"It's like a baby caterpillar is following its mama." John's words were hurtful but not ill-intended.

I had singed my eyebrows in the chemistry class. The whole class erupted into a bout of laughter when I looked like a character from Dexter's laboratory, smoke flaring from my brows. A couple of days passed since the incident but I didn't dare to go back to school.

Standing behind the counter, I knew I could get done with work quickly and without stares only if I kept my head low with the cap hooded over my eyebrows. But working as a barista, I forgot the reason why it wouldn't be a success. It wasn't the customer's stares but my colleague's that I should have braced for.

John was a sighted hound. A built man of six feet and tattoos covers both his beefy army, he was the first one to notice my brow paint.

And I do admit, it was looking weirdly different. Although nearing eighteen, I didn't know how to do makeup, let alone paint my brows. After a couple of YouTube tutorials and using mom's makeup kit, I was proud of the result when John's sitcom quote made me realize how it looked.

"Can you please just...play along?" I requested, folding my palms.

Although he bit his lower lip, turning them to a shade of purple, John gave in. A moment later, the roaring laughter from the traitor was loud enough for the customers to turn their heads. Camouflaging my disaster with the brim, I looked away.

John was a man of few words but there were exceptions to it. Placing his hands on my shoulder, he nodded. "Fine, Z. I'll make fun of it when it grows back."

With a gentlemen's agreement in place, we got back to work. Serving coffee to strangers was a way for me to make a few extra bucks. Both dad and mom struggled to keep us going so I couldn't complain about my life. It wasn't ideal but I was happy.

"I'll take five," John whispered, leaning closer before walking out through the side door. His much-needed smoke break was a way to keep his demons at bay. Serving in the war was difficult for everyone, him included. Smoking helped him occasionally.

John owned the coffee shop and worked here too. Nobody knew about it but me. He was generous to have offered me a job after I bumped my cycle into his car and cried my eyes out. His repairs came from half my paycheck and he got a blabbermouth barista in the deal.

It was close to the lunch hour and the rush started flowing in.

Roseville was a small town tucked between hills. It was a place for people to rest before they continued their journey to the next destination - California City. Although the town was never bustling per se, the shops here saw a throng before the onset of summer.

The pizzeria and our coffee shop were those few shops to see the wave of the crowd daily. After all, no matter where you were, you'd need food. Right.

The bell perched on the door rang at constant intervals during lunch and the soft chattering, chair dragging and plates clattering were music to my ears. It ensured I have a regular paycheck.

I took orders and processed them, ensuring nobody got a peek at my bad boy brows. The tactic of lowering my head, pulling down my brim and keeping my eyebrows raised while interacting with customers helped.

After processing the last of the orders, I fell back on the stool. My legs needed rest and so did my forehead with all the eyebrow dance I did. Pulling my cap off, I ruffled my flattened, blonde hair.

"Excuse me." A voice made me jump up.

The man who stood across was in his early twenties. A few strands of grey on his stubble made him look visibly older but his face hadn't wrinkled enough to make him appear older. His hazel toned face matched the shade of his eyes. His matted hair shone beneath the hanging lights over the counter.

"Yes, Sir. What can I get you?" made its way to his ears but his eyes stayed glued onto me. Realization hit me like a thunderbolt. I wasn't wearing my cap and wasn't pretending to roll my eyebrows into my hairline.

He saw my brow-doodle and was staring at it. Donning the cap and pulling the brim close to my bridge, I lowered my head as if caught committing a crime. A crime of choosing chemistry in school.

"Sir, what can I get you?" I repeated but his gaze was fixated on my face that I tried burying into the counter.

Kill me now.

"Coffee," he replied softly, smiling at me. The man hardly blinked from the time his gaze landed on me.

"What kind of coffee, Sir?"

"The good kind." It almost made me laugh.

"We only serve the good kind, Sir."

