The roar of fluffed milk gradually turned into humming. I waited for my latte, watching our new barista operate all those jugs and cups. Slowly I let myself get lost in the sounds of his pottering, relaxed, an absent-minded smile blossoming on my face. I liked watching his hands, as he knew what he was doing, confidently operating his utensils and steam contraptions.

I watched him pour my latte together into a cup, moving with a simple grace under his apron, tightly wrapped around his waist. His face looked concentrated, and way too focused to pay attention to occasional unruly strands of blond hair escaping his ponytail and obscuring his vision. When he suddenly turned towards me and he noticed I was staring at him, he smiled back with a grin of someone who enjoys his work.

The morning passed quietly as I sipped my coffee, flicking through my notebooks. Deep in thoughts, I found myself involuntarily doodling spiral patterns from a green dress of a retro cutie sitting not far from me. In fact, at that point I didn't notice anything else interesting about her, while she was sitting on a worn out sofa, reading and sipping coffee. What I did notice thou, was that barista was possibly looking at her too, checking her out, as he positioned orders on a massive tray.

Just as he was navigating between the obstacles, carrying a tray full of cups, plates and bottles by my table, a naughty strand of hair covered his eyes just for a second too long. Suddenly out of balance, he dropped everything with a loud gasp. I narrowly saved my notebooks, scooping them from the table milliseconds before coffee and cakes splashed all over it, making lots of rattle.

As the embarrassed, blushing barista started cleaning it all up, I spotted a piece of paper floating on a brownish puddle right next to my hand. It had words, "I'm off at 6:00 pm, wanna pick me up?" written on it with a blue pen.

I figured that it must be the barista's note to that girl wearing a green retro dress, and I couldn't make up my mind whether this type of pick-up method is cute or creepy. And so, not quite sure why, maybe led by some instinct or panicky shyness, I cramped the note into a ball and sneaked it into my pocket.

Barista kept on cleaning with a very embarrassed look, not taking his eyes off the floor. Somehow I assumed that he must be very conscious of how unimpressed the green dress chic must be with his clumsiness. In my head, I did him a favour by hiding the note, since his pickup attempt wouldn't work anyway in such an unfortunate moment. Poor cute shy guy, I somehow felt sympathy for him in his adorable little apron, covered in stains.

Shortly after that, I stood up and left the cafe, stained here and there with the coffee that he spilled on me. I left him double of my usual tip to somehow cheer him up. After all it wasn't his fault that he tripped, or maybe I felt guilty for taking his note, or just sorry for his failure to ask the girl out?

Anyhow, just as I was about to chuck out the moist ball of paper from my pocket I couldn't resist the urge to unwrap it and read his note again.

It was written on a printed bill for a single latte - just what I ordered - but I figured that it was what the green dress girl was drinking too.

A few hours later, I was somehow completely unsurprised to find myself strolling trough the streets next to that cafe. Around a quarter past six I involuntarily ended up by the, now closed, cafe. The blond barista stood there alone, leaning against the closed shutters, waiting for something.

I figured that there is a change he thinks that the girl found his note, took it and then stood him up, so I decided to approach him, explain that it was me who took the note and what happened. As I approached him, I was surprised to see him smile, rather than looking stood up and mopey.

"So the green-dressed cutie didn't show up after all, did she?" I asked him not very tactfully, trying to figure out why he was smiling.

As he digested my question I watched his face go trough a sequence of emotions: surprise, thoughtfulness and finally eureka moment, drifting smoothly into a mischievous smile. He looked at me grinning without a word, and slowly, very, very slowly I started understanding what this is all about; he wasn't waiting here for her, that note was intended for me in the first place! 

He wanted me to pick him up from work, and that's what I was apparently doing just now. It was my turn to be baffled, my animate face going trough a comical storm of facial expressions: from feeling lost and confusion to some shy, disbelieving flatter and interest.

I looked at him already opening my mouth to say something, but he grabbed me violently by my shoulders. Maybe he was simply afraid that I will say something stupid again, because he pressed me hard against the metal security blinds with a loud rattle and kissed me. It felt surprisingly good, forceful, warm and very very sexy.

We made out for a good few minutes, in the deafening noise of metal blinds I leaned against, as I tried to release myself from his grasp without much conviction. At some point I had enough. I grabbed his hand and started walking towards my flat, dragging him behind me. If he didn't want me to talk, I was happy to provide other means of entertainment, all sorts of means.

Walking briskly, dragging him behind me, I could still feel pleasantly painful lines of bruises on my back from being pressed against the hard metal of cafe's blinds, and every step was pleasantly painful. Walking, I made plans for many more bruises to be inflicted that evening in my apartment. All sorts of plans.

o