"You come here often" said the dark haired barista as he handed me a freshly made extra hot vanilla latte. "and you always sit in the same spot by the window don't you?" he continued.
"Ya, I do actually" I replied, burying my face in the coffee and trying to hide my embarrassment over the fact that he had noticed.
Two weeks and a lot of vanilla lattes later, Chaz and I are the best of friends. Of course being the chronic nickname giver that I am, Chaz's name is actually Ken. On a rainy afternoon last week during one of our daily chats, I informed the innocent barista that he looked more like a Chaz than anything and so, after a three minute debate, permission was granted for me to call him whatever the hell I pleased, and thus Chaz, a name that suits him far better than Ken ever will.
A transplant here in Denver from the heart of New York City, Chaz is a fast speaking Italian with long eyelashes and quit wit. The two of us have gotten to know each other in this little coffee shop and wine bar, talking life over glasses of white merlot and watching the weather change from rays of sun to flakes of snow. I've listened to stories from his days as a restaurant owner in Tribeca, his time as a graphic designer in San Fran, and his current situation here in the Mile High City, which involves splitting his time between brewing coffee and attending nursing school. Equally, I have told Chaz stories of my life, trying to explain what has led me to make the decisions I have made thus far and even more so trying to make sense of where my future is heading. Chaz is a good listener, keeping the coffee flowing and every once in a while providing me with free glasses of wine to sample and give my opinions on. Coincidentally, these very large pours of wine often come during times of frustration and uncertainty while my job search here in Denver continues. And though the job search has at times gotten me down, I have fallen for this little shop. I have fallen for Chaz, (not in that way of course, as his sexuality is still extremely unclear). And I have fallen in love with my table in the corner by the window.
The other day while writing my umpteenth cover letter and drinking my third coffee in two hours, I realized that this coffee shop has become my home away from home. And as I contemplated why it is that I feel so at home amongst the comfy chairs and swinging overhead twinkle lights, the shabby chic decor and the painted wine bottles lining the windows, I realized that the comfort I feel here is the same comfort that I felt at my favorite coffee shop in Seattle. I pondered this thought some more while watching rain drops fall outside, and I was instantly taken back to this past spring and the many days I spent in the Fremont Coffee House watching the rain fall and sipping Seattle's Best. I recounted the hours I spent there job searching and the hours I spent there writing on my days off once I did find a job. I remembered the afternoon's spent giggling over Americanos with Darcy and Madison and I nearly laughed out loud recalling the emo red haired barista who pretended to never remember me and always seemed to be having the worst day possible.
As I stared out the window, reminiscing about Seattle, I realized that coffee shops are my safe havens. They are where I make my biggest decisions and where I am most creative. Coffee shops are places where I can be whoever I want to be, whether that means a quiet customer in the corner consumed by head phones and a good book or a noisy regular at a table in the front. And though each shop has a different feel and a different vibe, I always find comfort in the mismatched chairs and the same warmth that comes from a good cup of jo.
"What am I going to do when you actually get a job?" Chaz asked this afternoon as he served a plate of goat cheese to the woman sitting at the table next to me.
"Get over yourself Chaz. I need a job." I replied without looking up from my computer screen. "But seriously, are you going to quit coming here or what?" he asked in a sincere tone that was unexpected coming from the usually snappy New Yorker.
I then looked up at my friend, a person I met merely weeks ago but already feel so connected to, and said "I love it here. I feel at home here. And you will be able to find me at this table in the corner until I leave this city for good."
With that Chaz turned towards the kitchen and without looking back said, "This calls for a drink. Let me get your opinion on this new Chardonnay we just got in." It was then that I turned my attention back to the window and continued to watch the rain fall from my favorite spot in my home away from home.
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