! Sorry, I'll just have a large of whatever your light roast is." He chuckled. "Sorry I was zoning off."

The barista didn't appear to be amused. "And for you miss?"

Jules tilted her head. "I'm going to get a medium of your white mocha, iced with caramel and nonfat milk." She seemed to debate before she asked, "Do you still have your holiday sprinkles?"

"Sure hon. I'll put those on top for you."

Jamsion grabbed a few bills out of his wallet before Jules could stick her card in the machine. She pouted. "You never let me pay."

He kissed the top of her head. "You'll just have to be faster."

They waited a few moments for their drinks and claimed a cozy table in the corner. Jules scooched over on the booth so that they were pressed against each other. "I missed you." She said sweetly, angling her camera to take a photo of her drink.

"I can see that." He chuckled, bumping his hip into hers.

She turned to offer him a scowl. "I just had the lighting right!"

He laughed again. "You and your photos!" He took a sip of his coffee. "And your coffee order. Does it even taste like coffee anymore? Or is it straight sugar?"

She took a sip from her straw. "It's better than yours. You drink straight bean water."

He coughed, laughing when he was trying to take a sip. "You're not wrong," he coughed again, his laughter making it worse. He set the coffee down before he looked at Jules, growing more serious. "Um, you said you wanted to talk."

She nodded, her smile fading. "You don't need to be worried, I'm not breaking up with you or anything, I just… I wanted to share why I've been so stressed and closed off lately."

Jamison nodded, letting her continue.

"It's about my parents. Look, Jamison, you're the son of Fahad-Khaled and my parents—"

"My father tried to kill your father, didn't he? Your father is the Sultan of the Eastern Kingdom."

Jules looked down, her voice small. "And I'm so scared they'll resent you for that."

"Babe," something in his heart tightened. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. He could hear her sniffling. "Honey, you don't have to hold back the tears."

"Yes I do." she sniffled. "I'm not wearing waterproof mascara."

He let out a loud chuckle. "Oh Jules. I love you so much."

"I love you too. And I want to be with you. Which is why my parents are coming to dinner with us tomorrow evening." She looked up at him, something like resolve in her beautiful eyes.

"I will be there looking my best. Suit and tie I'm assuming?" He smiled, trying to reassure her and himself.

"Of course," she laughed. "Will you pick me up at seven? We're going to La Symphonie des Roses."

"Is that the new restaurant built on the hill by the public library?" Jamison asked.

Jules nodded. "We're going there on opening night. My parents bought four tickets for us all."

Jamison whistled. "You know, your French pronunciation is really good." He said, trying and failing to mimic how she pronounced the restaurant's name. "I flunked French 101 this semester." He grinned.

"Babe I could have helped!" She almost laughed.

"Maybe this semester. Because I'm taking it again. Same professor too." He shook his head. "He hates me."

"I'll help you this time." she said sweetly. "I've been speaking it my whole life, so I'd like to think I'm pretty good."

"How many languages do you speak?" Jamison watched a blush creep across her features. "Babe."

She looked away, "Five."

"Five! I can't even speak my native language well!" He shook his head. "You're amazing. Have I ever told you that?"

She leaned against him, "I love you."

"I love you too." Jamison turned to see the old man smile at him with a too-white grin and nod before leaving the cafe. An eerie feeling crept down his spine as the door jingled cheerfully and the man disappeared in the snow.