"Three, two, one," I counted out the change, and slid it across the counter.
He cupped his hand and scooped the pennies in. "Thank you," he said. "Room for cream?"
"No," I said, "I take it black. Like my men."
My hand flew to my mouth. A nervous half-bark, half-snort escaped.
Raising his eyebrows, he handed me my cup. "Surely you can't be serious."
I rubbed my finger around the lip of the cup. Once. Again. He crossed his arms across his green apron, leaned back, and smiled.
A challenge. I twisted a curl, and stepped forward. My hand rested on the counter. "Oh, but I am." I took a sip, "And don't call me Shirley."
I held my breath, watching the words float from my mouth to his ears. They flapped their little syllabic wings. Would they soar? Or plop?
He ran his fingers through his dark hair; his green eyes sparkled. "Well," he said, "It looks like I choose the wrong week to quit sniffing glue."
The coffee warmed my hand, as I felt his words. Fluttering, gossamer and light.
It's good to be gotten.
"Well, I'll see you then," I said.
"Looking forward to it."
I stepped into the chill. The warmth never left my cheeks.
(With mad props to the classic film, Airplane.)
And, of course, the folks at Write on Edge, would brought this prompt to the table:
This week, we’d like you to write a post – fiction or creative
non-fiction – which begins with a countdown. “Three, two, one.” You pick
what the countdown is for. The ideas above are just suggestions. Use
your imagination and have fun with it!