OH BEAU!
We’ve all wanted that sexy, mysterious stranger who’s making eyes from across the way to come over and start something. We’ve all had that same sweet fantasy. You spot him while scanning the room, a habit you've picked up being single. You quietly admire his good looks, the way you would a painting, but skeptically figure he’s either taken, gay, or simply too damn good looking for you. You sneak another peek pretending not to notice but now notice, he’s noticing you right back. At first, you’re not sure if he’s meaning you or the chickie at the next table sporting a way hipper micro mini than what you put on this morning. You glance quickly back in his direction as you flip your hair which is now your cover, but his eyes are fixed on you. Yes, you.
He's sitting across from me, one table over at a local coffee shop. He sips his coffee with pursed and pillowy lips. I wonder how they might feel on mine. I notice his tanned and toned arms, the hands I can’t see typing away. His perfectly manicured beard frames his boyish face. He’s wearing a baseball cap and I wonder what’s underneath. He seems young, the wear and tear of life isn’t furrowing what I can see of his brow. Heat begins to flush my cheeks as I bite the insides to keep a goofy smile at bay. I try and keep it sexy and pretend I am focused on my laptop. Or my hands. Or my coffee.
He needs to be the one to come over whether I like it or not. We all play the game and the game has rules. We make eyes again, he smiles provocatively, I hold his gaze for a few seconds, then look shyly away indicating I am ready to play. He pulls out a power cord from his backpack and plugs in next to me. As he looks up, he flashes a beautiful smile of perfect teeth, the skin around his green eyes crinkling slightly. I smile back. He scribbles something on the notepad next to him. I wonder who uses pad and pencil anymore. We keep 'working' and the tension builds.
A few minutes of this continued volley-flirt-ball goes by and the fantasy begins to dissipate. Why doesn’t he say something? A hello or nice weather or will you love me forever. Maybe he’s trying to meet a very important deadline. Maybe he’s just an unabashed flirt. Maybe I could never get so lucky. I chalk it up to karma still getting even with me for a dastardly past life or that my love life continues to be nothing more than a comedy festival for the heavens. Suddenly, he unplugs and starts packing up his computer. He finishes the last sip of his coffee and peers at me over the rim. Finally…here we go! I quickly fluff my hair and lick my lips as he starts to walk towards me. I pretend not to notice and hold my breath as our eyes meet once more. He smiles again and nods his head. And then he leaves. Of course he does.
I watch a tight body in jeans and cowboy boots slowly swagger away. Alas, farewell sexy stranger. I’m typing way too loud and the non-sexy, non-mysterious stranger sitting next to me notices disapprovingly. Clack, clack, clack as the disappointment and annoyance sets in. Why don’t men have the guts to even come up to us anymore? Isn’t it enough that we birth the babies, bring home and cook the bacon, even change the oil in our cars? If we have to sit here and wait for them to come over, the least they could do is come over! Now we have to be the man too?
Ten minutes go by as I simmer and then let it go. As my focus settles back on work, I barely notice the door swinging open with the sexy stranger walking through. I figure he’s forgotten something. Perhaps his power cord, pencil, or balls? He walks straight up to me, offers his hand, and leans in close whispering into my hair, “Hello, my name is Beau.” I swallow hard and seem only able to offer the goofy smile that’s been wanting to make an appearance as I shake his rough yet warm hand. I say my name is Olivia and ask if he’s forgotten something. He says, “What a beautiful name for such a beautiful lady,” and squeezes a piece of notepad paper into my other hand. And as quickly as he reappeared, he leaves offering only a smile as goodbye. I look around wondering what just happened and look down at the folded paper. My annoyed table mate is now also looking with raised eyebrows and a knowing smirk. A pencil drawn curved line with two straight ones intersecting it is drawn on the front, the same doodle I would always draw on letters and envelopes. I open it under the table, away from the eyes of my nosey and re-annoyed neighbor.
Madam,
Please forgive my coyness, but I did not feel this was the proper setting to voice my intentions. I believe you to be an attractive woman with a charming smile. I am sure you have your reasons, but regardless; I find it to be a shame you have no ring on your finger. If you are not in a relationship, your social schedule allows for it, and you are interested; I would be quite pleased to entertain you over the mostly harmless sin of your choosing: wine, gelato, pie, etc. I hope you have a lovely evening and no matter your decision, I just hope you are as sweet and kind as you are pretty.
Beau
Oh, Beau! Beau?! I didn't believe the name when he said it. Can that be more perfect? I look around for the hidden cameras but there are none. Maybe this is just what I need. Maybe he is just what I’ve been waiting for. I slip the letter into my purse and start biting my cheek again. Apparently, he does have the balls and I’ve got the luck. Game on!