By Abigail Falanga
He came in every day for almost a week, at ten to four in the afternoon, stood in line for a coffee—medium, hazelnut syrup, almond milk—then stayed just long enough to take a sip or two. Gave his name as Sam. Smiled at me each visit.
I melted the first time and still haven’t recovered.
“Kytt,” he said on day three. “That’s an unusual name.”
“Yeah.” My stomach somehow turned to both knots and butterflies at once. “Nickname for—um—you don’t need to know. That’s almond milk, right? I mean, I know…”
Sam smiled, shifted his weight, and confirmed the almond milk.
He was too nicely dressed to be a college student, but with more suave panache than most professionals, and a really nice watch—a Seiko. Tousled brown hair, warm hazel eyes, quirky smile…
Day six, he didn’t show up.
It couldn’t have been something I did, could it? I hadn’t done anything, except turn into a pile of mush every time he looked my way. Oh—and steal his watch that first day. But he didn’t even notice, since I put it back immediately once I realized how cute he was and that the watch was scuffed, which would decrease the resale value in a piece that nice. So it couldn’t have been that.
Or maybe it was that look I gave him the last day. It might have seemed harsh or accusing, though I was only confused. One instant, he was reaching for his coffee with his right hand and the next with his left, breathing hard and with his scarf tied differently. It was bizarre. Maybe I’d flustered him.
“Stop overthinking, Kytt,” I tell myself—but can’t stop.
There were other odd instances, too. Things that didn’t make sense about Sam, like how he sometimes knocked into things for no reason, or left in a rush. But it had been a weird week in other ways too. I found my bag rummaged through once and—
I look up from the counter as the door opens, jarring me out of my thoughts. It’s almost four and I can’t help hoping it’s him, though it’s busy today, and there’s no reason it should be.
It is.
Sam shoots me a half-grin that makes it hard to concentrate on the guest ahead of him. He glances at that watch as he waits, impatient, and even—yes—darts a quick but clearly intentional look at the businessmen at the table by the window.
A niggling instinct that something is up rises in my mind, but I shove it aside as Sam finally steps up to the counter.
“Hey,” I say, tumbling over the words I’ve practiced. “It’s been a while! Coffee, medium, hazelnut syrup, almond milk, right?”
Sam reaches across the counter and grabs my hand.
Before I can protest, the world stops.
With a stomach-dropping lurch, everything freezes: the kid midway through spilling his milk, the woman gesturing as she makes a phone call, the door half-open, and steam from the espresso machine stuck in distinct curls.
Everything, except Sam.
“I can’t let go without you slipping back into the normal timestream,” he explains, apologetic. “Can you come around with me still holding your hand?”
“What’s going on?” I squeak.
“Time stops for me. Two minutes, every day at precisely four o’clock in the afternoon.” Sam guides me around the counter. “I wasn’t sure I could bring anyone else into it, but I had to try with you.”
“Okay—What?”
“It’s a thing. A quirk. I don’t know how to explain it, it just is. I can do a lot in two minutes. Normally, I just drift around, read over people’s shoulders, silly stuff. But it can be useful, like learning information or stopping something bad from happening.”
“Like this?” I reach over and straighten the kid’s cup, catching some milk. “Or keeping someone from getting hurt?”
“Sure.” Sam’s eyes give a mischievous twinkle, though I wonder if he’s still hiding something. “I try to resume whatever position I was in so no one will notice. Today I’m making an exception because we have to get out of here.”
“Why?”
“Those men are after me.” Sam points to the businessmen, giving them such a glaring scowl it would be embarrassing if they could see it. “They want me for what I can do.”
His unwavering gaze makes me believe him. Besides, the businessmen don’t fit the shop’s usual clientele, and that big man with the clenched jaw seems like he’s watching me, even though he’s frozen in place.
“I mean,” I whisper though no one is listening, “why me?”
“I’ve come here too often.” Sam frowns. “Usually, I avoid that. It must have made them suspicious, which puts you in danger because of your record.”
I stop mid-step halfway across the café and tug against his hand. “What do you know about that?”
“Had a look in your bag last week, then did some research. Come on! We’ve gotta get to the car.”
“I’m not going until you tell me more.” I plant my feet, a wave of panic threatening. “Why me? Why save one barista when three others have been here, same shift?”
Sam stops to shoot that smile at me again. “You’re a thief—a good one judging by how you took my watch, then slipped it back in my pocket when you thought I wouldn’t notice. I need a thief! It’s time to fight back.”
He pulls me to the parking lot, weirdly devoid of traffic sounds. I spot a bird literally in midflight overhead. Sam continues toward a car waiting with doors open. I’m not sure if I’m compelled by the threatening expressions of the men in the café or if I just want to be near those brown eyes of Sam’s. Or…
“I’ll come,” I say. “But only because I’m curious about this thing of yours. And,” I grin, “two minutes is an eternity to a thief like me!”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Very well written. It pulled me in right away, and I’d be interested in knowing what happens next!
Meanwhile, all the plain-faced boys whose mothers did not adorn them with warm hazel eyes, they have to buy their watches back from the pawn shop.
Kytt makes a good point about relative time!
I love how you developed this! It’s too good to just be one story!
Excellent story. I was surprised as I wasn’t expecting how it would turn out. I’d love to know how it goes from here.
A very good story and it would be fun to read the rest of their story.
Thank you for reading!
Here are some fun facts about this story:
– This idea came from a dream I had about a young man in a coffee shop, who had a very unique talent that was about to get him into some very big trouble.
– I had to research nice watches to write a certain part believably. I’m still getting watch ads 😜
– Yes, I do have ideas for a sequel. Or, more accurately, for expanding this story into a book, probably with more twists and turns and exploring the downsides of Sam’s talent. Plus, more romance!
Abigail Falanga, aka StorySpinner
This concept is fantastic and inspiring. As you said above, this is a story you could easily build a novel around. Great!
Oh, fantastic! I love this! It is so clever and compelling and intriguing.