Pursuing Prudence: Part II: The Coffee Shop

The barista used steamed milk to decorate the top of Jeremiah’s latte with foam. When she finished, a swirling heart twisted through the espresso—a sign?

He smiled to himself as thoughts of Prudence infiltrated his mind, again. He found himself occupied daily with images of her smile and the softness of her voice, so delicate yet commanding. She seemed to be a walking paradox, like a puzzle only he could solve, and there was nothing more tantalizing for Jeremiah than a challenge. No, Prudence was more than a puzzle. He searched his mind for the perfect comparison and then settled on a simple one: Prudence was like gravity, both grounding and necessary. If it wasn’t for their nightly phone conversations, Jeremiah would have floated on to another pretty face, but the mere thought of anyone other than Prudence, now made him unsettled. He hadn’t known her for more than two weeks, and already she had become irreplaceable.

Jeremiah had always teased his friends for falling in love, especially the ones who rushed into monogamy. He once chastised Jeff for moving in with a girl after dating her for only six months. “Why are you tying yourself down at such a young age?” he had asked, tsk-tsking his friend with a judgmental tongue. “Monogamy is death, my friend. It’s about as natural as Styrofoam and just as suffocating.”

What would Jeff say now? Now that Jeremiah eagerly sat in his favorite coffee spot, staring into a latte with a heart made of foam, thinking about one woman—the one woman who had fully captivated his mind... his very being.

“Jeremiah,” said the familiar, soft tinkling voice from behind him, intoxicating him.

He felt his stomach flutter… Butterflies? He’d become a walking cliché, a perfect example of everything he had once mocked. He didn’t care, though; her voice was enchanting, and he wanted it to pour over him, to bewitch him. Jeremiah turned to face her, and once his eyes met hers, he felt it, an unmistakable energy better than any high he’d ever experienced—and as a man who owned more than one hookah, he would know. 

“Prudence,” he finally sputtered.

She giggled. “Are you going to ask me to join you or continue to sit there staring into your romantic latte?” 

Jeremiah quickly stood, bumping the small, circular table with the top of his thighs. The latte splashed onto the wooden table top. “Well, it looks like my cup runneth over,” he said, sounding moronic, even to himself.

“Well, a heart is difficult to contain,” she joked, easing his distress. She sat in the chair opposite of him. “I still don’t understand how you can drink coffee this late in the evening. If I did that, I’d never sleep—not that it comes easy for me now.”

“Coffee doesn’t affect me, probably because I’ve built up a tolerance for it.” He sat back in his chair, sighing with relief. “You look nice... I mean beautiful.” He ran his hand through his black hair, worn down around his ears at the request of Prudence, and chuckled nervously. “Sorry, when I’m around you I forget how to form cohesive sentences.”

“I have that effect on people.” She smirked. “Or, so I’ve been told.” She leaned in closer to him, and Jeremiah breathed in the earthy scent of the Patchouli oil wafting from her.

“Do you want anything?” he asked, unable to break free from her eyes, unwilling to.

She shook her head. “No, I’m not one for conventional cuisine.”

“You’re an old soul,” he babbled. “First, you are anti-social media, and now, you surprise me with your distaste for coffee. You are a walking conundrum.”

The corners of her lips curled up; there was that coy smile, again. “I prefer enigma.”

“Of course, you do.” He found himself lost in her presence, forgetful of his surroundings, and completely surrendered to her being.

They stared at one another for a moment, words unnecessary, intrusive really. Without thinking, Jeremiah reached for her hands. They were cool to the touch, soft, and inviting. She didn’t pull away. Instead, her gaze intensified, simultaneously lascivious and intimate. He felt exposed and vulnerable, typically the time he would bail and find an escape, but not with Prudence. He desired her more, compelled by her essence.

“You want to go for a walk or something? Anything at all?” he asked, blood rushing through his veins and tinging his cheeks a deep burgundy.

Her teeth grazed her bottom lip. “Hmm, someone’s eager.” Her eyebrow arched in perfection. “Perhaps another night, though. I’d rather sit here and talk.”

His face flushed. “I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about me. I’m usually not this intense.”

“Pity,” she said, her voice dancing in his head.

He shuddered. Jeremiah wasn’t in control. Evidently, Prudence held all the cards, rendering him speechless, yet fascinated.

Her lips pursed in satisfaction. “You’re not used to giving up control, are you?” she asked, somehow reading his mind.

“Is it that obvious?” he asked, sighing at his vulnerability. “There’s something about you that muddles my mind.”

She leaned in closer to him, her mouth just within reach. “And now?” she murmured.

Fire rushed through him, an uncontrollable passion. His lips trembled, and he leaned closer to her, so close he felt her breath upon him

She pulled her head slightly back and whispered, “Soon.” Without another word, Prudence stood up from her chair, graceful and quiet, like a bubble floating in air. 

“Wait, you're leaving? But you only just got here,” Jeremiah petitioned her with his eyes. “Stay.”

“Timing is everything, Jeremiah.” Her eyes shone with gratification.

An urge rose within him to take Prudence into his arms and cover her mouth with his, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. She had paralyzed him with her brazen charm. So, instead of jumping to his feet, instead of taking her into his arms, Jeremiah sat in a wooden chair, staring up at her, mouth slightly agape, and fixated on her confident smile.

She brushed one of her hands under his chin, tilting his face up towards her. “I’ll call you when it’s time.”

“But,” he protested, once more, but she was already near the door, and before he could gather his senses, Prudence was gone. A ghost in the wind. An illusion. And like grasping at fog, she slipped through his fingers.