Low Key Lavender

Cordelia should not have opened up her phone. A stranger’s Tinder profile glowed dimly on her phone, barely visible in the bright sun at her seat inside the cafe. She sighed and closed the app, focusing instead on losing the chill the crisp autumn air had given her and the warm dirty chai latte in her hands. The barista had forgotten her order, and after waiting enough time to complete a journal entry, she had to remind her about her drink. She had then received an iced latte in twenty seconds flat and had to correct the barista, which she felt terrible doing, as it had seemed like the barista was new, but the warmth from this latte was something she had been looking forward to all week now that the weather had changed. The barista was a sweet flustered femme and had been a good sport about it, making small talk with her while she remade her order. They parted with an awkward goodbye, and Cordelia had left a five-dollar bill in her tip jar out of guilt.

Her Tinder had been depressingly dry, and she couldn’t handle looking at it any longer. She had only been back in the dating game for a few short months, her long-term relationship of two years having just ended at the tail end of spring. Tinder, and love, had not been kind to her recently, and cold messaging a girl was so hard to feel comfortable doing. She hated the small talk and the give and take of trying to read a person over a few short messages. She hadn’t had much practice in talking phases yet, unlike some of her friends, who had had literally too many to count. She had come out to herself and the world later in life and hadn’t pursued a relationship until she was twenty, and by then she was so desperate for a romantic connection— she had held onto the first person whom she was mildly attracted to and had shown attention back to her. She had ignored the red flags in the beginning, and that had only succeeded in allowing the red flags to become the whole fabric of their relationship. Since finally getting out of that pattern, trying to spark anything up with anyone else felt uninteresting at best to her, and it felt hopelessly impossible at worst. Lately, her thoughts had been more chaotic and scattered, strung along with memories of the last two years thus making moving on all the more painful.

She held her familiar, ceramic, reusable cup in her hands, letting its warm outside heat up her cold hands. When she had bought it several summers ago, her intentions had been to impress a girl who had made environmentalism her personality. Since then, it had become an emotional support item. Her hand moved around the cream cup and she fiddled with its lid, looking back to the screen of her phone, now lighting up with messages from her friends’ group chat. Reluctantly picking it up, scrolled back to the beginning to catch up on whatever the hell they were typing away about.

One of her friends’ roommates had sent a link to a concert from a band she had never heard of, or at least didn’t remember hearing about. The tickets were fifty dollars, and her friends had decided to meet tonight and then carpool there from one of their other friends’ houses. She winced at the price but followed the link to buy the ticket because she could not afford the wrath of her best friend for ditching another group outing. The link took forever to load, and she squinted at her phone in annoyance.

“Who put that frown on your face?”

She looked up, wondering what person had interrupted her fight with the cafe’s free wifi. She was a bit startled at the sound of a voice that sounded like sugar melting, going from one kind of sweet to another, and a bit scratchy, but smooth like caramel. She liked the sound of that voice.

The person the voice belonged to was covered in tattoos—their tank tight against their broad chest and built shoulders, showing off two almost full sleeves. A beanie barely contained a mass of dark curls, but did coordinate in color with their pair of beige Carhartt pants that were tight around the more muscular part of their thighs and their hips. Cordelia’s eyes drank in their appearance.

She realized she was staring and not responding to this stranger, who was looking at her with curiosity and a smile filled with teeth that had no right to be as white as they were. She managed to recover a bit and said, “I’m sorry?”

“Oh my bad, you just were looking so irritated at your phone, I had to find out who was making you so upset- and what kind of skills it takes to take a person who was so nice to my new barista that mad.” The stranger shifted in their boots and met her eyes.

“Your barista? I’m sorry, do you own her or something?” Cordelia could feel her polite smile falter as pure gay panic and stranger danger anxiety filled her body. She tried hard to shake off her unease and resisted the urge to bolt away from the social interaction.

“Um no? I just own the cafe, so her waged labor is technically mine, in a fucked-up, capitalist kind of way. Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” The stranger checked the napkin dispenser on the table next to her, closer to her. She could feel her body wanting to shrink both towards the proprietor and away from them. “I really just wanted to thank you for being so nice to her about the mix up with your drink, she had a rough morning, and you being kind about it made her shift a little bit easier. I think she was about to lose it for a second there.”

