It started out as any other day. The sun was peaking dimly through the clouds and a stiff autumn breeze brushed through the chill morning air. The sea on the wind tasted of salt as I ducked my chin ever closer to the lapels of my coat and the itchy wool scarf.

Teeth chattering, the warm yellow lights of the café beckoned me to quicken my pace. Shuffling down the sidewalk, hands shoved gracelessly into the pockets of my peacoat, the smell of roasting coffee soothed my clamoring heart.

Pulling open the door blasted hot air in my face and my glasses fogged up immediately. Letting the door fall shut behind me, I fumbled blindly for the buttons of my coat and took a few cautious steps to the side as Sally called out a greeting.

"Sam! You're late! What took you so long?"

"Oh nothing, just got a little sidetracked with my writing is all. Do you have my cocoa ready?"

"Sorry, kid, we're fresh out."

"Oh," My face fell, and my fingers trembled a bit as they wiped my glasses with a piece of clean sweater, "That's alright, I guess I'll—"

"Kid, I was kidding, geez, you've gotta stop being so gullible. Here," she slid a steaming mug over to me from across the counter, "it's on the house."

An immediate grin slid into place and I beamed at her as I palmed the mug,

"Thanks, Sally, you're my favorite."

"And I better stay that way." She mumbled as I brushed past her spot at the counter to sit in my regular booth.

With a clear view of the coast, and the blue-green ocean below, the town of Crawley's only café was a hotspot for easy-going sightseers with a lot of time on their hands.

My booth, I had picked after only a week or two here. At just the right time of morning, I could catch the sun breaking over the water and the white-capped waves, tinting the water a glorious gold.

With my mind on other things, I accidentally bumped into a table that wasn't in it's normal place. Two, or what may have been three, tables were scooted together to create one long one and were standing in my usual path to my booth. In my scramble to right my hot chocolate mug, and the tables' occupants to assist, one of their coats fell to the floor.

"I'm so sorry, thank you so much." I gushed as one of them took the dripping mug from my hands and promptly wiped it with a napkin from their dispenser.

"It is no problem. We are a big group, we are in the way." The cup-wiping man stated simply in a low, friendly voice. I simply nodded. My hands free, I remembered the lost coat.

"Oops, you dropped your coat! Sorry about that."

I cheerfully picked up the gray fur coat off the floor and absentmindedly noted really how very soft it was. It was almost like the chinchilla Mrs. Mandy had in 4th grade.

Carefully draping it back over the man's chair and smoothing down some of the ruffled hairs, I raised my eyes to meet the chair's occupant's. He stared at me with wide, stunned eyes. Remarkably attractive eyes, I noted, a deep, dark, soulful brown.

They searched mine in perhaps a rather hopeful sort of way that almost made you think he was trying to learn as much about you in as short amount of time as possible. I awkwardly waved at him and chuckled,

"Sorry about that, you can get back to your coffee."

I took my cocoa from the outstretched hand of the cup-wiper man and made my way—even more carefully now—to my accustomed spot. Setting the offending mug gently down on a previously placed paper coaster, I pulled out my notebook and pen from my brown leather over-the-shoulder, already opened to the next page.

As usual, work took a bit longer than necessary to get started. The whispering and the pointed glances from the large table of—now that I thought about it—mostly men were most definitely not helping either.

Eventually, though, I got into a groove and the designs for the next advertising project were becoming rough drafts rather than blank pages. I asked Sally for a refill, and she came over with a new steaming mug and a plate with a chocolate-filled croissant sitting atop it.

"Is that for me?"

I inquired, excitement filling my voice. Chocolate croissants were my weakness.

"Sure thing, kid, thought you might need a pick me up. Work giving you a hard time?"

I blew air through my mouth in a raspberry.

"Yeah it is. Wilkes needs this thing by Thursday and didn't send me any information till late last night. I had to keep telling myself not to even look at the email until this morning, otherwise I would definitely not be here."

I took a small sip of the scalding cocoa then soothed my burning tongue with a bite of croissant.

"So I got a question for you, Sam."

"Mm-hmm?"

"Do you wear any other jewelry besides those hoops your grandma gave you? I haven't seen you wear anything else, so I was just curious."

Just like Sally, cutting straight to the point. I chuckled a bit,

"Nah, not really. Just a necklace sometimes if it matches what I'm wearing or whatever."

"What about rings?"

"Definitely not rings, my fingers are to short and stubby for that. And my knuckles are too big, normally rings get stuck on or before it."

"Have you ever tried on a small band for a ring? Like a small gold band or something?"

"I mean, not really, but it might be cute. Why?"

"Well, you've mentioned how you think your fingers are too short for rings before, and I was curious too, so I looked it up and the so-called 'Ring Experts' said that thin, plain bands help elongate your fingers."

