She walked right up to him standing at the counter and said, "I want to have your baby."
"Wwwwwhat?" he asked. He was her daily barista, but they had never had this conversation before. This seemed a little...personal.
"Did you really not hear me? Or are you asking me to explain myself."
"I...I heard you but I guess I don't know if that's a joke or not."
"Oh. Oh. Why me?"
"Why not? It's kind of a complicated story that I'd rather not get into, right now," she jerked her raincoat out from under the foot of the customer behind her in line. Imagine standing on somebody's coat sleeve!
"But suffice it to say that you seem to be intelligent, decent looking and able to count back my change. And I need to have a baby."
"Never mind WHY, if you're interested we can have that conversation at a later date."
"But to have a baby? That means," he leaned over to whisper, "we have to have sex."
"But I still don't get 'why me'? We barely know each other. We DON'T know each other."
"True," he said thoughtfully, stroking his civil war hero style facial hair with both hands.
He held the card in this left hand and still stroking, considered her thoughtfully and thoroughly.
"If I wanted to go somewhere really expensive, that'd still be cool?"
"Yes, of course. And I'd like a triple vanilla soy dark chocolate iced latte. To go."
He didn't move. Was he so fond of her card that he couldn't take the order? He stared at it, forehead tense.
"Is that your name?"
(And that exchange was the most intimate thing that had ever happened to either of them.)
"Are you, interested? May I ask?"
She turned, he jumped to make the beverage, leaving the cashier to deal with the mother to be.