Matt sat in a secluded corner of the coffee shop, scrolling through his social media feeds while he waited for his date. From what he’d been told, it was best to look approachable and confident. Square shoulders, straight back, curved brow, side smile. The works.

After spending an hour fighting down his anxiety, he left the game store he’d been visiting across the street and headed over to the coffee shop, making sure not to arrive too early. Another tip he’d heard—don’t look desperate. Women appreciate a man who doesn't need them. It sounded like terrible advice in his head, but after ‘being himself’ had failed him countless times, he was willing to try anything.

He looked up from his phone, watching as people entered and left. The shop was a local place, not one of those franchises or chains looking to pull the rug out from any who opposed them. Mornin’ Cowboy.

A woman came over wearing a black tank top and a pair of blue jeans with holes. “Can I get ya anythin’, hon?” She was gorgeous, perhaps a few years older than him. Her hair was shoulder length, dyed a vibrant green-blue, and her face was a mess of freckles framing a face of fair skin and strikingly blue eyes.

She’s not your date. Relax, dude. Chill.

Matt’s heart pounded against his chest. “Ah, n-no. Thanks, though.” He smiled. He hoped the smile seemed natural. Too often, it felt like every time he smiled, it sent girls running. This one didn’t seem affected one way or the other.

“You’ve been sitting there for fifteen minutes,” she said with a half-smile and a cocked brow. “Why don’t I getcha somethin’ to drink, eh?” She flicked her head toward his phone. “Whatcha lookin’ at?”

“Oh!” Matt set his phone down on the table, screen forward. He rested his hands over it, one on top of the other. “N-Nothing. It’s just stupid social media crap, you know how that goes.” How was it that every time he tried to sound casual, he sounded like a squealing mouse?

“Riiiight,” the woman nodded, not sounding convinced. “I’m gonna getcha somethin’, and if you don’t tell me what it is, I’m gonna bring you the pinkest, bitchiest lookin’ drink we have.” She pulled out her notepad and pen. “So, have at it, boy.”

“Ahh, fine. Okay, uhm… I’ll take a cappuccino?”

“On the rocks?”

“What?” Matt started. He figured she was asking if he wanted ice in the drink, but a cappuccino was a type of hot drink, wasn’t it? He didn’t think there was alcohol in it, either. Besides, wasn’t that more of a bar term? “I, uh—”

“Dude!” the woman laughed, patting him on the shoulder. “I’m just messin’ with ya! Are ya feelin’ alright?”

“Oh, yeah! Right, of course!” Matt forced a laugh and scratched the back of his neck. Kill me. “Sorry, just a weird day for me, I guess,” he lied. “Uhh, just a hot coffee and do some sort of fancy thing with the swirl, I guess?”

“Hm?” She frowned, then pointed her pen at him. “Oh, you mean the foam art we do.”

Matt nodded. “Yeah, is that extra?”

She snorted. “No, it’s not extra. It’s standard, actually. What shape would you like?”

“How about a smiley face?” The girl he’d set the date up with was almost twenty minutes late, anyways. The way he figured it, he could use a smile.

“One cappuccino, on the rocks, with a smiley face. You got it!” She flipped her notepad shut and waved as she strode away from the table with a grin.

She’s kinda nice, Matt thought. Where the heck is Brandy?

Brandy was, what Matt thought, a nice woman who had showed all the signs of wanting him to ask her on a date. They worked together at Dynamite Pizza—a local pizza parlor he joined for some part-time cash. Being a college student meant he didn’t have much time or money for himself, so at the risk of burning both ends of the candlestick, he picked up the part-time work so he could take some girls out.

Brandy and him seemed to have good chemistry. They’d laugh about memes, quietly voice their griefs with people who didn’t come in for their shift, and send friendly texts on occasion. He’d heard through the grapevine that she wasn’t seeing anyone, and being the desperate, hormonally-challenged man he was, he bided his time until the moment was right, then asked her out.

Matt remembered the event with painful crystal clarity. Brandy had paused for a second or two, blinking and gaping. When at last she spoke, she seemed somewhat open to the idea, but didn’t remark much on it. He carried most of the conversation, and Brandy nodded and smiled as he arranged the place and time. Figuring that her apathetic response was a figment of his imagination, Matt kept a positive outlook, and the date was set.

It’d been almost twenty minutes by the time the woman with dyed hair returned with his drink.

“Still sittin’ here by yourself, huh?” the woman asked, setting his drink down in front of him.

“Yeah,” Matt said, trying to keep his voice neutral. Instead of looking like a petulant child, sulking against his palm, he grabbed the cup by the ring and brought it to his mouth. The foam smiled up at him, and he sighed. It had a faint aroma of cinnamon, and when he breathed in the hot air, he felt his sinuses clear. He hadn’t even noticed they were backed up. “This smells incredible.”

“Thanks. Made by yours truly,” the woman winked.

