Good Morning, Arielle

Writing Prompt: A woman sits alone in a coffee shop. Each time the door opens, she seems anxious. Who is she waiting for?

I never saw a picture of him. My mother had thrown out all of his memories before my birth.  She regretted it to this day, especially a month ago, on my eighteenth birthday when I asked her to tell me about him. That was our promise.  When I turned eighteen, I was able to ask questions. I never thought I would have the chance to meet him, that was until he returned her phone call a few days ago, mentioning he would love to sit down in his favorite coffee shop, one I regulated often.

I glanced around the coffee shop I was seated in. Two young women were nestled in big, leather chairs engrossed in their newest novel of the week. Their mugs sitting in front of them indicated that they had been here for a couple of hours. One had red lipstick residue on the rim, yet the woman’s lips were still flawlessly red and the other had foam that was beginning to harden inside of the mug.

A man walked through the double glass doors, his eyes instantly connecting with mine. They were bright blue, a blue that highlighted his olive skin. I couldn’t be sure that it was him.  It could have been a man who just happened to look at me. But I watched him intently. He had a strong, tall posture and a gentle, crooked smile. The man walked to the register and greeted the barista, making her smile as he ordered a small, bold black coffee. After paying his dollar fifty for the coffee, he walked towards the condiment bar, glancing at me while he did. He placed his white cup gently on the counter, lifted the top off just slightly and tapped some cinnamon onto the steaming, black liquid. He then replaced the lid and walked towards me.

It seemed as if my body knew, right then, that this was real. My hands began to sweat against my hot coffee cup and I could feel my face getting warm, sweat building up beneath my arms. I could only hope that I wasn’t red in the cheeks. His bright, blue eyes were identical to my own and he had abnormally small ears, just like the ones I was always teased for as a child. As he neared me, I couldn’t help but notice the golden ring on his left hand that held his coffee cup steady.

“Good morning, Arielle. It is a pleasure to finally meet you,” he spoke, his voice was soft and welcoming, just like the smile that continually graced his face. All I could do was take off my own coffee cup lid, showing the cinnamon that clumped together in my own bold, black coffee.  I lifted my eyes to look into his own and watched as his own smile grew before he pulled the brown, wooden chair out from the table and took a seat in front of me.


Join me every Friday in writing your own response to these prompts. Use the #chelsealaurenprompts or tag me @chelslauren92 so I can read your writing.

Chelsea Lauren

Chelsea Lauren is addicted to drinking coffee, writing in cafes, and walking the beach. A New York native, she recently moved to Melbourne, FL and found having conversations with her character’s on the beach is the perfect cure to writer’s block. To learn more about her, check out “About Me.” Her debut novel, Underneath the Whiskey, is now available on Amazon.

Other posts

Join the conversation!

%d bloggers like this: