InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ The Cafe In Manahatta ❯ Part Two ( Chapter 2 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: lil6ter
The coffee was hot. Steaming hot as I poured it into his cup. It warmed my hands through the pristine white china. I set it down on his tray, smelling it and closing my eyes. His lips would touch the crisp edge of this cup. The coffee would pour into his mouth and warm it. He would bite into the scone that I have prepared for him with love, care, and extra everything. I set this one aside from the rest. He has been coming to my little cafe every Saturday and Sunday since it opened. He sits in the same place, drinks the same coffee, eats the same scones. He is my beautiful constant, and one day, I will build up the courage I need to go over there and talk to him and stop loving him from afar.

Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance / Psychological / Drama / Shoujo | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 04.14.2009 | Updated On: 04.17.2009 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.3K | Visits: 964 | Status: Completed

Disclaimer: I love the only Inuyasha related thing I own. My cute little chibi inu key-chain which lives out its happy life on my iPod making fashion statements everywhere (Ha! Take that Parris Hilton! You want something hot? Then look at my iPod cuz it's so cute and knows how to accessorize.)
 
 
 
 
The Café In Manahatta
 
By: Lil6ter
 
 
 
Part Two
 
It was opening day. I remember feeling little shivers run up my spine at the idea of finally completely our dream. It was a happy, yet sad day. Happy because all of the work was finally going to pay off, and by that I mean debts, and sad because he was not here by my side. Everything was neat. Clean. Health inspector grade A worthy. I had made sure of that. I had just finished pulling out a batch of fresh muffins, blueberry with the berries bursting open and glistening in the glass fixtures around the room, making the dough a pink blue, when the door opened.
 
It wasn't him, and you will soon know who I mean when I say him, but it was my first customer. Her appearance was enough to trigger endorphins and I felt tingly all over with excitement as she walked over to me, placing an order for one of those blueberry muffins and a cup of coffee. It was so exciting to see her coming my way that I almost forgot about the blood. Almost.
 
I reached into the case and pulled out the muffin she wanted before running to get a thin, plastic cup and pouring hot, steaming coffee into it. My coffee wasn't, isn't, nearly as good as the man's who used to hold my heart, but it was good. I still can't even speak his name. Instead, I call him Joe or Bob. They are generic names and they dull the pain a little more. You can never begin to imagine what it is like lose someone like how I lost Joe.
 
Then again, maybe you have, and if you have then you know why I do it. If you don't then I am not asking you to understand why. Just know that this is my coping mechanism.
 
I gave her coffee and muffin and slipped the six dollars and fifty cents into the cash register as she bustled out of the café. Everyone is in a rush in the city. If you didn't know that yet, then I will tell you that now. We all have places to go, people to see, jobs to do, or responsibilities to skip out on. It is one of the most basic facts of life here. Don't stop to make friends because we won't stop to make friends with you. We are all so jaded, and I think that is what set him apart from everyone else.
 
I attracted a lot of poets that day. Writers. People who are into the vibe of a café. I filled up nicely and my sister stopped by at least once to say hi and grab a cup of coffee and a chocolate death muffin. Those are her favorite ones. I used to make them all the time when we were kids. I went through our pantry one day when I was in dire need of something chocolate, threw everything I could find into bowl, mixed it up, popped it into the oven, and then savored. I had made them ever since then for the two of us, and they are my specialty. Bob loved them too. I never charged my sister when she comes in because she helped out so much. She paid me back in ways that six fifty never would. She was on her way out when he walked in.
 
Black hair, tan skin, chocolate eyes. Perfection that I wanted to throw into my batter mix and eat up. Slowly.
 
I felt like I was betraying Joe though when I thought of that, but that didn't stop a pang of want from spreading through me for the first time in two years. I watched him walk over to me, his messy hair falling into those chocolate eyes as I watched him skim the muffins, then the scones. He chose one, blueberry, and ordered a cup of coffee.
 
I asked him, “To stay or to go?”
 
“To stay,” he said.
 
I nodded and got him his order. I returned to see him running his hand through his hair and rearranging the strap of what I took to be a laptop bag.
 
Poet.
 
That is what I decided when I looked at him.
 
He thanked me, paid me, and left me wanting more of him as he sat in a secluded corner of the café. Away from the rest of the world, and lost in his own. I watched him all that day until he left, and the bleeding eased for the first time since Bob's death.
 
A/N: Hope you like the story so far (and anyone who reviewed *cough vampire-fetish cough*)! Remember to R&R! Thanks to Salarah for editing!