Business with Boston
by Vicki Collier

The smell is absolutely fabulous: vanilla, chocolate, cream, and cookies baking, icing and orange rind. I've always loved the smells in cafes even though I never frequent them. Fabulous food doesn't come without calories and coffee is one thing I've never been able to stomach. This morning, however, is a new day. I'm going to drink this hotter than hell mug of Butter Pecan coffee. The girl at the counter guarantees it's very smooth.
My first taste - disgusting - that's no surprise and it's not going to stop me. If things go as expected, this is going to be an all round bitter experience. Maybe some cream and sugar? No. There's been enough artificial sweetness in my life.
I can do this.
The feel of the hot mug in my hands is wonderful. Flexing my fingers brings the tender hollows of my palms against the burning ceramic. Ahh, that's nice. I snuggle into the plump arms of my chair and let the coffee's warmth bite back against the Ontario winter. Today, it seems, I've never been colder.
The cafe is very upscale but then again so is most of the New Edinburgh area. Three girls are working the counter and the line-up remains steady at between five to seven people. They do a good business. My husband would be impressed. Donald is all about money, which is the reason I'm alone again this weekend, sitting in The Second Cup learning to drink coffee, while he's away on business with Boston again.
Another sip, another grimace - how do people get addicted to this stuff? There's no reason to drink the entire mug. It's already past eleven. The world outside the cafe window is completely covered with snow. When I left Brockville this morning the flakes had just begun falling. I've an hour of highway driving ahead of me and it's time to head home. I've been a complete idiot. One more sip just to prove I've learnt my lesson and I'll go.
A man in a knee-length gray coat, arm around a young woman with a red scarf and long black hair sprinkled white on top, passes on the slippery sidewalk outside. Seconds later, he enters with a whirl of snow and cold air, pausing to hold the door while her slender frame slips by him. Their eyes meet when their bellies brush and they both smile so gently. He looks happy, relaxed. Of course he's relaxed, where else could he be any safer?
The coffee is sliding down just fine now. The burning liquid has destroyed all the feeling in my tongue. In fact, I'm feeling an all over numb.
They stand in line holding hands, hips brushing. The top of the girl's glossy head comes to just above his shoulder. When they get to the counter, the smiling cafe girl knows their order. He takes his coffee with three creams. Young red scarf receives a glass mug with a cinnamon stick poking out of it. He pays and they turn, casting around for an empty table. The girl's eyes, thick with mascara, come first, passing sightlessly by. Donald's follow. Coffee spills down his London Fog coat and onto his pants.
I salute him with my empty mug. Good stuff, coffee - bitter- but once you choke it down, it leaves a burning fire in your belly.
Rising, I cross the busy space dividing us.
"Hello dear." I can smile gently too. I look from him to the girl. "This must be Boston."