Charlie started every day in the same way. He would wake up–mostly–and quietly trudge into the tiny bathroom attached to the run-down loft he called home. Today he stubbed his toe and muttered a curse under his breath along the way. Charlie was not a morning person.

His mood was not improved when he got in the shower. The hot water heater was in serious need of either repairs or a name change. Charlie sighed. Ah, the joys of having an under-the-table landlord. At least the cold water spewing erratically from the faucet helped wake him up.

After a shower, Charlie would get dressed in whatever his uniform for the day was. Today was standard beach fare, cargo shorts and a graphic t-shirt. When dressed, he went through a mental checklist that included his wallet, his keys, his cell phone, his backup wallet, and his messenger bag, which itself contained a long list of items. He ran a comb through his short brown hair and made a few minor adjustments to ensure it wasn’t too well-kempt. With the five o’clock shadow lightly dusting his jaw, the uniform provided the desired effect. Charlie looked utterly unremarkable. He was ready for breakfast.

Charlie unlocked the many locks on his front door (actually a door opening onto a steep metal staircase leading down to a dingy alley) and stepped outside, pulling the heavy metal slab shut behind him. He then went through the process of locking all but one of the locks. If anyone went through the trouble of picking the locks to his door, hopefully they would waste some time fiddling with the lock that was already open. Charlie smiled at the thought. Any reasonable burglar would try to break the door down, of course, and when that failed look for windows or weaknesses in the building itself, but it was fun to imagine such a petty victory. Charlie turned the last deadbolt and put his keys away.

Before heading down the stairs and into the alley that led eventually to civilization, Charlie ran his hands through his hair as if suddenly exasperated. He then looked at his hands, exactly as they had been a moment before, and rolled his eyes before shutting them and plucking a hair out by force. He then carefully wedged it into the side of the door opposite the locks, in a way that guaranteed the follicle would move if someone opened the door. If someone was skilled and stubborn enough to actually finesse the door open, Charlie wanted to know about it.

Charlie turned and carefully stepped down the rusted remains of what was probably once a fire escape. He headed into the small alley, which led into a slightly larger alley, which was branching off of a forked path from another–it was a confusing series of side streets and dead ends, is the point, but Charlie easily navigated the maze, ending up looking out at a large, red brick street that ran parallel to the beach. He carefully edged further outward, widening his range of vision with each step. If someone was waiting and watching for him to exit between this exact overpriced retail outlet and souvenir stand for tourists, they weren’t being obvious about it. Charlie shrugged and continued on.

After a short walk down a new route into the heart of the city, Charlie made it to his destination: Dora’s Café. It was the only coffee shop in town that had a posted policy of encouraging the baristas to be sarcastic to any and all rude customers. This policy had developed a small but incredibly loyal following, and Dora’s was populated almost exclusively by regulars. One corner of the shop was partially blocked off by bookshelves, both creating a barrier to noise and offering plenty of choices for reading material. There was an unspoken agreement among the regulars to keep that space sacred. No conversation went on in that section. Earbuds were nestled within ears and whispered tinny versions of the songs they played, pens and pencils scratched against pads of paper, those with laptops typed and those with tablets swiped, but no one said a word. The rest of the shop had plenty of people who were engaged in conversation, of course, but those shelves, those blessed, silent shelves…Charlie had moved twice in the time that he knew about the shop, but there was nowhere else he would rather spend the beginning of his day. Charlie yawned broadly as he stepped inside.

Charlie’s mind began to wander as he stood in line. A regular who Charlie vaguely recognized was stepping up to the counter. Kevin? Kyle? Or…Conroy, maybe? Something like that.

“Hiya Sam. Dirty chai, extra dirty?” asked the barista, who Charlie knew as Sarah. Dora’s was not the kind of place where you had to specify a size for your drink. Or, for that matter, wear a nametag.

“Yeah, that’s it for me today.” Sam replied.

Sam? Huh. Not even close. Where the hell did I get Kevin from?

“No problem.” Sarah keyed a few buttons at the register while making conversation. “Hey, what happened to your brother? I haven’t seen him around lately.”

