Cafè Belle Epoque

I would say that it started in the winter. Beginning to frequent a certain coffee shop, I quickly became a regular. Cafè macchiato in the morning, cappuccino in the afternoon. Here, I'm well known.

A short, blonde woman and a typical Italian-looking man work together with a grace that shows their years of friendship. They spend every morning together and split the afternoon hours, closing every Wednesday for a well-deserved day of peace. Everyone's name here is "beautiful," "sweetheart" or "darling." How does that break for coffee and love not get you going for the day?

During the absurd blizzard, I stopped by with Norway during a slow hour of the late morning. We hung out, paid and went merrily on our way. With him, I always get a nice break for some English. You'd be surprised how much easier it is to be yourself in your mother language; oh, I'm just so witty when I'm American me.

Returning some days later, I found all the seats empty and the man leaning against his coffee machine watching the news tranquilly.
"Oh, ciao bella. Cosa ti faccio da bere oggi?"
I ordered a cappuccino, dropped my bag on the table and sat down to join him for the program.
I am in my Italian element, clothes and mentality. Therefore his unexpected curiosity of my nationality asked in perfect English took me by surprise.
"Uhm, I'm from the States - Connecticut exactly... it's near New York."
"Ohh, yeah. I thought I heard an American accent in your English the other day. I wasn't eavesdropping, it's just a familiar sound to my ears."
So that's how I got to know Michele, simply due to an overheard conversation. He spent the first seventeen years of his life in Australia before his family returned to Italy. The highlights of his life are the family he's created with two little sweethearts and doing a work he sincerely loves.
The best part is now entering the coffee shop to strike up the best bilingual conversations. He's a bro, what of it?

His coworker is a real doll, too. She got me hooked on Italian-style iced coffee. When I came in one day dying of city humidity, she gave me one look and guessed, "You're the perfect type to be an iced-coffee girl. Try this." Well, don't mind if I do! Oh, Dunkin' Donuts French Vanilla Iced Coffee with Caramel Swirl and a litttttttle bit of Cream, you have been substituted. She never lets me leave without checking to make sure I'm doing alright first. The last five cents occasionally missing are let go considering, "Hey doll, I know you'll be back."

Even Fede has accompanied me and the "sibling" situation has been explained. So by now, my story is as well-known as my face. As it so happens, Carla made a stop one day to grab a pick-me-up coffee on her way home from work. She ordered her drink and waited patiently. Michele stopped himself with her coffee cup in one hand, spoon and plate in the other. Between my relationship with Fede and his with Carla, the puzzle pieces fit together.
"Wait a second," he thought out loud, "you're the one who's got the American girl, aren't you?"
Carla couldn't help but laugh. "She's making quite the impression around here, isn't she?"

Oh you bet, Mamma. I'm doing my best.