BMW Man

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Peggy didn’t move. Don, if that was his real name, had just stormed out of the café soaked in milky coffee. From his side of the table coffee dripped onto the floor by way of the plastic chair and Peggy’s dreams were in ruins. People had stopped staring now and the general café hubbub had returned.

“Had an accident did we?” Peggy looked up and saw the barista with a cloth in his hand. “No, I threw it over him,” she said.

“Oh dear.” the barista smiled. “I’m sure he deserved it. I notice it was his coffee.” He nodded at the full cup on Peggy’s side of the table.
“Well, I’m not going to waste this on a loser like that am I.” Peggy tinkled the glass with her spoon, she almost smiled. “Why can’t I just find a decent man. I thought he was going to be decent. He had all the patter online. Do you know I spent a week chatting to him and he never once mentioned he was married with three kids, not once? Then, he waltzes in here and he didn’t even have the decency to take his fucking wedding ring off.”

“Terrible,” the barista shook his head.

“I thought you were married too, he said. Doesn’t everyone cheat? he said. Aren’t we just meeting for sex, he said. Aren’t we all playing the same game, he said. Well no, we are not. Just because I use a dating site doesn’t mean I am looking for a bit on the side or I’ll open my legs to every Tom or Harry’s dick that comes along. I want to meet a man, not some wannabe playboy, if I want a gigolo, I’ll pay for it.  I wish I had his wife’s number. I’d bloody give her a call. Poor woman.” Peggy looked up at the man. He’d stopped wiping the table and was looking nervously at the counter.

“Oh I’m sorry, I’m blabbing on. You need to go back to work. Thanks for listening.”

“Sorry,” the man said, and went back over to the bar.

Peggy looked down at her phone. The screen was blank. Good, she didn’t want a message from him anyway. The bastard. Complete bastard. She thought about going back on the dating site, but this was the second time she’d been bitten, it was time to learn from her mistakes.

Beep Beep

She looked at her phone.
Hey you bitch, I should charge you a dry-cleaning bill.

Peggy slammed the phone on the table.

“For you,” she looked up and saw the barista was back, this time with a slice of Victoria sponge.

“Thanks,” she said, she didn’t really want cake, but he was being sweet.

“Look,” said the barista and paused as an ambulance blazed outside in a cacophony of light and noise.  “This is probably not the right time, but um.” He fiddled with his apron. “I was wondering if I could um, maybe and feel free to say no, but maybe I could take you um for coffee one day this week.”

At first, Peggy wanted to slap him. Typical bloody man, he was like a vulture; how dare he prey on her at her most vulnerable.  But then she remembered his kind comments, him standing there listening when she was ranting, the piece of cake. She looked at him. He was older than the other folk who worked in here, kind of handsome, a cute dimple.  What the hell? A bashful barista had to be better than a bastard banker.

“I’d like that,” she said.

She left the café with his number in her pocket and a spring in her step and the smile on her face got wider when she saw a BMW wrapped around a lamppost and a man with a familiar coffee stain on his shirt being helped bloodied into an ambulance.