Page 5 of Someone Like You

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La Dolce Vitahad - hands down - the best espresso in Glasgow, and maybe more people would see it if social media hadn’t glamourised blasphemous horrors like iced lattes and frappuccinos. He was glad the café wasn’t more popular, though. He would’ve hated seeing one of his favourite places invaded by hoards of influencers and curious tourists.La Dolce Vitawas for few, selected connoisseurs. Sandra, the owner, was proud of that. She liked Ian because he loved her coffee and gladly did odd jobs in her café in exchange for a smile and a cup of her specialespresso corretto.

When they walked in, Sandra was more than a little surprised to see he was not alone. Across the ten years he’d frequented this café,he’d seldom brought someone along. He considered his Saturday morning post-run coffee a sacred moment of bliss and his weekend self had zero tolerance for human interference, save for those few people who had implicit permission to interact with him, if strictly necessary. Every Saturday he came here, sweaty and dishevelled, was warmly welcome by Sandra’s sweet accent, and sat down at the small table by the window facing the park with his beloved coffee, maybe a croissant, and savoured his peace until Sandy kicked him out to make room for the lunchtime customers.

“Mornin’,” he greeted, awkwardly aware of Sandra’s dumbfounded face. He gave way to Phil and closed the door behind him, clearing his throat as he said: “Two espressos, Sandy, will ye?”

“One decaf, please.”

Sandy blinked, her attention shifting to Phil and then back to Ian. When her eyebrows lifted high above her glasses, Ian knew exactly what she must be thinking and gave her a warning look that deflated her like a disappointed balloon.

“Two espressos,” Sandra echoed, recovering from the shock with admirable aplomb. “Grappa, tesoro?”

“Moonshine?” he translated to Phil, who was studying the place and its old bookshelves stacked with dusty volumes, the mismatched Victorian furniture bathed in the golden light of the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.

“No, thanks,” he said after quickly checking his watch. A spark of interest animated his expression, bringing up a softness in his features that was almost endearing.

Ian gave Sandra a nod. “Just for me, thanks. Let’s go sit down,” he then told Phil with a peculiar tingle in his stomach.

Phil went straight to Ian’s usual spot and eased himself down into Ian’s armchair with a muffled groan, leaning back into it with a sigh of relief.

“Want me to phone an ambulance?” Ian quipped, earning a one-eyed side eye.

“It was my first run in forever, excuse me for being out of shape. Didn’t really help being crashed into by a fuckingox.”

Ian took the other armchair with an amiable chortle. “Next time we can try to crack that nose back into place.”

“Nah, man.” Phil shook his head. The ghost of a smile surfaced on his lips and he touched his nose. “This bad boy landed me my better half, I wouldn’t change it for anything in the world.”

The fondness in his tone tickled Ian’s interest. “I’m listening.”

Phil’s smile broadened as he stared ahead of himself. “I was at this country music concert in Nashville with some colleagues. Too much noise, drunk people everywhere… Not my thing, but you gotta go with the flow, right?”

“No,” said Ian and Phil lifted a bewildered look on him. Sandra interrupted them before either of them could say anything, her plump frame taking up half of the nook they were squeezed into.

“Here we go, boys.” She placed the two coffees and two glasses of water on the table, along with a bowl of sugar sachets.

“Thank you, Sandy.”

Phil stared at the water as if not really knowing what to do with it, so Ian picked up a glass and showed him.

“Water first. To clean your mouth.” He took a long sip of cold water, gingerly imitated by Phil, who then grabbed one of the small cups and took a sniff, grimacing at the intense aroma.

“Nothing like your usual watered down mud, eh?” Ian laughed, then grabbed a sugar sachet and threw it at him.

“Thanks.”

“So, country concert.”

“Ah.” Phil poured the entire sachet into his cup and stirred. “There was this jerk harassing a girl at the bar. Bigger than you, if you can believe it.”

Ian grinned over his coffee. “You rescued the damsel in distress?”

“No.” Phil laughed and the subtle winkles at the corners of his eyes became more obvious. “She had no problem fending for herself. I just got caught in the brawl and took an elbow to my face.” He took a cautious sip and shuddered, but didn’t put the cupdown. “That was four years ago, and the girl who broke my nose is now my fiancée.”

Ian sat back, downing hisespresso correttoin a go. Thegrappaburned from his throat down to his chest. Meet-cute stories made him sick, but he was relieved to hear that this guy with so much hurt in his eyes had something good to go home to.

“Bet she got with you out of pity.”

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