“Oh no you didn’t interrupt! And no worries, she was so nice and quick about fixing her mistake! Everybody deserves some grace. She did seem stressed, and I’ve definitely been there before. Plus, I know I couldn’t have gotten coffee that’s half as good anywhere else. I love your cafe.” Her voice came out more high-pitched and quicker than she would have liked, and she adjusted herself in her chair.

The cafe owner smiled and fiddled with the napkin dispenser a little more. “Thank you. That means a lot; it’s definitely been a challenge to create a safe queer space that also makes money, so at least I now know I have one loyal customer.”

“For as long as this life allows me to tolerate this town, I would not miss out on your dirty chais, let alone miss out on the gay vibe in here. Well, not like right here…obviously I don’t want to assume anything, haha.” She winced internally at her own awkwardness.

“Oh dammit, the vibe I was going for when I was getting dressed was, ‘Please assume I am a big ole dyke when you look at me,’ I must have missed the mark.” They laughed and pulled all the napkins out of the dispenser, setting the stack of napkins aside.

“Well, I think you did better than I did at accomplishing that vibe, though I think we could both benefit from a flannel.” She felt herself cringe, unsure if she should’ve just outed herself without even having made introductions, and regretting her pink cow print overalls. She stood up in a manner she feared was too formal, and did what needed to be done, extending her hand. She said, “I’m Cordelia, by the way. I’m a big ole she/her dyke.”

The stranger grinned back at her and put the napkins back in at a rate that made it obvious they only pulled them out as an excuse to talk to her. They offered their hand back and said, “Florence, but all my friends call me Frankie, and I’m a big ole they/them dyke. I actually do have a flannel, but I spilled steamed milk onto it earlier. I love your overalls, even if they are much more cute than they are dyke-y.”

They shook each other’s hands firmly, both with a tight grip that seemed to threaten the others’ dominance, holding on a bit longer than necessary or appropriate. Cordelia, still smiling shyly, was the first one to break out of the power struggle, and sat back down with her latte, staring at her black knock-off Doc Martens. “Thank you, I like them,” she said shyly.

“So who made you mad?” Florence asked, moving to the napkin dispenser at their small cafe table to fiddle with, conveniently closer to her.

Forgetting that they had asked her a question because she was much too distracted by the leftover feeling of their calloused hand in hers, Cordelia said “Oh um, no one really, I was just getting frustrated waiting for this website to load to buy some concert tickets. And how terrible Tinder is,” she let it slip out, instantly regretting oversharing with handsome, beautiful, built Florence.

“Oh yeah our wifi sucks here today, I called earlier about it but they said it was a temporary delay due to an issue with towers or something. And don’t even get me started on lesbian Tinder, I could literally talk about it for hours.” Florence took apart the napkin dispenser, setting the cover on the other side of Cordelia’s table.

“Yeah, why does it suck so hard?” Cordelia felt herself tense as Florence’s arms flexed, getting the cover off, and her breath hitched when Florence sat down across from her like it was the easiest thing in the world to start up a conversation with a stranger.

“You’ve got a minute while our wifi lets that page load, so as long as I’m not interrupting,” Florence paused, looking for Cordelia’s approval to continue.

“By all means, I welcome the distraction,” Cordelia refreshed the loading page on her phone after leaning back in her seat, opening herself up to the conversation, willing the website to load both faster and not at all.

Florence said, “I say this as a hoe who swore off Tinder at twenty, after not one, but two failed situation-ships with girls who both turned out to be partnered with men. I’m not saying that a judge a book by its cover’ app breeds the perfect environment for shallow predators and cheaters, but I’m also not, not saying it, you know?” Florence reached into their pocket, stretching out their leg so their foot rested in between Cordelia’s underneath the small table. They cleared their throat when their pants legs touched and pulled out a multitool carabiner, flipping it open to reveal a screwdriver head.

Cordelia scoffed at the sheer gayness of the thing. “Nice dyke magnet you have there. Those screws might just turn rainbow colored when you loosen them.”

Florence laughed and cupped the base of the spring loaded napkin holder, palming it on the table to steady it as they fidgeted with the spring contraption inside of it. “I doubt it, the things came from my dad’s diner, they’d be more likely to squeak the national anthem than they would be to get pride colors.” Cordelia thought she might have seen a bit of a blush creep up their cheeks, but couldn’t be sure.