“Keith moved! Didn’t he mention it? New job up north. Big promotion. He hasn’t shut up about it in weeks…”

Ah! Keith! I’d never seen them here at the same time. That makes sense. If I was that far off about someone’s name I probably should change jobs myself…

The door behind Charlie opened and a pair of sneakers walked in. Presumably there was a person attached to them, but Charlie had yet to have his coffee, and so gathering more information about the person behind him in line didn’t seem worth the effort. He did catch a glimpse of long flowing red hair out of the corner of his eye. That was enough to eliminate any regular customer, which was enough for him to conclude it was obviously Willie Nelson. Charlie smiled at that thought as Sam paid and placed a bill into the tip jar. Dora’s was the sort of place where you tipped. Generously.

Sam. Sam. Sam looks the SAMe as Keith. Sam Sam Sam. Samwise Chaitea. No, wait, that’s terrible. Stick with the original mnemonic. Sam. Okay. Never know when it’ll come in handy to know someone’s name. In fact, right now, how many of the people in this room, who you see every day, do you know the names of? You hear them call the name with every drink. This shouldn’t be too difficult for you. Look around and–

Another, stronger train of thought derailed the first. CAFFEINE. NOW.

…Good point.

“Hey, Charlie.” Sarah raised an eyebrow as Charlie stopped staring into space at the sound of his name and approached the counter. “Let me guess, you’ve seen the error of your ways and you want me make you an awesome latte this morning? I could make you a macchiato that will knock your socks off. The real kind, too, not the caramel diabetes in a cup you’ll get down the road.”

Charlie flashed a sleepy half-smile. “I’m not awake enough to appreciate it properly. Light roast, please, and a peanut–“

“–peanut butter bagel, which you meant to say a bagel with peanut butter if there was any confusion. Yeah, I know. I already rang you up while you were in la-la land. You want the coffee now?”

Charlie’s smile grew wider. “You know me too well. I do, but I’ll get it when the bagel’s ready. I’m going to browse the shelves until then.”

Sarah nodded. “You are such a nerd. I think we got some fantasy books donated recently you’ll like. Oh, and sorry but the bagel will be a couple minutes. There are a couple of food orders ahead of you. Also if I forget to give you the coffee with your bagel, remind me. This stupid thing”–she indicated the new touchscreen cash register–“doesn’t let me write my own notes on orders.”

“Huh.” It took Charlie just a few seconds to see a possible solution, but he stalled for a moment longer than that before offering it. He didn’t want Sarah to feel dumb if the obvious thing worked. She made his coffee, after all, and was therefore incredibly valuable. “Could you…is there a field where you enter a name? You wouldn’t need it since you already know most of the people ordering, but you guys ask for names to call out orders. If that’s a feature, seems like it’d be something you could customize.”

Sarah blinked. “You know, that’s not a bad idea.” She pressed a few more virtual buttons. “What do you know. Looks like my days of writing colorful insults on the tickets are back. I owe you one, weirdo.”

Charlie bowed slightly in mock formality as he handed over a ten dollar bill. “I aim to please.”

Sarah began to hand back the change, but Charlie pretended that he momentarily forgot the entire concept of money and backed away towards the books, so she just shook her head and dropped the change in the tip jar. The redhead behind him stepped up to order and Charlie caught a glimpse. Charlie was not at all disappointed to observe that the person behind him was in fact not Willie Nelson, but instead a very attractive woman in her twenties. Charlie made sure to catch a second glimpse before disappearing into the stacks.

Wowsers. That girl is alarmingly pretty. Here’s hoping she sticks around for a while. I wonder, what kind of sport does she play to get that kind of athletic build? You know, that would be a good question to open a conversation with, assuming I’m able to, like, form words, which I don’t even want to try until my second cup of coffee. I should probably put this whole idea on the back burner anyway. I have a book to pick out.

Charlie spent a few minutes browsing the shelves. He had read most of the newly donated books before, and none of the rest particularly struck him as he read the summaries, so he began systematically searching the shelves. Charlie had a technique that he had developed with years of experience in public libraries. He would read the title of every book on a given shelf first. Then, he would go back to any book that he remembered the name of after one pass and read the synopsis. If he still was not drawn to any of those books, he would move on to the next shelf. If there was a time limit or (more often) if he grew bored with the process, he tended to go with his secondary technique of pointing in a random direction and reading whatever he happened to land on. Charlie figured that if his conscious mind was unable to pick something to read, he should at least give his subconscious a shot.

