The Girl in the Starbucks in Bishop, CA

I sat with my feet propped up and my hands clasped across my lap, feeling well-fed and smug.  Starbucks was playing soft music with a healthy dose of Willie Nelson, and I stared idly at my laptop screen awaiting inspiration to write about my day in the Owens Valley.  I had just showered and put on my town clothes – clean Carhartts and a blue fleece pullover that, though it would pass for formal only in establishments of very modest sartorial standards, was one of the nicer shirts in my truck.  I typed a few words and leaned back in my chair, enjoying the cleanliness and warmth.  A girl that worked there brought me samples of peppermint coffee and pumpkin bread and, although I had not purchased anything since I’d walked through the door and logged into Starbucks’s wireless internet, I helped myself to one of each and smiled at her.

I sifted through the pictures I’d taken and picked a couple to upload with whatever prose I eventually produced, then leaned back and consulted my notes for the day.  It looked like it would come together just fine.  I made a couple more notes, stood and stretched, and walked to the counter.

The young woman who stepped over to the register to meet me was pretty in a pert, clean, peppermint kind of way.  Very pretty.  Brown hair that was just a little curly, fair skin, a lively expression.  She was a little older than the sample-bearing girl; a little closer to my age.

“What can I get you?” she asked.

I held her gaze for a just a moment before I responded.  “Pumpkin bread,” I said, “that stuff was good.”

“Pumpkin bread?” she said.  She looked at the girl who had brought me my sample, then looked at me and smiled.  “We’re out.”

“But I just had a sample!” I said.  “So that was a tease?”

She laughed.  “Tease?” she said.  “Yeah, I guess it was a tease.  We just had a little left, and we decided to cut it up and pass it out.  So everyone could have a taste.”

So I asked her what she recommended in its stead, we debated for a moment the relative merits of lemon or banana bread, and finally I followed her recommendation and ordered the lemon.  She glanced around the room as she pressed buttons on the register.

“It seems like everyone is studying tonight,” she said.

“Yeah, I guess it’s exam time,” I said.  “But my days as a student are gone, unfortunately.”

“Are you taking classes at the University?” she asked.

I smiled and said no, I was working on a book.  I told her that I’d followed the Walker Expedition from Wyoming to the Pacific, that I did a little writing each night, and that I was trying to complete my nightly assignment.  Eventually I’d produce a manuscript that I’d try to get published.

“Wow, that’s cool,” she said.  “Good luck with the book.”

I took the slice of lemon bread back to my table and got to work, and now the words came a little quicker.  I was leaning over the keyboard and squinting intently at the screen when she appeared at my elbow with a try of coffee samples.  It was some kind of fancy instant coffee, she said, that didn’t taste like it was instant.  She was wrong about that last part but I had the good sense not to tell her that and we talked for a little while about instant coffee and music – a little awkwardly, but not too bad.  She was really pretty.  I let an awkward pause hang for just a minute to see what she’d do but she stayed there and toughed it out until I changed the topic and I thought, that’s a good sign.

She moved on with her tray and I got back to typing and around 8:30 I leaned back for final proofreading.  There were a couple burrs I’d need to clean out before sending envelopes to publishers but it was a serviceable piece of writing, so I attached the pictures and uploaded it.  Then I turned the computer off and thought, if I don’t ask her out I’m going to regret it later.  I hadn’t eaten yet – maybe I could take her to dinner.  I coiled up the power cord.  But then I remembered that Starbucks was open until 9:30, after which would be too late for dinner.  Maybe she’d like to meet up for a drink afterward.  I slipped my laptop into its case and picked up my notes.  She’d seemed interested, I thought.  I liked my chances.

So I walked back to the counter and caught her eye.

“Where’s a good place in town for dinner?” I asked to start off.  She listed a couple places, including one called Whiskey Creek that sounded promising, and while she talked I checked her left hand to make sure there wasn’t a ring on it.

“And also,” I looked her in the eye, “I don’t know what time you get off, but would you like to meet up for a drink after work?  I’d be happy to buy you a beer.”   I sounded calm and confident, and was pretty impressed with myself.

But apparently she wasn’t.  She didn’t mention a boyfriend but said that she didn’t get off until 10:00, worked two jobs, and needed to get some sleep.

“Well,” I said.  “Alright.  Rest well.”  I turned to go.

“Try Whiskey Creek,” she said.  “It’s a pretty nice place.”  I said I would try it and waved goodbye.

“Good luck on your book,” she said to my backside.  Then she blurted: “I’m writing one too.”

I stopped and turned.  “Really?  What about?”

“It’s a children’s book,” she said.  “Based on Celtic myth.”

That night in the camper, I fed Duke and laid his mattress on the floor.  He ate with his tail wagging as I thought about the girl from Starbucks.  Maybe I’d asked her on the wrong kind of date – probably an invitation to get a drink at 10:00 from a traveling guy sounded like a proposition for a one night stand.  Maybe I should have stuck around town and asked her to go hiking tomorrow.  I climbed into my sleeping bag and switched off the light.  Celtic myth – what could that be about?  I didn’t even know there were Celtic myths.  She had seemed interesting, and was certainly pretty.  I remembered the way she smiled.  I was drifting off to sleep with pleasant thoughts of a fair-complected brunette when I was jerked back to consciousness by a regrettably familiar sound.

I rolled over in my sleeping bag.  “Duke,” I called irritably, “stop licking yourself.”