Like Stitching Coffee Cups
NA Contemporary Romance
PITCH: Struggling artist Cam wrestles with the depression and intimacy issues that fuel her work. When a friendly barista interrupts her downward spiral, she must choose between a chance at happiness and her much-needed muse.
QUESTION: What type of Easter Egg would your MC be?
ANSWER: She’d be coffee flavored. Strong and slightly bitter, with a fabulous aftertaste.
It’s a three block walk to the coffee shop, although it might as well be three miles in this humidity. I’m breathing and drowning all at once, and I’ve never been so decaffeinated in my whole life. A less than stellar start to my week, definitely.
Black iron tables outside of The Brews beckon me from a half block away, and I pick up my pace. I order quickly and head back outside with my little mug of heaven, smiling as I pull a book from my bag. My friend, Gina, declared it a “total heartbreaker” when she shoved it into my hands earlier. I hope she’s right, I’m desperate.
It’s been over a week since I last cried; and no tears mean no painting. No painting means not making rent. Again. If I don’t unclog my emotional pores soon, I’m well and truly screwed.
Heat radiates up from the pavement and snakes around my ankles, competing with the sun to see who can chase me into air conditioning first. Neither one wins though, I don’t give up that easily. I flip to the next page and reach my arms up into a stretch, smiling as a bead of sweat trails down my spine and drips off each vertebra.
A woman bustles passed, knocking into my chair without as much as a mumbled apology. I glare after her, accidentally making eye contact with the nameless barista in the window. It’s kind of startling to see him there, to really look at him, I mean, to see his eyes, his mouth, the curve of his nose. I forget other people aren’t all blank slates and stand ins; that they’re real people with thoughts, dreams and tastes all their own. In fairness, I forget this about myself sometimes too.