“Welcome, Miss.” The waitress greeted me politely, “seats for..?”

“I came alone.”

She nodded, “this way please.”

I was guided to a seat near the window and was given the menu, “can I take your order?”

“Coffee and cheesecake.” I shut the menu and passed it back to her. She took it and walked away.

I looked around the café when someone caught my sight, Ms Icy, the girl whom I don’t even know her name yet. But I’ve been watching her; she would come to my pub every Friday and sometimes on Thursday too. She always come alone and hide herself in a far corner of the pub, making sure that no one disturbs her, and if anyone did, they’ll be chased off.

She was drinking coffee and soon, a waiter brought her a plate of cheesecake. So, she has the same taste as me. She thanked the waiter politely with a smile that seems more like a gesture than anything. She took a sip of her coffee and lifted her head finally. Our eyes met. She smiled, this time less like a gesture and went back to what she was doing.

I felt this weird feeling running through me, as if I was electrocuted. It’s a strange feeling that I had never had before and I don’t know how to explain it. I only know that I hope to see her again, look at her again and I craved for her lips. Damn! What am I thinking? She is supposed to be the wager between Theresa and me; she had failed to get to know her name and had said that I would fail to get it too. I’m determined to prove Theresa wrong … and I think it’s not just for the bet now …

I turned over to where she was seated, but only to find an empty table. She was gone. Argh, I felt disappointed.

“Miss, your orders.” The waiter whom served Ms Icy just now brought me my orders, “and the lady who sat there just now asked me to pass this to you.” He passed me a note nicely folded into quarter.

“Thanks.”

I opened the note anxiously and read, “I’ve foot your bill as well. This is to return your favour of treating me to ‘Jazz’s new creation’. Its nice.”

Wao, Ms Icy has very nice handwriting. Her words are neat and elegant. I took a closer look at the notepaper; it has a logo printed at the bottom right corner, “CG Design”. So she works there? Or did she just happen to get this notepaper from there?

I know its stupid, but ever since I’ve gotten that note from Ms Icy, I couldn’t help but wonder if she is working in that company. As the name had suggested, it’s a design company, and she definitely look like a designer, especially her dressing style and the way she had carried herself. She seems rather confidence and yet she tried to keep a distance away from everyone … She is one very interesting character … and I’m just so drawn to her.

***

“She is here again.” Jazz passed me 2 drinks again, “New creation, ‘Le Affactioun’.”

“What it means?”

“It’s just a name.” Jazz seldom joke, but today she seems to be in good spirit.

“Thanks anyway.” I rolled my eyes, so Jazz can get real lame at times. But this is weird. Its Tuesday today, its not her routine to appear here on days other than Friday and Thursday. Hmm…

“Hey.” I placed the cups on her table, “thanks for the treat. I don’t know you like the cheesecakes there too.”

“Well, they’re really nice.” She brought the drink up and took a sip, “I’ve a thing for nice things.”

“I see. Do you consider yourself a perfectionist?”

“Definitely.”

“What do you think about my dressing?” I took a step back and let her study my outfit.

“Not that bad.” She only took one glance at me, “I can tell your taste already from the people you hire. Jazz makes nice drinks.”

“I’ve no doubt about that.” I shot her a little smirk. Well, I’ve always know that I’ve good taste, and is definitely confident about my look and dressing. I’ve asked her, only to start a conversation and see if she shows any signs that she is a designer.

“Actually…” she took another sip, “you could just ask me. You don’t have to go through so much trouble.”

“Huh?” She did surprise me with that.

“Yes, I work there. In fact, I own that company, from my late husband.”

I studied her; she doesn’t reveal any sadness when she said that, does her late husband mean nothing to her? Or she had gotten over his death already?

“You’re married? But you look so young.”

“How old do you think I’m?” she looked up at me, our eyes met once again. She stared straight into my eyes with her cold eyes, and turned away.

“25, the most.” I had actually thought that she looked only 22 but after she said that she had been married, I decided that she couldn’t be so young.

She smiled, but did not give me any answer.

“So is it a right or a wrong?” I pressed on, curious to know. I’ve never been wrong when it comes to guessing people’s age.

She smiled again, still not willing to give me the answer I wanted.

“Alright, its ok if you don’t want to tell me. I wouldn’t press on, I’ll leave you alone.” I took my drink and walked off.

“What’s your name?” she asked, just before I get my butt off the seat, “Charlene right?”

I nodded, “you can call me Char, only you can do that.”

She smiled and turned away.