For the Love of Monet

Thursday morning started cold and damp.  Early March in South Carolina can be unpredictable but at least you don’t have to shovel your car out of 3 feet of snow to go to work.  I briskly walked the five blocks to work with my hands in my pockets and my shoulders shrugged to try to keep my ears warm.  I should have worn a hat but I haven’t unpacked that box yet.  When the sun finally tried to rise it only made the sky slightly lighter than the dark.  The drizzle began about 8:00.

          At 8:30 I felt the man’s emotions entering the coffee shop.  He shook off his umbrella and came to the register to place his order.  He had gorgeous brown curls that were just on the brink of unruly and needing a trim.  He looked at Trish to place his order and his eyes were an amazing caramel color.  It was obvious from the circles under those eyes that he hadn’t slept well for many nights.

          As he stood waiting for his coffee I gave him what I hoped was a friendly smile.  He politely smiled back.  “Lovely weather we’re having” I tried to start up a conversation with him.  He was very preoccupied with his own thoughts.  I couldn’t let him leave today without a connection.

          “Are you a male super model,” I tried again with a huge grin on my face.  “I can picture you in a lime green Speedo posing on a sandy beach.”  That got his attention.  Had I gone too far in trying to get his attention?  Maybe I should have tried something more subtle like flashing my breasts at him.  He stared at me for what felt like minutes but was probably only seconds.  Then he started to laugh.  It was a beautiful sound and I felt his emotions lighten just a little.

          “No I’m not, Liz, but I play one on TV,” he joked back at me in a slight southern accent.  He was gorgeous and had a sense of humor. 

          “How do you know my name?  Have we met before?” I asked.  I was sure I would have remembered meeting him.

          “Your name tag,” he answered and gave another small laugh.  Great I thought now he thinks I’m an idiot.

          “Are you free tonight for dinner?” I jumped in feet first.

          “I’m sorry,” he replied, “I have to work.  There is a concert tonight at the art museum.”

          “Oh, are you a musician?”

          “No, I am an assistant director at the Columbia Museum of Art.”

          “I’ve been meaning to go visit the art museum.  I hear it’s quite nice.”

          “You’ve never been there?”

          “No, but in my defense I only moved to Columbia a couple of months ago.”

          “In that case you are