“Daddy issues and a multi-tool at the ready? Wow, how do the ladies resist?” Cordelia said, amusedly, turning her attention back to her loading page—the venue’s standing room only tickets flaunted their price with tax at her. She set her phone down, and said, “But actually, why do people looking for threesomes flock to lesbian tinder and why isn’t there a way to separate that preference? Why must I, as a single, queer woman looking for other single, queer women, be subjected to ugly ass men and their partners purely because it’s the most used app?”

Florence grinned at Cordelia. “I think you are the first person I’ve ever met who has been able to say my exact opinion out loud about lesbian tinder without me wanting to contradict you.”

“Oh, are you often contradictory?” Cordelia raised her thick eyebrows at her.

“Only when I want to be.” Florence’s screwdriver bit slipped, and the hold they had kept on the napkin holder slipped with it, and the napkin holder hit the table with a loud bang, filling the space in the cafe with the sharp noise. “Damn.”

“Do you need help? What are you trying to do?” Cordelia picked up the part that had fallen out and inspected the mechanism.

“Oh um, I’m just trying to get to the other side of the spring part, those things are dusty and rusty and make the pushing part stick.” Florence was beet red, watching as Cordelia pulled at the attachment and exposed the dusty spring.

“Here, I can hold if you dust.” Cordelia felt her fingers wrap under the sharp metal, letting it dig into her.

Florence stuck their fingers through the crack Cordelia had created and got out a few dusty bunnies before Cordelia’s grip loosened and crushed Florence’s hand a little bit.

“I am so sorry, the thing is tough to keep open,” Cordelia winced as Florence shook out the pain in their fingers. “If you got a makeup brush in there, it’d probably clear out more dust than your fingers, and save you from being pinched.”

“Yeah, but I don’t exactly keep those around. Plus if it wasn’t as dusty, then I wouldn’t have as much of an excuse to talk to cute dykes on the clock by not messing with those old things.”

Cordelia giggled and pressed the mechanism in, feeling the spring give way more easily. She put the cover back on and loaded the small pile of napkins back in. “Don’t you own the clock? Why bother trying to fix something that isn’t broken?” She breezed past Florence’s compliment, unsure of how to respond.

“I guess I already told you I swore off Tinder, how else can I meet girls if not for the trusted napkin holder trick?” Florence slid their multitool back into their pocket, cocking their head and grinning at Cordelia expectantly.

“Oh, so you’ve done this before? Way to make a dyke feel special.” Cordelia grinned back as she watched Florence flush at her response.

“I didn’t mean it like that… I guess I’m trying to ask if you’d be interested in going out with me sometime? I would love to hear more about your opinions on the plagues of lesbianism and stuff. I promise I’m not a player or anything. Now that I know you’re gay and single I thought I might as well ask.” Florence leaned onto the table, closer to Cordelia, looking almost smaller after dropping their guard.

Cordelia inspected them, and the way they crossed their arms, holding themselves in response. She felt butterflies pooling in the bottom of her abdomen as she responded, ”As long as you’re single too, then I can’t think of an excuse not to.” She looked down at her phone, desperate to have a reason to avoid her excitement and nervousness over being asked out. She could feel her face go bright red and wanted to hide under the table, maybe even between Florence’s legs. The page had finally loaded and reminded her of her task at hand. She had an idea.

She cleared her throat and said, “I’m actually buying tickets for a band I’ve never heard of, would you be free to tag along tonight? I’d ask you for coffee but I think we’re already kind of doing that now.” She wasn’t sure why she even asked, this hot masc probably already had plans.

“I am single and I am free tonight, and I have plans to go to the Faded Glory Hole concert, if that is the one you’re trying to buy tickets for.” Florence leaned over her phone checking to see if it was, acting overly sneaky, smiling conspiratorially at Cordelia.

“Yeah, actually, it is. My friends love them apparently.” Cordelia turned her phone around to confirm their suspicions. It felt so intimate, being so close to them.

“Well then don’t bother buying a ticket, I have an extra. I wasn’t sure if I’d find someone to use it or if I have to go alone, so how serendipitous that we met.” Florence looked at Cordelia and Cordelia could see the flecks of amber in their brown eyes, smiling back at her. “Will I get to meet your friends then?”

“Yeah, you will. Is that okay? I will warn you that they aren’t as cool or gay as you, but they are amazing people and I love them a lot.” Cordelia had in fact not considered that Florence would have to meet her friends. She was bringing someone she met today, or they were bringing her, to an outing, and she wasn’t quite sure how the besties would react to that.

