Impatient. Worried. Nervous. These feelings strangle her every breath of air. She lifts her teacup as slowly as a cautious cat in a room full of dogs. She drums her fingertips on the marble-slab table, trying to loosen the grip of her nerves.
Gentry brushing crumbs off the floor, the janitor sneaks admiring glances at the lady in the orange hat. What is she waiting for? he wonders. When will she leave? Hopefully never.
The janitor's heart danced a salsa in this chest.
As he glides a little closer to the table with the lady in the orange hat, she listens to the beat of the swoosh-swoosh of his broom. Then she hears it--an interruption of some sort. It is fast, crisp, staccato. She twists her head sideways to hear better, and her eyes shift around the coffee shop. Not knowing where the mysterious, melodic beating sound is coming from makes her jump out of her seat.
The janitor grabs at this chest and runs toward the closet at the back of the shop. The lady in the orange hat sits back down; had the janitor heard the beating sound too?
The janitor leaned heavily on the door between him and the lady. Now that she was out of sight, his heartbeat slowed to a waltz. He placed his fingers on his temples, thinking heavily about his feelings for this stranger, this lady, this lady in the orange hat. (Based on Sophia Martinez’s “The Lady in the Orange Hat”)
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