It was the week before finals and I really needed to write my last paper that I had no interest in starting. Should've known I couldn't escape my English degree without a Shakespeare class. There were too many distractions at my apartment. The dishes needed done, the floors needed swept, I had laundry out the wazoo, and there was always something on TV or my iPod far more interesting than William Shakespeare. So, I decided to take my procrastinating ass to Starbucks to hopefully drown myself in caffeine and bust the paper out.

I shoved my laptop into its zebra print tote and unplugged the charger from the wall before slipping on my Nike flip flops, grabbing my keys from the hook by the door, and heading out.

"Beautiful day, Miss Taylor," the elderly woman across the hall said as I locked my door. I turned to face her. She smiled warmly at me, with a paper bag of groceries under her arm.

"I need to get out and enjoy it!" I smiled back at her. "Have a wonderful day, Mrs. Turner."

The old woman joked when I moved in two years ago that they assigned all of the T last names the penthouses. I had to admit, my top floor apartment was beautiful and a lot larger than most I'd looked at in Manhattan. It had an incredible rooftop patio with a view of the Empire State Building. I was lucky; my parents afforded me the apartment, and the funding to study at New York University. It was a long way from quiet suburbia Ohio, but that was a good thing.

Although it was late morning on a weekday, also known as the best time to get a cab in Manhattan, I decided to walk. Mrs. Turner had been right, it was a beautiful day and I'd been locked up in my apartment avoiding homework for far too long. I decided to walk to the Starbucks a few blocks off campus in hopes that it'd be less crowded with students on the caffeine diet, cramming for finals.

I was wrong. It was just as slammed as the ones on campus usually were. Whatever. I had to get it done sooner or later, and wandering to another Starbucks would only get me lost in such an amazing city, further avoiding the task at hand. Luckily when I walked in, I noticed there was an empty table near the back of the café, beside an available outlet. A rarity even on a normal day.

I had a thing about charging my laptop while I worked on it, even if it was already fully charged. I tended to get lost in my work effortlessly and had an irrational fear that my computer would die right in the middle of a good thought and it'd be gone forever.

I set my Shakespeare textbook on the table to hold my spot and proceeded to stand in the line that was out the door. Even if someone did steal my spot, they could also steal that horrendous book and I could use it as an excuse to get out of my final. In a perfect world.

I aimlessly scrolled through my phone checking Facebook to see all the ins and outs of the small town life; the drama of the people I was glad to be distanced from. Suddenly the phone jumped from my hand as someone tripped into me. Thankfully I caught it before it fell to the ground, and I hoped the person who fell into me caught my glare.

"Ma'am, I am so sorry, I need to tie these damn shoes better."

I looked up at him; he was an elderly gentleman with a disheartened look on his face. I had a soft spot for older people, so I let it slide.

"It's fine, sir."

"Are you okay? Here let me pay for your coffee."

"Oh, no, that's not necessary, I'm fine. Promise." I smiled at him in hopes he believed me.

"I insist," he said as he pulled out a five-dollar bill from his pocket and handed it to me.

"Thank you, but you don't have to do this."

"Have a great day, miss!" He smiled and gave me a wink before walking away.

I stuffed the five in the front pocket of my jean shorts as the line moved at a painstakingly slow pace. Fifteen minutes later, I finally had a grande blonde roast in hand as I headed back to my seat. I leaned under the table and plugged my cord in, then opened my laptop and stared at the screen.

I blew on the coffee to cool it and took a few sips before opening a blank document. Again, I stared at the plain white page and took another drink. My cursor hovered over the Safari icon as my mind played the back-and-forth game on whether I could actually open the internet for only a few minutes instead of a couple hours. I clicked anyway. 

I'd already checked Facebook, so I decided to see what was going on on Twitter. A whole lot of nothing. A few scrolls of the page and all I saw were recaps of last night's shows and a few gossip articles about who was dating who in Hollywood. Who cares? I thought to myself. I clicked on my favorites tab and switched to Tumblr, while simultaneously promising myself no more than thirty minutes of scrolling.

