Rosehip Tea

I poured the tea into our mugs, watching every drop fill the mug up. I felt the sun’s rays glaring down on me, burning my clothes and skin. I could faintly make out my friend sitting across from me, staring at me. He was always onto me about the “proper etiquette” of pouring tea into cups. 

“You know, I still would have lended you my china tea set for this outing,”  Todd Beaumont said, turning his nose up, as if something disgusting was under it. He dusted off his collared shirt for the millionth time, even though he didn’t need to. But I knew what he was trying to secretly convey. He hated the venue that I chose. The prick. He loved saying remarks that cut through your heart, right where it really hurt. His parents took care of every fee and dollar Todd had to spend, and he spent most of his days at one of his many lake houses, lounging on the lakefront. If I could have been truly honest with the guy, I’d punched him in the face long before he knew what was coming. But he’s rich and could probably sue me and the clothes off my back, even for a petty reason such as assault. Either way, I think the punch would improve his facial features. They’re not the best thing to look at, before and after anyone’s had their coffee. 

“No need, Todd.” I set a couple of pastries I got from the bakery down the street on the tea plates. I desperately hoped that rosehip tea was to Todd's taste. A stray leaf fell onto my plate, as I absentmindedly brushed it off. God only knows if I’d be able to survive this tea party. 

* * * *

The bakery down the street was owned by a European fellow named Andre, who would constantly bake everyday, until a friend asked him: “Why don’t you sell your baked goods?” 

And so Andre did. Later, he hired a few assistants to help him bake more, due to the popular demand at this store. It was called “Andre’s Bakery”, and Andre rented out an entire building, in which he’d live on the second floor, and the rest of the establishment would be at the bottom. The store was small and had few seating areas, besides a small patio on the side, which would be full of people drinking coffee, chatting, or eating a pastry. Tea time was a particular favorite of the customers, where Andre would serve fresh tea with every purchase. This happened only Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday afternoons, and people would come to relax, read, or have a date.

* * * * *

Anne’s highlight of her day(s) would probably be the tea time at Andre’s Bakery. There, she wouldn’t be bothered by anyone, because they knew how to mind their own business, unlike some of the people she went to school with. She wondered what tea Andre would serve today. Tuesday, it was a mixture of elderberries and pomegranate, which was a bit sour for Anne’s taste, but with a few cubes of sugar, was a lot better. She turned onto Mulberry Lane, crossing the street to Andre’s, which, mercifully, had only a few people inside. She opened the door, the bell tinkling as she walked in. Andre himself popped up from behind, smiling widely.

“Good day Anne! Your regular?” He asked, dusting off some flour on his apron. Anne nodded, opening her wallet to pay for the croissant she’d always get during tea time. She handed the money over, smiling. 

“What’s the tea for today, Andre?” Anne asked. 

“Ah yes, in honor of Valentine’s Day–” Andre started. Anne smiled turned upside down. It really was Valentine’s Day, huh? “I decided on a romantic rosehip tea! I hope it’s to your taste!”

Anne didn’t have the heart to say that she hated Valentine’s Day. “Sure Andre… thank you!” She thankfully grabbed the to-go cup and pastry, before moving outside to sit at one of the tables. She set down her food and her backpack, before grabbing her latest book. Flipping it to the page she left off on, she started reading. 

Only to be interrupted by a boy from school, Thomas Winslow, who slid in the seat in front of her. She stared at the boy. He only smiled awkwardly, his green eyes darting everywhere but her face. 

“Ahem.” 

* * * * * *

What was Tommy thinking? He frustratedly wiped some hair from his view, as Anne Beaumont looked at him, thoroughly seeming like she was about to dump her cup of tea on his hair. And after he washed it today. 

He blew on his own rosehip tea, thinking about Andre’s words. He could not blow this chance. He had specifically made sure to deflect all attempts at getting stuck talking with someone, so he’d be able to see Anne. God, she was so pretty. Pretty brown hair cascading down her shoulders, and sharp blue eyes that drew Tommy in. 

Slight problem, Anne did not really like him that much. Tommy watched as those stunning blue eyes made a smooth arc around, and tried to fight off a lovesick smile. Really, he was losing his touch. 

“Watcha reading?” Tommy asked, trying to keep a conversation, as he sipped his tea. 

“Nothing much.” Anne regarded me coolly, flipping another page of her book. 

“Well, uh, the tea is pretty good today, right?” Tommy said, taking another sip. Truthfully, he hated the taste of roses, so he fought back a grimace. 

“It’s awful.” 

“What? I thought you liked tea.” Tommy’s eyes widened. Well, there goes his one topic of interest. What was he supposed to do now?

“Rose teas just never agreed with me.” Anne shrugged. “Too floral of a taste.”

Right… Anne was filthy rich, and probably knew everything about teas. Tommy forgot about that small fact. “Ah.” 

“You don’t need to pretend you like the tea, you know?” Anne closed her book, showing Tommy her full attention. 

“Right, uh. Yeah. I just don’t really like the rose stuff.” Tommy shrugged. 

“Really?” Anne had the hints of a smile on her face. “Never pegged you for that type.”

“What type?” 

“The anti-romantic type.”

“I can be romantic, you know.” Tommy argued. 

“Really?” Anne raised her eyebrows, a hint of a challenge on her face. She took another sip of her tea. “Show me.”