i walked into a dark and quiet coffee house. it was cold outside, but as soon as i entered i was warm. there was a strong aroma of coffee that made me feel content and relaxed. i approached the counter with a smile, and the cashier flashed a smile back. i ordered my regular cup of joe with extra cream and no sugar, and let the polite cashier keep the change. as i waited i looked around and noticed a collection of strange and beautiful antique paintings. There was only one couple sitting in the corner and you could hear them softly whispering. The only other noise came from the back room where they must have been grinding down coffee beans. Just then my order was ready. I stepped over to the counter and gave my thanks. I took a sip a first sip and new immediately that i would be back. Warm creamy, and just the right blend. the cup warmed my hands, and i stepped back out onto the street as snow fluttered down and just a faint sound of cars in the distance.

I walked into the Starbucks coffeehouse at the corner of Lake and California in Pasadena, California. A chill wind had been blowing, but I took off my jacket anyway, and reveled in the way the cold made my skin pucker into goosebumps.

I saw her there — dressed in red and green, a holiday treat, my long-ex-girlfriend Peggy. Still beautiful after all these years. I rushed toward her, embraced her, she felt warm in my arms.

“Hello Emu,” she said. Her voice was low and musical, contralto, just the way I remembered it. Her hair smelled of lilacs and Head&Shoulders shampoo.

“Two lattes,” I called loudly to the short girl behind the counter. Funny how your voice doesn’t sound the same to yourself as it does to others, eh? Peggy and I sat down at one of the little tables. The chair beneath me was hard. Peggy began tapping her fingernails on the table, a low, repetitive, percussive sound.

The counter girl brought our drinks. A smell of cinnamon wafted from the cups. I took a sip. HOT! Hot, sweet, a little bitter, just a hint of vanilla too. Always good, though.

I walked into a small coffee house. Outside, the raindrops danced like small ballerinas. The smells of freshly baked pasteries mixed wonderfully with the woody smell that is distinctively coffee. “What will you have?” asked a smiling baresta while he prepared an expresso. The hiss of the steam frothing the milk made my taste buds water. I replied, “I’ll have a carmel latte, please.”

“One carmel latte, coming up.”

I let my eyes dance around the room to see who was sharing this quiet moment with me. There she was. I had seen her before, I think in the market, buying fruit. She was looking at her cell phone and tears were coming down her face. Were those tears of joy or sadness, what was she looking at, was it a picture or text telling her, we’re through?

“Here’s your latte, sir. That’s $4.50.” said the barista as he handed me the hot cup.

“Keep the change.” I said handing him a $5 bill.

I sipped the latte, it tasted good. I chose an empty table next to the girl and sat down. I took another sip of my latte and let the napkin fall near her leg. As I bent down to retrieve it, I intentionally touched her leg.”

“Excuse me, I dropped my napkin.” I said. Daubing my lip of the milk froth that the latte had left behind.

“You missed a spot.” she said, pointing to the corner of her mouth.