To which he nodded, whispering. "Surprise me." His hands perched on the counter and fingers strumming on the wood indicated he wasn't having it here. It was a takeaway.

"Your name, Sir?" I asked. It was customary to do, in case he took a seat and I had to call him out.

"Philip."

The man traced every moment of mine like a hawk. At one point, I involuntarily slowed down when his eyes seemed to be fixated on my chest. Not a busty girl, yet I knew when a man leered.

Philip didn't look like the creepy type. Maybe, he was lost in thoughts and forgot where his vision was transfixed.

Judging by his demeanor, he seemed to be a serious person. Words hardly spent for other than what was necessary, he was an observer and not a talker. John's training of getting people their drink, if they were unable to decide, came into action.

The machine rumbled to life, spouting steam and exuding dark liquid. The scent of roasted beans wafted, tickling my senses. Gulping down saliva, I checked Philip through the corner of my eyes. Seated across, his gaze now hovered on the machine.

In all my time here, nobody's personality had made me doubt my decision of fetching them their favorite beverage. But with Philip, it felt different, almost unpredictable. Philip seemed funny in one sentence, strange at another and creepy in the third. Conflicted, I played my guts while sliding the brimming cup towards him.

If I have read the man correctly, he would love my offer. When Philip bought the drink close to his nose before his mouth, my heart pounded in excitement. All he had to do was sip it and let the taste, aroma, and bitterness engulf him. He was already exhibiting all signs of an espresso personality.

When his lips covered the brim of the cup, everything slowed. I felt this to be the moment John prepared me for. Never having donned the role of a predictor before, I had always seen John conduct his magic as if he knew the customer from above and beyond. He never faltered in getting them what they wanted even if they didn't know at that point.

As Philip took his first sip, his eyes fluttered shut, his lips curved to exhibit a soft smile. He sighed, opening his eyes slowly like a cat's blink. It felt warm and pleasant.

"I think I would prefer something with milk instead." It felt like a mock. My very first personality observation failed.

Unwilling to reveal the bubbling sadness in me, I nodded. My heartbeats diffused in my chest. The whole day suddenly dimmed, overcast by the doubt of being a good barista. As John always had it right the very first time, there was never an opportunity for me to learn about plan B.

As Godsend, John reentered after his break. His minty aroma was overwhelming. The second he entered, he scanned my expressions and then the customer who sat across. Hands flew to his face before he bolted towards the man. The counter's side door opened and closed by which point John stood next to the man.

Philip seemed to have recognized John. He straightened from his chair and saluted.

Oh! Army buddies.

Before they spoke further, their bodies intertwined in an embrace. It formed a lump in my throat. Their hug wasn't girly. It was patient and respectful. Their eyes closed, acknowledging the emotions they had experienced at the war front.

John held Philip's hand and walked him behind the counter. I straightened at the sight.

Why was he bringing him inside? Wasn't it against the rules? I couldn't even bring my mom in here.

The second Philip reemerged, I scanned him completely. He was well built and his clothing reflected an amalgamation of casual and formal attire. His height was the same as John's and his posture stayed erect. What stood out the most was the cane in his hand.

The man was visually impaired.

Before I could acknowledge his presence, John quickly made the introductions. "Philip this is Z, the chick who bumped into my truck. And Z, this is Philip, my younger brother."

Philip's hand left his side pocket, suspended in the air for me to take.

"Hello," I said meekly.

"Hello, Daisy. It is nice to finally meet you. John and Sasha talk about you a lot."

That must be true for John only called me by my pseudo barista name. It was his beautiful girlfriend who called me Daisy.

John took us both to the storage room. He rubbed his hands and squealed, murmuring to himself. I, on the other hand, sat still, unable to decipher his reactions.

Philip moved closer, dragging his chair and whispering over his shoulder. "John is going to propose today and wanted moral support."

The rest of the plot was divulged. Philip was in town to ensure John stayed on track with the proposal, to celebrate with the newly-engaged couple before leaving.