Florence grinned and said, “Oh absolutely, I love meeting new people. I can’t imagine them not being cooler than me, but gayer… Yeah, you might be right.” Florence looked Cordelia up and down slowly, eyeing her like a piece of meat, like something they wanted that wasn’t in reach yet.

Cordelia felt herself shiver from the look they gave her, responding by meeting their gaze, challenging herself. She found herself wanting to fight them, run for the door, and kiss them over the table, all at the same time in that moment. She didn’t know how to react to someone who could so blatantly show their desire for her.

After realizing they were not going to break eye contact anytime soon, Cordelia dropped her gaze back down to her phone and pulled up her contacts page. She opened a new contact and offered her phone to Florence, willing her hand not to shake with the jitters she felt.

Florence wordlessly took her phone and typed in their name with little hearts and rainbow flags next to it, creating their contact in Cordelia’s phone and handing it back to her, seemingly making sure their fingers brushed as they did. “You should text me, so I have yours,” they said, so casually it made Cordelia almost angry at how collected they were.

Cordelia sent Frankie Laurier <3, from the napkin dispenser repair company, a text with her full name and a ;) and looked back up at Florence, who was still looking at her like she was a five-star meal and they had been starving all day. “Um,” Cordelia said, “so, what are you gonna wear to this thing? I have no kind of idea what their music sounds like or what vibe they even have,” Cordelia laughed.

“Are your friends the ones into them then?” Florence leaned in, propping their chin in their hand on the small cafe table.

Cordelia fought the urge to shrink back, unused to this kind of attention, and picked up her latte instead, taking a sip before saying,”yeah, one of my friends really is apparently. I have no idea what kind of music they even make but I definitely won’t say no to an excuse to go dance. Are you a big fan?”

“You could say I’m an old fan of theirs from before they got some traction,” Florence leaned back in their seat, leaving Cordelia with the need to catch her breath after being so close to them. Florence inspected their nails in a way that suggested they were avoiding some part of her question. ”I’ve been following them since before they had a few hits that charted. They’re actually a local band and started here in the valley.”

“Oh woah, that’s awesome! It must have been kinda cool to watch them grow. Still doesn’t help me know what to wear.” Cordelia looked expectantly at Florence, lifting a brow in playful sass.

“They are a grungy, midwest, emo band, so maybe like jeans and a t-shirt? I’m not sure what I’ll even wear to be honest with you, now that I know I have a cute date coming.” Florence grinned back at Cordelia’s teasing, their smile getting larger and more genuine with every minute they continued talking to her.

“Guess we are going to have to figure something out so we both look good for our cute dates tonight. Grungy Midwest emo…” Cordelia said thoughtfully, running her outfit ideas through her mind.

“I already know you’ll look good in any outfit you choose.” Florence broke her gaze away from Cordelia. “The show starts at 7:00, would you want me to pick you up? Or do you have pre-concert plans already?”

Cordelia considered her options for less than a second, pregaming with her friends at their house like usual, or giving her address to a stranger for a completely new and novel experience that was sure to be as charged with sexual tension as their current leg placement was; she made the decision that would not leave her dead in some ditch, with a way out in case she embarrassed herself. “Um, my friends are planning to pregame before, so can I take a raincheck on being a passenger princess?” She asked sheepishly, unsure if this rejection of Florence’s offer would put them off or not.

Florence flashed their too-white teeth at her. “Of course you can, I’m gonna need you to cash that raincheck in soon though, I can’t wait to have you in my passenger seat.” Florence watched Cordelia react to their comment. They noted with self-satisfaction that they saw her shifting in her seat and avoiding making eye contact with them, her cheeks bright red. “So we meet there after you’ve pregamed?”

“How do you do that? With so much ease?” Cordelia asked from underneath her blush, looking at Florence intently, pausing Florence’s game plan.

“Do what? Make plans?” Florence played dumb and flashed a shit-eating grin at her.

“No, you fucker,” Cordelia felt herself grinning back and leaning onto the table, “Flirt with me in public so smoothly and without any panic. Where the hell is all this rizz coming from? How did you get this much? Are you hoarding the whole dyke supply?”

“Ma’am please, that language is not really appropriate in this establishment. Please be respectful of the other patrons.” Florence spoke slowly in a flirtatiously mocking tone and leaned in with Cordelia, bringing their faces inches apart.

“Oh, fuck you,” Cordelia whispered at them, her wit having left her as the blood flow to her head had. She felt her heart pounding as she tried to take in every detail of Florence’s face.