Sarah’s voice rang out across the cafe. “Boring black coffee and boring bagel for Charlie, ready at the bar!”

Charlie looked up from page twenty-six of a book he wasn’t sure if he wanted to read or not. He then looked down and realized he was on page twenty-six. That was probably a good enough indicator. He marked his place with a napkin and tucked the book under one arm to go retrieve his caffeine–no, that is not how I should view breakfast. It’s the most important meal of the day.

Another part of him thought, Obviously it’s the most important meal of the day, it’s the one with the coffee.

The more sensible side responded. You know, Charlie, some people would say you have a problem.

Yes. I do. Charlie was impressed at how much gravitas that thought possessed. My problem is not enough coffee at this exact moment.

Charlie was used to his thoughts’ tangents. It was a habit he had developed on purpose. Actually imagining multiple parts of a conversation was an easy shortcut to considering different ways of looking at a problem. Very useful when there was an obstacle in front of him, but less so when the most pressing concern was “quietly enjoy the morning”. The benefits generally managed to outweigh the potential for distraction, though, and Charlie was big on doing only that which is useful.

A playful female voice nearby said, “Something on your mind?”

Charlie stopped just short of grabbing his coffee. He didn’t recognize the voice, and it took him a moment to place the source: the redhead he had noticed earlier, sitting at the bar near where the coffee was served.

“Uhh…yeah, I guess you could say that.”

Nice. Real smooth, Chuck. You always did have a way with words.

The woman giggled. “Anything I could help you with? I’ve been known to be a good listener.” She smiled a dazzling smile at Charlie.

Charlie attempted a smile back, but he got the impression he was shining a flashlight into the sun. “Thanks, but I think this will do the trick.” He weakly raised the mug in explanation. It took a moment for Charlie to realize he couldn’t grab the bagel in his other hand without dropping the book his arm was holding. It didn’t actually take an eternity of awkward fumbling to safely carry the book along with his breakfast, Charlie was sure, but he was equally sure that time itself slowed down whenever you looked that inept in front of a pretty girl. He was very aware that the woman at the bar was watching his impromptu balancing act, clearly amused.

“You need a hand?” she asked. “Or you could just sit here with me.” She patted the nearest barstool invitingly.

“I think I got it, thanks though.” Charlie wished that he was able to walk more quickly back to the safety of the books, but he was wary of tripping, dropping something, or finding a new and exciting way of looking like even more of a dork. His pace remained casual. He failed to notice Sarah behind the counter three feet away, mouth slightly agape, staring at him in bewilderment as he claimed a table in the stacks.

Look at the bright side. At least now you have coffee! And hey, you probably won’t ever see her again. No big loss, really, even if you do feel like a loser.

Charlie strongly hoped his attempts at cheering himself up would be better after the coffee began to work its magic. He took a sip.

He took another sip.

He placed the coffee on the table and began to search in his bag. A few seconds later, he withdrew an mp3 player and a tangled mess of earbuds. He sighed, took another, longer sip of coffee, and began to untangle them.

“Wanna learn a trick for that?”

Charlie looked up from his increasingly frustrating work to see the same redheaded woman from the bar standing at his table. “Hi. I’m Stacey,” Stacey said. “Do you mind if I join you?”

Charlie wordlessly waved a hand at the empty seat opposite him, and she joined him. He continued to untangle the earbuds.

“Somehow you don’t strike me as the quiet type,” Stacey said. “What’s with the silent treatment?”

“I don’t mean to be rude. I’m just not really in the mood for a conversation right now,” Charlie muttered. He worked for a few more seconds untangling before the jack finally dangled free.

“Okay, fair enough. I’ll leave you alone.” Stacy stood, hands raised in surrender, and took a few steps before stopping. “Before I go, though, can I show you one little thing? Promise it’ll make your life better.”

At this point, Charlie would take any improvement he could get. “All right, fine. What do you want to show me?”

Stacey smiled her dazzling smile. It really was unfair how much that made Charlie want to listen to her. “Headphones. Gimme.” She held out one hand expectantly. Charlie gave her his earbuds before taking a long drink of coffee. He was slowly feeling more and more like a person. Stacey began to deftly wrap the cord around her index and pinky fingers in a figure eight pattern. As she did so, she continued speaking. “My grandmother is huge into knitting. Like, new scarf and matching mittens every Christmas huge. I used to help her wind up yarn like this so that she didn’t have to use the whole skein every time she started a new project. Et voila!” She held out the now compact and orderly set of earbuds for Charlie to inspect. “Nice and neat. You can put those in your bag and they won’t get all tangled up…and you should try that right now.”

