Free O' for the love of Shakespeare by Brooke St Pier Page A

something highly academic and interesting.
    “Do you want the Latte to go?”  The woman
behind the counter offers.  No of course I do not want to go I want to stare
unashamedly at the actor sat in the corner of the café.  Do they not know who
that is?
    “No to drink in please.”  I’m passed a tray
with my Latte which may as well be a bowl for how large the mug is.  Looking
around for a table I realise everywhere is full in the morning rush for
caffeine.  I stand for what feels like an eternity awkwardly looking at people
hoping they will answer my silent plea and vacate their table.  Mainly I focus
on the tables in the immediate vicinity of Cassio in the hope that I can sit
close to him.  I look over just to check he is still there; he still looks deep
in thought at the papers he is reading.
    Aware of a slight queue now forming behind me
for a table, I do the unthinkable.  Before I know it I am standing at his table
gawking at him like a complete imbecile.  To make it worse I also seem to have
lost the ability to speak.  He glances up at me from the papers and looks at me
confused. Say something Jane, anything, just make some words preferably some
that do not make this situation any worse. 
    “Tables full.”  No I sound like a complete
Neanderthal not even able to string together sentences, let’s try that again.  “Sorry
I mean all the tables are full, do you mind?”  I glance at the available chair
at his table hoping that he does not notice that my whole body is turning
beetroot in embarrassment.  As Lady Macbeth would say ‘screw your courage to
the sticking place’ and you shall not fail Jane.  He smiles a panties dropping
smile at me that just floors me, if I was beetroot before I must now be the
shade of a letterbox.  If he doesn’t let me sit down I am likely to fall over,
my legs are so unsteady.
    “No problem.”  He gestures at the empty chair
and folds away his papers to make room for my tray.
    With my hands shaking my Latte makes a furtive
lurch over the side of the mug sending a fairly sizable puddle to flood my
tray.  Trying to look like I haven’t noticed that I have just spilt a good
quarter of my coffee, I sit down hoping I portray an easy grace.  I know this
is in fact though an epic fail. 
    He leans down to put the papers he was reading
in to a satchel next to his chair.  His legs stretch out next to the table but
he moves in one easy movement crossing his legs so that he is sat more
upright.   Looking at me.  Realising that I have been staring I quickly look
down at my very sorry looking Latte.  I can feel his eyes watching me as I take
a tentative slurp of my coffee.  Keeping my head tilted downwards I quickly
peek up through my eye lashes to check what he is doing.  His head is tilted
slightly to one side; his smile touches the corners of his eyes lighting his
whole face.  He’s watching me intently.
    “Hi, I’m Ryan.”  Oh my god oh my god he’s
talking to me.  Why have I turned into a fourteen-year-old girl?
    “Hello,” I let out a random giggle but quickly
correct myself and stop.  “I’m Jane.”
    “So do you come from round here Jane?”
    “No I’m just here on holiday.  I live in London
actually. You?” I feel like I need to ask this question so that I do not look
like a complete stalker as I know exactly why he is here.
    “No I come from Southampton, I’m just working
here for a bit.”  He glances around quickly at the other people in the café. 
Maybe he is not keen on people knowing who he is.   If I was a player in a
Shakespeare performance I would be shouting it from the tower of this theatre
but he must be shy, I think.  He is painfully good looking though.  Too good
looking for me.  Even sitting down I can tell that he is tall.  Last night he
was wearing a military style black jacket and trousers.  Today he looks yummy
in casual pale denim jeans with a white shirt unbuttoned at the top.  He has
rolled up his sleeves