The President had given a speech last night, but I had been at the gym when it was on and forgot to record it. Luckily for me, Tumblr had a video of the speech and a copy of the text version waiting at the top of the homepage. I shuffled through my purse to find headphones so I could watch in peace, without worrying about some political extremist wanting to strike up a conversation about why they disagreed. The people of New York loved to talk about anything to anyone who would listen. Headphones were the greatest defense in the city.

About five minutes into the speech, I noticed someone had approached the table. As soon as I saw them in my peripheral vision, I thought I heard them talking. I pulled out one ear bud.

"I'm sorry?" I said. 

When I looked up, my gaze was met with a set of wide, blue-grey eyes on the face of a younger man with a partial beard and disheveled brown hair. He was gorgeous, and I questioned what planet he'd just stepped off of.

"Hi, I was wondering if you were expecting anyone?"

That planet must've been Ireland, because his accent was alive and well.

"Expecting anyone?" I repeated his question.

"Yeah, I don't mean to bother you, but you're sitting by the only open outlet, and one of the only tables with an available seat."

My eyes scanned down to his shoulder to see he was carrying a laptop case. I also noticed he was wearing a light blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Every weakness I had, he possessed. Beauty, accent, attire, everything. I looked back up at him and got lost in his eyes. They were incredible. Even in the dimly lit corner of Starbucks, their unique color was prominent. I took in his facial features and noticed how perfectly plump his pink lips were and as I stared, a small smile separated them to display beautifully white teeth. Why was this guy even talking to me? I had on jean shorts, a grey tank top, and my hair was in a messy bun atop my head.

Oh my God. He'd asked me about an hour ago if he could sit down and I still hadn't answered. His sigh broke my train of thought.

"Yes, I am who you think I am," he said, "and I swear I'll sign an autograph if you just let me share your outlet. I have to send this email within the hour."

"Huh?" I asked. "Is this some kind of pick-up line?" 

That shit was getting old. Really hot guys who were living in New York on a modeling contract or trying to make it big as an actor, singer, etc. were always trying to pick women up by parading around their Z-list fame.

"No, not a pick-up line," he responded with a wrinkled forehead.

Great, I'd pissed him off. I was surprised he hadn't just walked away.

"Sorry, it's the week before finals," I said, "sure, have a seat. Hand me your cord and I'll plug it in for you."

It was his turn to stare at me. Our encounter was getting worse by the minute. He'd totally caught me eyeing him up and down, then I threw him off because I questioned his sincerity, and now for whatever reason, I'd told him to sit and he was still standing.

"Um, my name is Kelsey," I said, in hopes it would snap him back to reality.

"Oh, yeah, thanks," he answered and sat down. "Jamie."

He reached his hand across the table and I was hesitant to take it. I looked down and noticed his long fingers that traced back to the veins in his muscular hand. Before I lost my train of thought again, I grabbed it. He squeezed it with the perfect amount of firmness and moved my hand up and down for me, letting out a small chuckle.

Jesus, get your shit together, Kelsey! "It's nice to meet you, Jamie."

"Likewise." He smiled, and small wrinkles formed in the corners of his eyes.

I really needed to stop staring or he was going to change his mind. But then I realized he was staring at me, too. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat and broke our eye contact.

"Your cord, did you want me to plug it in for you?" I asked.

"If you wouldn't mind. I'm going to grab a coffee real quick. Do you need anything?"

I almost said yes, because the thought of such a perfect human being buying something for me gave me some kind of twisted pleasure.

"I'm good, thanks."

"Okay, be right back!"

He was adorable. Besides being sexy as hell, he was cute. His mood had shifted and he seemed like a genuinely cool guy. I needed to stick with thinking of him as cool instead of sexy, because I was sure he was either married or gay. No one that perfect just walked around the world without being snatched up by an equally perfect person.

I leaned down and plugged his charger in and set the other end under my book so it wouldn't fall in the floor.

I tried to suppress my urge to stare at him, but I couldn't help it. I put my ear bud back in and continued the President's speech; however, I kept glancing up at him. He had his head down and his face buried in his phone. Whatever he was looking at had his attention quite firmly. His forehead was wrinkled as I watched his thumb scroll on the screen. It was probably a text from his wife telling him to be home for dinner because she had something important to tell him. Hell, he probably had a few kids and received an email from one of their teachers about their behavior.

