I almost miss her. Completely and indubitably. I’m in the back, pouring the day’s last pot of hot coffee into a plastic container for tomorrow’s “iced” coffee when I hear the little “ding” over the door. But Humphrey, the assistant cashier, only has five minutes left on his shift so I let him handle whoever it is.
And whoever it is, shame on them for showing up to Scones & Snowflake on New Year’s Eve with only an hour to go left in the old damn year. Just because we’re open 24-hours a day, seven days a week, 365 days a year doesn’t mean you have to come in and ruin a three hour streak where no one, not one solitary human being, has walked through the door.
I shake my head and store my iced coffee and just stand there, shaking my head some more, when I hear the bell ring again. Figuring it’s safe to come out onto the floor, I’m wiping my hands on my red and green apron when I see her little ski cap, just outside the window.
“Okay to head out?” Humphrey asks, already holding his apron in his skinny little hands.
“Yeah, yeah,” I call out over my shoulder, sprinting – literally, sprinting – for the door. Chimes overhead, snow in my face, door open, butt cold, nose freezing, I call out, “Hey, Elevator Girl!”
She turns, a bag in one hand, a cup in the other, wearing a blank expression. Then she spots me and it’s getting less blank, though far from happy. Kind of half quizzical, half frozen, and suddenly I’m wondering if she’ll even remember me. After all, the suit is gone, replaced by khaki slacks, a white T-shirt, my apron and a fluffy green Santa cap.
“Barry?”
I smile, thinking she’s got pretty good eyes to see my nametag in the half dark. Then she’s walking back to me, grinning. “How… why… what are you doing here?”
Before I can answer, she smirks. “I’m Darby, by the way. Unless, you know, Elevator Girl works better for you instead?”
I swing the door open wide, holding it for her as Humphrey hustles by. “Happy New Year,” he calls over his shoulder, nearly knocking Darby down.
We barely notice as she breezes into the café, setting her items down on the closest table and looking me up and down. “You work here?” she asks.
I nod. “But mostly overnight. I’ve been taking graphics design classes at the Institute and the manager here is pretty good about working around my schedule. That’s… that’s who I was texting, when… when you disappeared earlier. Someone called off and they needed a night guy and since I had nothing else doing tonight, I said yes.”
She’s nodding, like I’ve said something she needs to agree with. But I don’t care if she nods all night as long as she’s here. Here, in this big open café, and not some crummy elevator.
“What… do you live around here?”
“Right around the corner,” she says. I slide out a chair near the window and grab her stuff for her, because the street looks pretty with the blinking lights in the bushes and the snow falling and no cars on the road. Like it’s some kind of Christmas card we’ve just walked into. She nods like she agrees, licking those creamy lips, and sits down.
I slide down across from her. She’s still dressed from work, same little maroon jacket, same slacks, same matching ski cap and scarf. She sees me looking and gets self-conscious, tugging on a long lock of her auburn hair. “I… I didn’t think I’d run into anyone tonight.”
“You look great,” I tell her, not caring if I gush, not caring if I sound stupid, because… she’s here.
Color rises to her cheeks and I’d give anything to reach out and touch them right now. They look so soft, so sweet. “Where did you go?” I ask her. “I got off the elevator, turned around for five milliseconds and you were gone.”
She looks away and then turns back, eyes meeting mine. “Big mug of tea, stuck in an elevator, little bladder… you do the math.”
I chuckle and sit back. “I thought you were blowing me off,” I say.
She takes a sip of whatever’s in her Snowflakes and Scones cup, winces at the heat, sets the cup back down. “I kind of thought you might be there, when I came out.”
“I had to get here,” I say, not wanting to admit that I did wait, right out front, for as long as I could.
She nods and then we fall into this little moment of quiet where she picks at the crinkly treat bag.
“I’m surprised you guys are open tonight,” she finally says. “I just… I figured it would be a win/win if you were. If so, I’d grab a decaf peppermint mocha and a gingerbread scone before they went off the specials board and, if not, at least I’d get out of my apartment for a little while.”
“Party getting to you?” I ask, and she literally doubles over with laughter.
“What? What’d I say?”
“Party of one,” she finally says when she can talk again. “I just, I’m not laughing at you, I guess… it just caught me by surprise, that’s all.”
I lean a little closer, too afraid to actually touch her hand. “Well,” I say, meeting her eyes instead. “It’s not a party of one anymore, right?”
* * * * *