MARGIE'S ADVENTURE

Margie stepped into the small, crowded coffee shop. The dimmed lighting making the room feel more cozy. The aroma of roasted coffee beans and espresso filled the air, as well as the aroma of freshly baked croissants. It made her stomach rumble, as she hadn't had any time to eat anything since breakfast that morning, and now it was just past nine in the evening. As Margie made her way through the crowded room, she spotted an empty table in the back corner. She swiftly made her way to the small wooden table, set on wrought iron legs, and placed her computer bag on the table to reserve it. As she made her way to place her order, she reminded herself of the work she needed to get done. Margie worked as a marketing director for a chain of restaurants. It was a small chain, ran by a locally famous family, in the heart of New Orleans. The family was more like a mafia, but still they were respected and loved by the locals in the French Quarter and Garden District. Normally, she would have loved to go to her neighborhood Community Coffee to get work done, but she decided she needed to changes things up today. The barista, looking the role of a typical hipster, greeted her and took her order. Margie silently admired the barista's tattoo sleeve, with the intricate design, done by a true artist. The barista called for the next customer, after Margie paid, while Margie moved to the end of the small counter to wait for her classic cappucino. She drowned out the hissing and humming of the espresso machine and the milk steamers as she remembered what made her change her mind to go to another cafe. She needed a change of pace. Her boyfriend of three years had recently left. She felt hurt, but was not too surprised to see that he decided to leave. They barely spent time together, as she would focus on work, and was happy in her daily routines. Jack had wanted spontinuity, adventure, and surpises, that was not Margie. She wanted safe, dependable, predictable. It was just easier that way. However, she realized that it didn't actually make her happy. She decided it was time to make some changes in her life.

With her croissant and cappucino in hand, she headed for her table. When her table came into view, she noticed someone sitting there, and her computer bag on the floor. He was wearing a beige, custom fit suit, with an expensive sideswept hair cut. He oozed wealth and charm. However, Margie was not that impressed. She had far too much work to do, as well as, she was very hungry and tired. Her cheeks flushed, neary reaching the color of her long, wavy auburn hair. She was not in the mood, and felt disrespected by his audacity to move her property. As she reached the table, she cleared her throat to call his attention. He had been buried in his phone, with his fingers flying across the keyboard, typing. An aroma of spicy and sandalwood caught her attention. It was a wonderful choice of perfume, surely pricey as well. She dismissed it, as she remembered that it belonged to the man occupying the table that she marked as her own. "Excuse me," a small voice called out. Margie was surprised her voice tried to run away. She wanted to convey strength, not a sudden weakness that seemed to start to overcome her. A pair of hazel eyes lifted from the screen and met her radiant green eyes. For a moment, she forgot everything. She was locked into the brilliant golden and green eyes. There was no way to tell how much time had passed, or how many times he asked "yes." She finally heard an impatient "Are you okay?" As she shook the mental fog away, and diverted her eyes, to lose the trance she had been in. Margie recalled why she was speaking to him, in the first place. "I will be, when you get up from my table. Who puts someone else's belongings on the ground like that?" Margie had found her voice, but still felt a little anxious, and she was praying it wasn't showing. "Just because your bag is on a table, it doesn't give you ownership. Besides, I have a meeting with someone in a few minutes, and there are no more tables here." His voice was deep and demanding. Margie wouldn't be deterred, no matter how anxious she felt. "Who do you think you are? Anywhere you go, people place their items to reserve their space. I don't care if you have to meet someone, I have work to get done." He cleared his throat and stood up. "Well, if you must ask, I'm Rudolph Palmer, Son of Governor Palmer. I could have you kicked out of here, and no one would ask any questions." Margie may have felt anxious before, however, it was now replaced with anger. Margie never liked bullies, or people trying to intimidate her. Other people might blame it on her being a redhead, but it was part of her core being. She always stood up to challenges. She took a deep breath, letting the smoke settle for a brief second. "Look mister, I don't care who you are, or who you are related to. I have business to get to, and you are standing in my way of getting it done. My cappucinno is getting cold, and I'm not going to take no for an answer." She was sitting down in the other chair as she finished her triumphant speech.

She heard a deep chuckle, and glared at him to see what was so funny. "Not many people here in NOLA would dare to say that, unless they have a similar background. By the look of your second hand Chanel bag, I know you're not. How about we call a truce. I will sit with you here, as I wait for my guest. If another table opens up, I will take the other table. Deal?"