What was I doing? He was a stranger. I didn't have any right to know what was going on in his life, nor would he likely tell me. I'd never see him again after he sent that important email. I was taken aback when he looked up at me from his phone. 

I should've just left; he'd caught me being creepy for the second time in less than five minutes. The poor man probably told his wife how pitiful women threw themselves at him all day, even at Starbucks. But his entire face softened and he smiled. Once again, we were stuck in an awkward gaze. So I looked away, because I'm weak.

I told myself to focus and let the man live his life, and get on with my own business. Which was writing a twelve-page paper on stupid Shakespeare. I hit the play button on the video again and watched the last few minutes. After it ended, I scrolled a little more and stopped on a picture of New York with an inspirational quote. I hit re-blog when I felt him back at the table. He took his seat and I tried to ignore his presence even though I felt like I was being rude. I reminded myself that we were both there on business, and he only asked for a seat, not a date.

Under the picture quote I'd just re-posted was a cat video. I was a sucker for cats. I hit play and watched the various antics of the adorable felines. I laughed out loud when one of them missed a jump.

He tapped his forefinger on the top of my laptop. Shit, I was being loud. I removed the ear bud once more and looked up at him. To my surprise, he was laughing.

"You have a great laugh," he said, "This is a pretty serious email I'm writing, but when you laughed, it made me laugh."

I could feel my face burning. "Thank you. Sorry for disturbing you."

"No need to apologize. The distraction is welcomed."

I removed the other ear bud and decided to switch over to homework. After all, it was why I was there. Not to keep him and myself entertained.

I went to pick up my book when I realized it was open. I looked to him, but he was engrossed in his own world.

"Did you open this?" I asked.

He stopped typing. "Yeah, sorry. I noticed you had Hamlet bookmarked, so I underlined my favorite line."

He underlined his favorite line. Lord, for what reason? I couldn't handle him.

"Oh, okay." I lifted it up to read it, but he recited it aloud.

"This above all: to thine own self be true."

"Ah, yes, great line." 

We both smiled at one another.

"Hamlet is about the only Shakespeare I ever cared for," he said.

"Same here! I'm not a fan, but I do like most of this play."

He chuckled. "If you dislike Shakespeare, why do you have a book on his greatest works?"

"An assignment for school. Trust me, I didn't have a choice." I rolled my eyes.

"Where do you go to school?"

"NYU."

"Impressive. Obviously studying English. For what career?"

I didn't realize we were to the point of asking personal questions. 

"Um, I want to be an author."

"Wow," was all he said.

"It's silly, I know. Everyone in New York either wants to be famous or wants to write. I'm a walking cliché," I replied.

"I don't think it's silly," he deadpanned. "I think it's fascinating. What do you want to write about?"

I sighed. "Look, I didn't mean to distract you," I said in a panic. "I'm really sorry." 

I had to shift the conversation away from me.

"No, I'm sorry. I don't mean to be intrusive, you just seem like a cool person."

I needed to keep it at that. Mr. Sexy would be cool, I'd be cool, and we'd leave there forgetting we ever met.

"That's kind, but you don't know me." It came out harsher than I intended and his face fell. I was an asshole. Before I could retract my statement he interjected.

"And you don't know me."

We were back to that. I didn't keep up with the various famous people around the neighborhood. I stuck to my writing community and steered clear of the fashion woes and Broadway shows. I didn't know who he thought he was, but he definitely wasn't Leonardo DiCaprio.

"Right," was all I could manage.

"I'll leave you alone as soon as I finish this email."

"No, please," I started, but I had no idea what I wanted to say. I would've loved to tell him how gorgeous he was and how I'd sell my soul to get lost in his eyes while he talked to me in that Irish accent. However, I couldn't.

"I really don't mind your company," I finished.

He ran his hand over his beard and grinned. Thank God.

"And I am thankful for yours."

He was smooth. He knew what he was doing. He'd been able to tell from the moment he walked up to my table that he had a power over me. Gorgeous people knew they were attractive.

"That sounded creepy," he laughed, and his laugh made me laugh, too.