Florence returned her gaze, eyes darting down from her eyes to her lips, whispering back, “I wish you would.”

Cordelia felt her blood pump right down in between her legs. Her mouth went slack and felt suddenly dry. “Yeah well maybe if you’re lucky,” she said leaning back to a more prudent distance, “Your wish will come true.” She sipped the last of her latte with a bit of sadness that her caffeine supply was running out, and that her dry mouth still wasn’t satisfied.

Florence leaned back as well, mirroring Cordelia’s body language, and raised her brows at her. “I can’t be hoarding the whole dyke supply of rizz; you obviously have some to match mine.”

Cordelia scoffed. “Nah, I just siphoned it off you,” She returned Florence’s shit-eating grin, satisfied she finally was able to match some of their coquettish energy.

It was Florence’s turn to clear their throat. “Um, so, I’ll meet you there before security after you pregame?” Florence looked down at their hands and rubbed circles on their palm.

Cordelia smiled at them. “Sounds like an achievable goal.”

“I’d call it a date, even.” Florence looked back up at her, catching the way her round cheeks raised and eyes squinted as she smiled at them.

“A date I only have half an afternoon to get ready for,” Cordelia got up and started collecting her things, her phone, wallet, and keys going into her pocket, her bag with her journaling supplies onto her shoulder. Her hand reached her reusable cup at the same time Florence’s did and she met Florence’s gaze again, their brown eyes staring back at her.

“Can I at least walk you out?” Florence’s eyes pleaded, hand still touching Cordelia’s, holding the cup.

“Surely my language doesn’t warrant an escort to the door?” Cordelia let them win the silent battle over the cup.

“Not at all, I’m just really trying for 5 stars on that review on Yelp that I ask all my patrons to leave as I escort them to their cars.” Florence popped out of their chair and started walking with Cordelia.

“Can I have my cup or are you holding it hostage?” Cordelia resisted the urge to walk as slowly as possible out the back entrance of the cafe to the parking lot. “Because not returning my personal item would not get you a great review from this patron.”

“Well I gotta hold something for you or I’ll feel useless.” Florence followed behind her, resisting the urge to run and open every door she would ever walk through.

“Why hold my cup when you could hold my hand?” Cordelia shocked herself by offering. She had just met this hoe who came up to her and thanked her for basic human decency, and she seemed to be packing the U-haul already. Her stomach twisted as she realized what this date actually meant, a chance for real heartbreak. Still, despite her flip-flopping stomach, her hand extended.

“Good thing I can do both,” Florence said, taking her hand as they reached the door.

Cordelia reached the door first and holding onto their hand, pushed the door open with her ass, her eyes meeting Florence’s gaze. “Wow, this place’s customer service never ceases to amaze me.” Cordelia said as she swung the door and held it with her body for Florence to walk through.

Florence wasn’t used to having doors held open for them and silently cursed they weren’t the one to get to it first. They tugged Cordelia’s fingers, laced into theirs, away from the door and Cordelia let herself bump into them, their strong frame pressing into her contrasting soft curves. “We aim to please,” Florence said.

She focused on the way their hand, foreign and warm, fits into hers. She walked them to her car nervously and stopped in front of her Prius. “Well this is me. It was so nice to meet you,” Her hand squeezed theirs, earning a squeeze back before she let their fingers detangle.

Florence held her arms open for a hug, cup still in hand. Cordelia returned the hug, reaching up over their shoulders with both her arms, her bag hanging by her side. She felt Florence’s arm wrap around her waist and felt her cup rest against her, being fully enveloped by Florence’s bear hug.

They hugged for longer than appropriate, especially considering they had met less than an hour ago, each taking in the other’s scent. Cordelia couldn’t help but notice the smell of vanilla, steamed spiced milk, and espresso coming off of Florence.

Florence was the first to let go, walking over to Cordelia’s Prius and waiting to open her door for her. They watched her unlock the car and slide in, eyeing every limb, missing the clean coconut smell that wafted off her hair.

“Do I get my cup back now?” Cordelia asked, having turned on her car and rolled down her window.

Florence leaned in, again just inches away her face, and held her gaze as they reached over and placed the cup in her cup holder, stopping at her ear and whispering, “I can’t wait to see you again. Drive safe, dyke,” and then they walked back into the cafe, leaving Cordelia shaking. She thought she was going to melt.

She drove away slowly and cautiously, worried about driving distracted after such an intoxicating experience at the cafe.