Matt took a sip, feeling an ounce of his stress melt away. “Thanks. I really needed this.”

“No prob. It’s gonna be eight dollars.”

“Oh, right,” Matt said, setting the cup down. He arched his back, reaching into his front pocket for his wallet. “Do I pay you here, or at the register?”

The woman laughed again. “Bro, c’mon! I told ya it was free. Chill out, put your wallet away.”

“Right, yeah. You said that,” Matt said, cursing under his breath.

“You feelin’ okay, dude? You’ve been here a while. Waitin’ for someone?” The woman cupped the tray beneath her arm and leaned on one leg.

“Uh, not really,” he said, not wanting to look like some desperate, stood-up dude. He glanced at the deformed smiley face in his drink, feeling a strange sort of kinship. “Just…thinking, I guess.”

The woman took the seat across from him, leaning on her elbow as she set the tray to her side. “About what?”

Well, this was unusual. He’d never even met this person, but she was asking a lot of questions. “Just struggling to make meaningful connections, I guess.” He regretted the words the moment they came out of his mouth.

Good job, Kelmer. Way to look like a creep.

“Join the club, buddy,” she said. “Name’s Misty, by the way.”

“Uh. Um. I’m Matt. Matt Kelmer.”

“Wow, super polite, too,” she said with wide eyes.

Matt shook his head. “Sorry, runs in the family. Military dad and all.”

“That’s aight! Mine’s Hayes,” and then her tone changed to how a person would sound if they were mocking an aristocrat, “since you felt so inclined to offer yours.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Same to you, buddy.”

A brief silence passed before Matt got up the courage to speak again. “So…you struggle to make connections, too?”

Misty nodded. “Mhm. All the time.”

“I see.”

“All we can do is keep tryin’, though, ya know?” she shrugged. “Parents don’t approve of my tastes,” she said, tugging on a lock of her hair. “That just made me wanna stick out more. It was a sorta way to say, ‘Hey, I’m here! Witness me!’ But it just seems to make more folks turn away… Maybe that sounds stupid.”

“I don’t think so. Besides, I think it looks great on you.” When she blinked and tipped her head, Matt shrank under her stare and averted his gaze. “Sorry if that was forward.”

“Haha!” Misty rested both of her arms on the table, laughing. It was so infectious, the way it sounded. It was as if a squeak and a horn played at the same time. “Thanks, sunshine. I appreciate it.”

Sunshine?

“Yeah…yeah, of course,” Matt mumbled.

“What’s really eatin’ ya?” she probed.

Matt’s toes curled. “I just don’t feel like…anyone gets me. I’m trying. I’m trying all the time, but I don’t feel like much more than just some bystander. Does that make sense?” Misty nodded, and Matt continued. “My parents seem more interested in making me useful than actually loving me. The friends I have—if you can call them that—would much rather go out with their girlfriends than play online games together.”

You. Moron.

If there was anything he’d learned, it was that video games were a clear sign of someone who had no idea what they were doing in life. Well, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t like he was going to see Misty again anyway, so he could afford to gush a little.

Still. It was kind of embarrassing.

“I get that,” Misty said. Her lips formed a flat line, and she gazed out the window to their side. “Everyone’s chasin’ a high, stuck in their own little bubble where they can hear their own voice.” She clicked her tongue. “Sorry. I might have projected a bit there.”

“It’s okay,” Matt said. “I don’t mind.”

Misty smiled, then looked at him. “Thanks, Matt. Sorry your girl didn’t show up.”

I was that obvious, huh?

“It’s fine,” Matt said with reluctance. “You miss a hundred percent of the shots you don’t take, right?”

Misty nodded. “Hey, now that’s the spirit!”

Matt’s phone vibrated, and he was a little more quick to pick it up than he would’ve liked. He unlocked the screen, then scrolled to the message he received from Brandy.

‘Sorry. I’m pregnant. - Brandy.’

Matt frowned, then set his phone back down.

“Bad news?” Misty asked.

“You could say that.” He shook his head. “She’s not showing up. Oh well. Here’s to next time, I guess.”

Misty slipped out of her seat, snatching the tray from beside her. “Sorry to talk and run, but my manager’s gonna be on my ass if I don’t get back to work.”

“It was nice talking to you,” Matt said, forcing a smile. Admittedly, Misty hadn’t done much to improve his mood, but he appreciated her attempt.

“Likewise! I like the streak in your hair, by the way.”

“Thanks,” he said nervously. “Guess it was my own way of making a statement.”

“I feel that. Hang in there, Matt. Maybe one day, girls’ll be throwin’ themselves ‘atcha!”

“Maybe.” Matt laughed. “Not much to throw themselves at, but a guy can dream.”

“Don’t give up, sunshine.” Misty saluted and vanished behind the counter.

Matt drained the smile from his cappuccino and let his thoughts wander out the cafe window.