"A little creepy," I replied.

"What I should've said was, I haven't had someone genuinely talk to me in quite some time. In New York, or well, anywhere."

I huffed, "I apologize on behalf of every prick in this city who didn't give you the time of day. Disney is the happiest place on Earth, not Manhattan."

He laughed again, "Right you are."

I gave him a nod and went back to my blank document. I tapped my fingers on the table when I realized I hadn't had a drink of coffee the entire time since he'd sat down.

"Shit," I mumbled.

"Everything okay?" he asked.

"I let my coffee get cold." I lifted it to show him.

"Here, let me get you another." He stood up.

"No, it's fine. I don't mind. I can ask one of them to warm it or something." I motioned my head toward the baristas.

"You let me share your table and say creepy things, I owe you," he replied. "What would you like?"

"Surprise me," I quickly said. 

Wait, what? Why did I say that? He didn't know me from Adam. But before I could argue he said, "done," and walked away.

A few minutes later he came back with a cup in one hand and a plate in the other. "I got us both a piece of coffee cake. Again, a token of thanks for letting me invade your privacy."

"Thank you," I said, "but I really don't mind. So what's this?" I pulled the cup to my nose when he handed it to me and took in the sweet aroma. It smelled like my mom's baking; warm and sweet.

"It's a cookie latte," he answered, "I found it on some secret menu and now it's the only thing I drink here."

I blew on it before taking a sip. It was divine, which didn't surprise me since he drank it regularly. 

"Wow, color me impressed."

"It's amazing, I can write down the recipe for you?"

"That'd be great!" I pulled out a notebook from my laptop tote and searched the bottom of my purse for a pen. I handed them to him and he began writing.

A moment later he handed them back to me. I read the ingredients and noticed below them he'd written a phone number and his name. I giggled to myself as a nervous reflex.

"Just in case you can't read my writing, you can always call for the recipe." His expression was neutral. I couldn't read him yet to know if it was nervousness or because he picked up women often. Again, he looked too good to be single.

"Good-d idea," I stuttered. I swallowed the lump in my throat. Even if he did sleep with every woman in the East Village, he'd given me his number. That was an open invitation he freely provided.

"Um," I began, "You'd asked earlier what I want to write." 

He nodded as he leaned in and seemed genuinely interested. 

"Well, I love fiction, but I also love to travel. So I'd love to write travel non-fiction for a living, and write a book or two on the side."

"Those sound like reasonable goals."

"Reasonable, impossible, depends on your definition." I shrugged.

"If you want something bad enough you can have it." He licked his lips and my heart skipped a beat. If that wasn't intentional, then I didn't know what was.

"I suppose you're right," I managed to say. Although I felt like it came out as a whisper.

I broke off a piece of the coffee cake and stuffed it in my mouth before taking a sip of the coffee. The mixture of the two was heavenly and a great way to avoid saying something stupid. I redirected my attention to my laptop because I could feel him staring. Maybe if I got back to work he would, too. And a moment later he did.

I couldn't concentrate, though. If I thought my apartment was bad, being there was nearly impossible. A beautiful specimen of man was sitting in front of me, asking personal questions, buying me food, and giving me his number. My head was spinning. I should've given him my number instead, because I was a pansy and would never have enough guts to just call him up and ask him out. Then I had an idea. I picked up my phone from the table and entered his number into the new message box before typing a quick text.

Ever going to get that email finished? I hit send.

A second later his phone beeped. He looked over at it and wrinkled his forehead. He obviously didn't recognize the number. I cleared my throat and his eyes met mine.

He smiled and began typing on his phone. He set it down and went back to his laptop. Then my phone vibrated against my keyboard.

If either of us finishes what we're doing, I think we should celebrate over dinner.

"I'd love that," I said aloud. And it was too late to consult with my brain; I'd already let my intuition speak on my behalf.

"I'm looking forward to it, Kelsey." He winked at me and my whole life fell apart.

"Me too, Jamie."

Everything around me stood still. I couldn't remember where or who I was, but deep down I felt like everything that had ever gone wrong in my life was somehow going to be made right because of our simple meeting. And in that moment I was eager to keep him around for the foreseeable future to find out why.