He had walked into the cafe as he had done so many times before. It was her serene joy every morning, with enticing aromas wafting through the air, with the conscientious sound of the grinder, and smiling faces ready to shake off sleepiness. That's how she started almost every day, with a book in her hand, rarely a newspaper... she was bothered by politicized stories and was basically too poetic for that kind of thing. She had her exact place on the pistachio sofa, she always sat at a third table, from where she could perfectly catch the first rays of the morning knocking on the window, but also smell the scent of croissants fresh out of the oven. That's how it happened that morning, he entered smiling broadly at the young man at the bar, who already knew what he was going to prepare. The latte was her favorite... with hazelnuts and especially pistachios. It was a thing of sweet taste and French chic that he couldn't let go of.
However, that morning was going to be different... brilliantly, fascinatingly, irreversibly different . With the cup in front of him and in a rhythmic game with the bookmark, he was reading while listening curiously to the discussion of three painters sitting next to him. (Yes, I notice more and more often that women really have distributive attention...) Well, he liked that literary-artistic atmosphere, because at Olivo you often see figures as discreet as they are famous in of art. He was listening and continuing his reading until his shiny rays were suddenly, annoyingly and unpleasantly interrupted! He looked up annoyed and sharp, ready to fight back.
Fireworks, sparks, butterflies, bees, thousands of pixies, rose petals and maybe even fairies all exploded in a flight so high that his heart stopped. And the other two eyes, equally large, had stopped on her with an astonishment as you rarely see. It's hard to say for how long our Universe was suspended, everyone's, because theirs was just beginning to exist. It is certain that the magic happened and was floating in the cafe.
She followed him with her gaze as he strode bewildered and sat down with the three neighboring artists. In the background even Fred Astaire confirmed the magic, melodiously humming "Heaven, I'm in Heaven", but who else could hear him? They looked at each other as they had never done before in their lives, magnetized, stunned, radiant, breathless. They had been briefly interrupted by the waiter, but what did it matter when the search was over and all had been revealed? And yet, who were they? Where had they been until then? Was it real?... though it couldn't have been, it was throbbing so deeply! The cascade of questions was quelled only by conjecture...he probably a young artist, because he had that figure and had joined the story-telling group...she, perhaps a young writer who started her mornings with book in hand. The curious and at first shy glances, the inquisitive smiles, the reciprocity of an unreal vibe, the disregard for everything else seemed to confirm their intentions, and the smiles were getting wider and wider.
The rain of stars had, however, been interrupted by one of the gentlemen, who set the tone for the departure, and by the time he was well dressed, she was already looking after him in bewilderment and he - the captive of the hasty master. The last comet tail was gone and they both sighed. What a disaster!
The next morning, the same aromas, the same rustling and an impatient tapping of the shoe. It was perhaps too early... But, wait! A hasty rush that released and the first rays through the door brought her back! His wide eyes and calm sole.... her eyes shining with happiness at finding him. Oh, yes, these kind of moments make it all worth it! I said to myself with an amused sigh. They didn't know anything, they were so confused, blushing and shy, but what did it matter? Well, it mattered, because I was going to be bored for a long time...mornings and afternoons surprised by coincidences, but still too distrustful to take the first step; eye encounters interrupted by friends, waiters or just plain shyness. It's true, she was incredibly beautiful, but they were both equally radiant when they met. It was as if every time they repeated their first exchange of glances, with the same explosions and flutters, with silent promises to take his heart in his teeth and make the first move. As I said, envelope-ti-si-tor! I felt like giving him a good shake, what was on his mind? Ok, consecutive goodbyes day after day, sometimes scary pauses with many questions, sometimes goodbyes at Bujole where they smiled red-faced at the thought of the too frequent coincidences. For a while I had heard that she had gone to Paris, where I imagined her writing with the dozens of galleries in Saint-Germain that might host his exhibitions.
Until one day. I know for sure that it was happening on Tuesday, but I hate that I didn't catch the exact moment! I was bored after a long, dreary November day, when the goblin army once again swarmed through the cafe. It was as if I heard a thousand thunderbolts and I looked up. Two hands and two smiles had met! Eh, it would be difficult for me to explain what happened next, it is certain that one of the rays from the air was then imprinted on one of our frescoes and since then the vault shines more beautifully and romantically.
... And they call me Piccolo... I may be the smallest cup in the window, but I see and know a lot!
I had once heard her cheerfully pronounce her favorite word: "Serendipity", a fortunate accident... in the land where you fall in coffee.
And so they did... they fell into coffee together! who are they I won't divulge this to you, you realize, but maybe you surprised them once or maybe even today you are sitting at the next table. That's where the charm of coffee and pistachio canapes lies, right? You never know when a ray of serendipity will slide across your face!
Artist by soul, drawer and writer by passion, says Simona about her. He believes in that "serendipity" he talks about above, in stellar meetings between people, colors and words. Cook some macaroons and cannelés plucked from Paradise and e amoureuse de toutes choses belles et de la vie parisienne. It barely combines multiple languages in every conversation, but that was already obvious, right?