A customer's voice boomed, making John exit. Philip, who was seated close to me, turned to face me. Although he couldn't see me, it still trailed goosebumps over my skin.

"Hey, Daisy. Don't feel bad, okay. I should have told you beforehand that I'm not a coffee drinker."

Relief washed over me, knowing I wasn't completely wrong with my guess. "So what do you drink?"

I was curious to know the mysterious man's choice. He smiled at me. The proximity between us made me see it clearly. His vision looked fine but it wasn't. The hazel-colored orbs could never see the light or the beauty of the world anymore.

"Mostly milk," he answered.

Laughter roared through my chest. Philip wasn't ashamed to confess the truth. I was surprised that he wasn't pretending to be someone else. Revealing one's true self around people could be scary but he wasn't scared.

"Good for you," I chuckled. He accompanied it with a graceful bow.

Philip's condition piqued my curiosity. John had mentioned Philip in his conversations but never about his vision.

"Hey... Can I ask you something?" I was soft in questioning, almost scared.

What if I touched on a bad topic?

Philip must be well-trained to guess. He narrated the incident leading to his loss of vision. Fumes from a chemical explosion were the culprit at his last posting but that didn't stop his zest whilst he narrated how he tackled enemies till the last ray of light left his sight.

I was astonished to hear his version. It wasn't just bravery that peaked through his words but pride in everything he did for the country. We talked some more about his mission by when John reemerged, narrating his beachside proposal plan.

By evening, everything died down. The two brothers sat outside. John continued smoking while Philip still nursed his bitter drink from a couple of hours ago. I was surprised when he didn't let the waiter take it away.

I waited inside the counter, watching Philip. I wasn't aware if he had a girlfriend or was single but I felt something. His charming, friendly personality spoke to me. He was one of those who could render a girl defenseless with a mere smile and have her develop a fast-burner crush.

Clearing the machines, I walked out. John walked inside to do the final checks.

Though already past the curfew, my feet refused to move towards my bike. Knowing I wouldn't be seeing Philip tomorrow, my heart begged me to stay. As desperate as I was to talk, I didn't know what to say.

Heightened senses were Philip's gift. He turned towards the place I stood. "Either you are frozen in place or planning on murdering me."

A smile erupted on my face as I walked close to him. "You don't have to drink that." Unknowingly, I pointed towards the cup, the contents of which were half by now.

"I know..." he took another gulp, his face crumpled. "But I want to." He smiled at the cup. It fluttered my gut, warmed my cheeks.

"Z, you are still here?" John's loud voice hit my back. "I thought you left. Your mom called."

Shoot.

Past curfew, I had to make up an excuse. Telling John the story I would tell mom and getting his nodded blessings to lie, I rushed to pick up my bike.

As badly as I wanted to talk to Philip, I had to leave without saying anything. No goodbyes, no last words.

He would always be John's younger brother who caught my attention.

The man who made me forget about my burnt brows. The one who instilled a sense of 'wear one's scars proudly,' in me. His scars were different from mine; mine would heal in no time while his would stay permanently.

Philip taught me an important lesson on self-love to me. Being proud and confident of who we were and what we carried; burnt brows, lost vision and everything else.

Unlocking my bike, I felt a pain in my chest when Philip didn't stop me to say his goodbyes.

I started paddling slowly, my heart pounding over my ribs, trying one last time to make me turn. I didn't want to leave but I had to.

John's conversation with Philip continued. "So when are you leaving tomorrow?"

Philip's answer floated across to me in the silence of the night as I paddled into the hue from the streetlight.

"Tomorrow morning. But only after having another coffee."

~~

Dearies...

This was my first attempt at a one-shot for a coffee contest. 

I didn't win but I loved the sweet romance between Daisy and Philip to make it into a full fledged story. 

If you like slow burner, sweet romance, then you should check out the full version of their Happily ever after in 

Simmer and Stir.