Uncontrollable Infatuation

Cara Smith wakes at 5:30 a.m. everyday, whether she wants to or not. Her body is trained to not allow her to continue sleeping through the sunrise. Today is Friday, which means she works the breakfast shift at Boudreaux's, a popular diner downtown that brings in a lot of tourists and early risers. She will have time for a short nap, then Cara works long weekend shifts between the two bars on Bourbon Street. On average on the weekends during Carnival season, she will work 55 hours out of the 84 from Friday morning to Monday mid day. Leaving her fueled purely on coffee and the desire to finally leave this city and bury her past. Cara rolls out of bed and stretches, her short frame bending backwards and arching resulting in a loud crack that feels amazing on her strained spine. Sighing, she walks to her small kitchen to the beautiful, bitter aroma of coffee already brewing and grabs her favorite mug. It's a beautiful teal one that reads, "Leave a little sparkle where ever you go." Her mother bought it for Cara on her fourteenth birthday, two days before both her parents died in a car accident. Coffee was one of the many things her mother and Cara shared a love for. While at fourteen her mother would only let her have decaf, they both woke early in the morning and sat in a comfortable silence at the kitchen table sipping hot coffee every single day. Patiently, she waits until the half pot is done to pour herself a cup and then she walks back to her room to get ready for the day. Sitting at her vanity, she starts by brushing out her long, dark mess of a mane and letting the natural waves reform. Cara wraps it up into a high pony tail and starts on her makeup. She has a natural dark, olive complexion that's common for creole people of New Orleans. Luckily, she inherited good skin and barely uses foundation, so today she only dabs on a little blush on she cheeks and lightly dabs on concealer under her eyes to hide her lack of sleep. Then, she outlines her almond shape eyes with a dark brown eyeliner, black mascara, and uses a slight purple eyeshadow to make her golden brown eyes pop. Normally, Cara would prefer not to wear makeup but has noticed an increase in her tips when she looks more put together. After staring at herself for a bit, both hands on the warm mug with it pressed to her lips breathing in the warm steam and warming her cold hands, Cara takes two big gulps, finishing off the coffee and gets dressed in her uniform. At Boudreaux's, she wears a simple black v-neck with the blue logo on the front and a catchy breakfast phase on the back. Today it reads, "Who's Waking for Bacon"? The shirt is paired with matching blue shorts that reach halfway to her knees and a black apron. After rinsing the mug and setting it in the sink, she fills a travel mug and heads out to catch the streetcar, all before the sun rises. This is the favorite part of her day. She loves sitting on the near empty streetcar, going from uptown to downtown, and watching the city slowly awake around her as the sun starts warming the darkened sky. The runners are already getting in their morning run and the little old ladies are out watering gardens or sitting on the rocking chairs on the porch. One old lady in particular is her favorite. Cara has seen her giving out clipped flowers from her garden to strangers passing by and every morning they exchange a genuine smile and wave. Cara anonymously leaves her treats and small trinkets every couple of days just in appreciation of her random acts of kindness. Just before she reached the block where her special old lady is, the street car stops at a stop. At first, she continues to stare out the window until her body is invaded by a cold chill. She looks up to the front of the street car to the boarding passenger and their eyes lock. Even from the back of the street car, she can see how black his eyes are. There's no distinction between pupil, deep black and surrounded by thick black lashes. He briefly looks forward to pay for the street car and broke the stare down, leaving Cara to let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. She surveyed his profile and through the dark scruff of his chin, she could see how defined his jawline was. He was very tall, bending slightly to avoid hitting his head on the top of the street car. As her eyes scrolled down she noticed how defined and large his biceps were from black button down shirt that was rolled past his elbows. He had darker skin, like hers, and wore dark slacks that hugged his butt just right. After lingering on the bottom half of his body for a bit longer than expected, she finally looked back to his face. He was staring back her her, with a knowing smirk formed on his lips. Then he turned and started walking towards her. Her entire body warmed, especially her cheeks, knowing he just saw her staring at his butt. She tried to look down and avoid the embarrassment but she couldn't. It was like an invisible string was tying her eyes to his. He walked like a predator, slow and sure, dominating the small space in between the wooden seats. Then just three seats before her, he suddenly turned, breaking the intense stare down and sat, resting his elbows on his long outstretched knees, halfway in the walking space and looked forward. Immediately, Cara felt her body go cold. She lost the flush she had from their eye contact and felt extremely silly and embarrassed. She sunk lower into her seat and covered her palm with her hand, returning her gaze back out the window as the street car went back into motion. She saw her little old lady, and for the first time, she didn't lift her hand to wave. She just wanted to continue hiding. This is probably the first time in her life, she wished she had a cell phone to distract her from the overbearing presence of the man sitting only three seats a head of her. After what seemed like an eternity, her stop finally came. She put her hand down to lift herself out of her seat and spared a glance at the back of his head. He had thick, black, short hair and was in the same position she saw him last. Timidly, Cara grabbed her coffee and walked the four steps it took to get slightly behind him and attempted to maneuver around his large, thick thigh taking up half of the aisle. Just as she thought she was in the clear, squeezing her body against the opposite side, his knee moved an inch and brushed against her knee. A wave that could only be described as an electric current shot up her body and she fumbled her beloved coffee to the ground. Immediately, Cara untied her apron and began soaking up the coffee with it while muttering constant apologies to him and the driver. When she felt she got most of it, she grabbed the travel mug and took off to the front of the street car, gripping her soggy apron and travel mug for dear life. After apologizing again to the driver, she turned back for one last glance at the overwhelming presence behind her. He had that same knowing smirk on his face and his dark eyes were piercing into hers, full of amusement. He winked once and she almost ran down the three steps to the street to avoid anymore embarrassing moments. While on the sidewalk, she looked down at her apron and empty travel mug and sighed loudly. 'Today is going to be a very long one.' Cara thought as she turned, hearing the trolley start back up behind her, and began her walk of shame to Boudreaux's.