A flight of fancy

It was certainly enough to warrant a second look.

Tall, with almost foppish, almost hipster bedhead hair. Brown leather blazer, worn in just right. A quirky yet charming face, unassumingly handsome.

My coffee stop was looking good. I happily took that second glance.

But, in the classic girl-is-such-a-sucker kind of way, it was the accent that forced me to sneak another look out of the corner of my eye.

"Yes, a grande house, please. Black." British. Warm. Let's face it, it was intoxicating. "And could you please direct me to Newbury Street? Is it near here?"

Game. Set. Match. I was ready to swoon.

I kept quiet, the nondescript eavesdropper, taking in the melodious cadence to his voice. Until, as I waited for my maple latte to be prepared and he stood by me, we exchanged glances and smiles. I had to say hello.

So I did. And he replied.

And then we both waited for our drinks.

Awesome.

I had to wonder if this was actually how some soulmates meet - a chance encounter at a coffeeshop on a city corner.

I wondered what he thought of me as I stood there.

Unfortunately, he was in a hurry and I lacked the clumsiness to create some form of scenario. There would be no spilled coffee, no gallant attempt to help me clean up. No laughing introduction. As I settled into my window seat, he strolled out the door.

Of course the walk sign lit up as he left, so he crossed the street immediately. I fancifully imagined that the world often stopped so he could pass through it unfettered. I smiled to myself as he walked behind the T stop and out of sight.

That was a lovely. A nice, easy, five-minute could-have-been love affair.