Walker didn’t have highlights in his day. He called them blips. A minor deviation from the norm. One of his favorite blips was getting his morning coffee. His office was located in the south building of four identical gray towers at the edge of the city, just off the highway. People at his work called it The Complex, which reminded Walker of a prison. Each building had a Starbucks in their lobby, but Walker preferred venturing to the west building. One of his favorite blips of the day was right before he opened the door, every part of him wondering if his favorite barista would be behind the register.
And he was! It made Walker grateful for the long line. More time to steal glances at this guy.
“Hey there! Welcome to Starbucks. How’s it going?” the barista asked with a flicker of recognition.
“Just making it through the work day.” Walker always hated his response. He never sounded as cool as the barista.
The barista shrugged strands of his brown hair out of his face, giving Walker a clear view of his blue eyes, the shade of the sky on a perfect spring day. He began to write on a coffee cup but stopped.
“Grande vanilla latte, right?” He asked with a smile that Walker liked to picture throughout his day.
“Good memory!”
The barista wrote the order on his cup. Here was the part where Walker tried to think of something to say. He had only a few seconds before he would pay for his purchase and had to move on. The line was waiting. This challenge to engage in conversation with the cute barista, to make himself noticed before having to move on, was a major blip for Walker. It got his blood pumping, and made his eyes clear. This was what it must feel like to be a baseball player up at bat. He had one chance every day before fading back into the crowd.
At that moment on that day, fate smiled on Walker Reed. Because the cute barista yawned.
“Late night?” Walker asked.
“Early morning,” the barista cracked. “I was at a party and drank way too much. Why do I make myself drink jungle juice?” He shook his head at the memory.
“Getting drunk on a Tuesday night? You’re like a college student.”
“I am a college student.”
“You are?” Walked asked. “At Browerton?”
The barista nodded. “Only for a few more months.”
“Getting kicked out?”
“Ha!” The barista laughed.I made him laugh!Walker gave himself one hundred points in whatever imaginery game he was playing.
“I went to Browerton.”
“Really? What year were you?”
Walker didn’t want to answer. It would only bring down this moment. “Let’s just say my fifteen-year reunion is this fall.”
“Man, that means I have to do math. You’re no fun, Walter.”
“It’s actually Walker.”
The barista grabbed Walker’s coffee cup to re-examine. “I’ve been writing Walter this whole time. For months.”
Walker shrugged. He was too transfixed by the barista’s eyes and his Starbucks smile the first time to correct him. He had just wanted to savor that moment. And then he figured it would be weird to correct his name after lettingWalterslide a few times.
The barista crossed outWalterand wrote inWalkeron the cup. “Better late than never.”
Walker handed him his usual ten dollars, and the barista made the requisite change, which Walker always tossed into the tip jar. He figured the barista was flirting with him for a bigger tip, and so Walker shoved in another dollar.
“All right,” the barista said. “Well, have a good morning, Walker.”
“You, too.” Walker moved over to the waiting area with the other impatient businessmen. But this blip would not subside. He felt like he had already had his morning caffeine for the week. He returned to the register.
“What’s your name?” He asked the barista. The female customer shot him a glare. “Now that you know mine.” Walker’s heart pounded in his chest.
“It’s Cameron.”