This was odd; I'd gotten advice from Sally on many an occasion, but never about jewelry before. I decided to let it go, though, Sally had her own prerogatives that didn't always make sense to me, and I didn't try to anymore.

"Huh, sounds interesting, maybe I'll try it if I see some on sale."

"You should," She stood from her seated position and turned to head back to the counter, but then paused and turned to me again. Leaning down, she held up her hand to the side of her mouth and I leaned in.

"Just so you know, that man you helped with the coat asked me to send the croissant over to you after asking what you liked."

My eyebrows raised and I blinked multiple times. Sally turned with a slight smirk on her face and a nod to the table, who I now noticed, were subtly and also not-so-subtly looking in my direction.

I blushed and made eye contact with the man with the softest coat alive. I quietly mouthed the words,

"Thank you," and dipped my head.

He blushed and did the same, then turned back to his table, where I noticed some were grinning devilishly. The cup-wiping man slapped the soft coat man on the back, and he reddened even more.

I giggled quietly, making sure to hide my smile behind my hand and turned back to my now much cooler hot cocoa and croissant.

I nibbled and sipped at the cocoa for the rest of my self-appointed work time, then promptly stood to wipe away the crumbs into a napkin and clean up my area.

The group of mostly men had left an hour before, the soft coat man lingering behind his friends in the café for whatever reason, but eventually he, too, left.

Stretching with an arm behind my head and one raised to the ceiling, my back popped and my lungs let out a gust of relief. I packed up my things, buttoned up my coat, bid Sally goodbye, and headed out the back door.

Shivering against the chill ocean wind, I booked it to the grocery store. Monday's were grocery day, since I usually stayed in all weekend and ate the rest of my food. Throwing a greeting to Margie, I grabbed a basket and headed to the bread isle. Bagged bagels were the main reason I was still kicking after living alone for a year, and that wasn't about to change any time soon.

Browsing for the farthest expiration date on the blueberry bagels, the hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention. I jerked my head around quickly, but there was nothing there. Most people were in the city at work, and the few that stayed in town to work did so at home.

I shook off the feeling of being watched, chalking it up to my paranoia. The hairs on the back of my neck never relaxed, though. Sometimes they would stand stiffer when I talked with an acquaintance I knew or tried to make a decision between brands of alfredo sauce and the like. All in all, it was a disconcerting grocery trip, the most I'd had yet.

The uneasiness didn't stop there, however. It followed me home as well. Down Main Street with its white washed homes and small businesses, down the residential street with colorful houses and bouncing border collies, down the long, winding offshoot of a walking path that lead to a small, white lighthouse bordering the edge of the cliff.

The moment I stepped onto my front porch, the feeling disappeared. I quickly looked around, but found nothing out of the ordinary. Fumbling for my keys, I hastily entered my house and slid the deadbolt home. Hanging my messenger bag on the hook, I sat down on the bench and untied my Doc's.

Technically this wasn't my home. It was my grandfather's, who retired from his lighthouse duty and moved in with my parents in Arizona. I technically "rented" the lighthouse from him as well—I paid the utilities and took him out to dinner whenever he came back to visit me and his bingo buddies.

I was also responsible for fulfilling Gramps's lighthouse duties as well. Keeping the light on after dark, during fog, and all that. Before he left for Arizona, he spent a good few weeks teaching me how to replace the bulb, fix a broken wire, and anything else that might happen that could interfere with the lighthouse's entire purpose.

Slipping my feet into the slippers warming by the air vent, I shuffled into the kitchen with my groceries. I set the plastic bags on the table then turned to the old radio and flipped the switch. 80's rock and roll blared from the dinged up speaker and I hummed and sort-of sang along as I put the groceries away.

It was nearing close to dinner time, so I filled the copper pot with water, set it on the range, and waited for it to come to a boil. Alfredo spaghetti was an all-time college favorite and was an easy dish to make and clean up. Chucking the plastic bags into the paper bag by the trash can, I put the kettle on the range as well.

After dinner, which included a calming cup of tea, I worked a little bit more on the ad designs before heading to bed. After filling the hot water bottle with water from the kettle and setting a glass on the bedside table, I settled into bed, reflecting on my rather odd day.

The hot cocoa incident was pretty normal, zoning out was my specialty. The interaction with the soft coat man was different to say the least. Oddly enough, the most remarkable thing about him that I remembered were his eyes and how expressive they were. The natural crease between his eyebrows told me he squinted or frowned a lot.

Shrugging mentally, I turned over onto my stomach and focused on the quiet and the exhaustion that was gradually overtaking my body. The last thing I remember before falling asleep was the thought,

I wouldn't mind meeting Mr. Soft Coat again.