zhanfang

scindeva:

⊰ Ⅲ The only sensible explanation that crosses her
                mind is that perhaps they’d the same orders,    in
                 turn earning the barista’s confusion and resulting
                 in one name being written & an implicative glance
                 at the other like to suggest it were theirs.

                 …it happens, she supposes.
                Not a lot to be done about it now.

               She takes a reactionless notice to the slight graze
               of his hand that reaches for the drink intended for
               him, the lone show that she’d felt it at all being a
               lulled downward glance.

               It’s a generous offer he makes, & evidently there’s
               no harm in taking him up on it. Chances are that
               the coffee meant for her would be ready soon.
               if their orders are identical,    he could simply have
               hers & it’d make no difference.

              ❝ My mistake…but thank you. ❞

                She maneuvers the cup in her hand once again as
                to read the name scribbled on the foam.     It hardly
                meets standards of legible writing —– she almost
                wonders how she’d read it.
                In any case, she knows his name now; by accident
                she digresses, but nonetheless…

              ❝ Viola. My name. ❞

A small laugh escapes him, it was a silly mistake
but wasn’t completely unwarranted. After all it gave
the young man an excuse to speak to the lady. 
He had watched her walk in and he felt he sense an
air of sophistication to her. Not his usual type, but 
sometimes– no most of the time, his urge to flirt
knew no bounds. 

He let go of what used to be his salted caramel
mocha. Allowing her to take full hold of it. 

“Viola? A beautiful name. It’s a name of a flower as well… How fitting. I’d say you’re just as– if not more beautiful than the flower.”

Lucky he was in a good mood this morning, there
was a little trick he could only pull off in a good mood.
He dipped his hand into his pocket, rummaging around
a little before producing a small poesy of purple violas.
Weirdly enough he always had these read. How very
magical.

“Another present. It so happens mother nature is feeling generous today.”