The Iced Coffee Boy

It's been a long day. I check the clock every five minutes. Even that feels like an eternity. The door opens and as I help a middle aged woman decide whether to order a pumpkin spiced latte or a gingerbread cappuccino, I spot the iced coffee boy out of the corner of my eye. I could recognize this guys walk from a hundred miles away. My heart begins to race and I realize it's taking more energy to remain calm which makes my heart pound even faster. Why does this happen every time he comes in? What is this infatuation with the expressionless nicotine addicted reserved boy?... Boy? No.. Not a boy... I don't even know what to call him? And forget about his name bestowed upon him by legal rights. That one will never be known. For now he's the mysterious iced coffee boy. He approaches the dinky register that sits almost as emotionless as him between us. I rock forward to my tippy toes as he mumbles the words iced coffee. I expect him to be looking away but we make eye contact for a spilt second as I turn to grab this grippingly bitter drink. I waive the dollar he always has ready for this refill in hopes that the expenses aren't a reason to stop coming back. Dollars can add up... And those paper thin green notes won't get in the way of this thing I have for the iced coffee boy.