From the moment he first walked into the cafe, I knew he was every wet dream I had ever had rolled into one sweet man.
As I get the mugs ready, I have to force myself to keep from staring at him. It’s just us this drizzly, cold morning and I can’t help but peek at him as I work. He’s taken off his thick vintage woolen jacket and gloves, and is mopping the rain from his hair. He looks tired and a little unkempt, and my mind drifts to thoughts of him with sleepy eyes sluggishly climbing from my bed. He always looks like he’s just woken up and rolled out of bed in search of caffeine. I’m sure he must have a girlfriend or boyfriend, or both, at home, curled in his recently vacated sheets. No one that kind and pretty- yes, pretty- is single. And from what I’ve seen since I’ve been out, rarely gay, either.