“I should, should I?” Charlie grinned despite himself. “And why is that?”

“You can’t talk to me if you’re listening to music, silly.”

Okay, that was pretty slick. Who is this girl?

“That’s a good point, but I only have a few minutes before I have to leave for work and I haven’t even touched this bagel, so…” Charlie trailed off, doing his best not to make eye contact. He was curious to see how interested in this conversation Stacey was.

“So eat! Come on, I just massively improved your quality of life. The least you could do is have a conversation with me. For example, since you mentioned work…what do you do?” Stacey asked.

So, she’s fairly interested. Interested enough to lean on reciprocity to get what she wants, at least.

“I, ah…I’m an engineer.” Charlie took a bite from his bagel and a few crumbs fell onto the Sublime logo on his t-shirt.

“You don’t exactly look like an engineer,” Stacy observed.

“What, should I run around in a hard hat hitting things with a wrench?”

At that point Sarah walked up to the two of them and kindly informed them that the other customers in the area, while obviously riveted by the depth and complexity of their conversation, were expecting a quiet space, and so could they please relocate or she was going to jam that stupid bag in Charlie’s big fat mouth, thank you very much.

Charlie and Stacey made their apologies and relocated to a more sociable part of the café.

“What kind of engineer dresses like that?” Stacey asked when they had settled in.

“The best kind. I am a social engineer,” Charlie said with a small amount of pride.

“I thought engineers were supposed to be antisocial,” Stacey said.

“No, not an engineer who is extroverted, I’m–“

“I’m just kidding,” Stacey laughed. “I know what social engineering is. I’ve never heard someone call it a career, though.”

“As the old saying goes, if you’re good at something never do it for free.”

Stacey laughed again. “And I suppose you’re good at it?”

Charlie modestly inclined his head. “I don’t like to brag, but…”

“So don’t brag!” Stacey said. “Prove it.”

“Now?”

“Why not now?” asked Stacey. “No time like the present, right?”

”Right.” Charlie took another bite. “What’s in it for me?”

“It would be very impressive.” Stacey sweetly batted her eyelashes to emphasize the point.

Charlie considered this. It wouldn’t be the first time he had mixed work and play. Granted, every single time that it had happened in the past had ended in disaster…I didn’t even notice how blue her eyes are…which probably meant the law of averages was on his side, right?

You know that’s not how that works.

“Right. Okay. We are going to play a game. It’s a super simple game. I am going to ask you five questions, and all you have to do to win the game is answer each and every question wrong. Got it? The point is to give an incorrect answer to what I ask you.”

“Sounds easy enough.”

“It sure does!” Charlie flashed his cheekiest grin. “Are you ready to start?”

“…no. No, I am not.”

“Nicely done! Which is bigger, the Earth or the Sun?”

Stacey scoffed. “The Earth, duh.”

Charlie nodded. “What color is the sky?”

Stacey glanced out the window before answering. “Purple.”

Charlie suddenly frowned and a confused look settled onto his face. “…wait, hang on, was that four questions?”

“N–yes! Yes it was!”

Charlie laughed, the cheeky grin back in full force. “That was a close one. Have you played this game before or something?”

“Nope! I’m just naturally…” Stacey stopped mid sentence. “Crap.”

Charlie took a deliberate bite of his bagel.

A sour look crossed Stacey’s face. In fact, more than her expression seemed to change. Little aspects of her body language that Charlie hadn’t yet consciously noticed began to shift. She stopped subtly leaning forward. Her lips became fractionally less prominent. Her sapphire blue eyes stopped being as wide. She folded her arms in front of her chest.

Was it something I said?

“I guess Vincent was right about you,” Stacey said, her tone dropping all playfulness and becoming completely businesslike. “You’re not bad.”

Charlie put down the remainder of his breakfast and frowned slightly. He didn’t know a Vincent. He didn’t know of a Vincent off hand, other than van Gogh. Or Vega, although he hadn’t seen that movie in years. “Who’s Vincent?”

“My boss. Yours too, soon. I’m here to offer you a job.”