Ghost of a Chance.

"Chocolate cake and coffee....."

"Hey, hold on, that's my coffee!" Clara was usually a quiet, timid sort of young lady. But this guy had suddenly and grumpily swiped her routine morning latte with caramel moccha topping, and was heading from the coffee shop.

"Wait, you've got the wrong coffee. Look, it's got my initials on it, C.M." She impulsively tried to grab his arm, hoping he wouldn't spill her precious morning caffeine fix.

The moody stranger turned, and checked the coffee cup he was holding. He asked, "Does it matter? What's your name?

"Clara Morris. You are...."

"My mistake. I'm Marlow Clark, must have had a brain fade. Let's swap."

"Too easy," Clara replied, "have a great day." Then she blushed, her annoying habit. She sounded like a supermarket chick used to. That was before self-service checkouts. But it was merely a chance human contact with a winning smile and a devastating male.

Marlow took a sip from his coffee container as he left the coffee shop, into the unseasonal rainy morning half light. Clara wandered back to her car, to head along to her job as activities planner and organiser for a local nursing home. She could not help herself, she was already aiming to be at the coffee shop at the same time tomorrow. And more tomorrows, maybe she could sit down with the mysterious Marlow one day and get to know him. In all that leafy, rainy suburb near the hills, she had never seen him before.

Her life proceeded along, she spent her days surrounded by the sunset years of senior citizens. The rain bands continued to arrive. One of Clara's tasks was to obtain puzzles and large print books from the lending library nearby. So she took a designated extra hour one morning per week. The drenching rain was dampening her high hopes to catch up with Marlow. Perhaps he had been just visiting her neighbourhood.

At the After Hours return chute at the library, a sudden gust of wind nearly inverted her umbrella. It was blowing away, and she was getting saturated.

"Behave yourself," Clara said, as her umbrella got tangled up with another one.

"Who are you talking to?" she heard, "Oh, it's you. Clara, isn't it?"

She gulped, and tried to flick her sodden hair from her face, plastered across her mouth.

The two semi strangers sorted their rain phobias, and found their way back to the coffee shop. Clara's umbrella was broken by now, so Marlow awkwardly offered to share his. By this hour of the day, the normally occupied tables were empty, and the pair sat down to drink their coffee fix.

As Clara's beverage arrived, Marlow commented, "That does look like artisan coffee. What's wrong with plain?"

Clara laughed this off. Internally, her heart rate was puttering along at an alarming rate. She tried the technique of asking Marlow the usual greet and meet questions. Silently. she was trying not to fall in love. Yes, head over heels in love. As his lips moved so charmingly, she listened quietly. She had always had a kind, peaceful nature. People often told her the strangest details about their private lives, then felt better for sharing.

Soon, Marlow was have a solemn little vent to Clara, as they both ordered a second coffee amd cake, heedless of work obligations for once. Clara had to sit there, nod every now and again, and offer some pleasant words. Two hours later, she had been fantasising about having more than a steamy interlude, imagining running her hot, soothing hands over Marlow's back, then taking off his shirt and other layers.

She was still blushing as she returned to the library, to borrow more romance for her older lady seniors. "Ah, love's true dreams...." she told herself. The rest of her days flowed past with happy vibes. After all, she was meeting Marlow in two days time, at the coffee shop again. Was this all a sign of a chance romance, like in the novels, or even her own personal movie reel?

Dramatically, Clara cast herself as the leading lady in a suburban chance meeting, with potential for plot developments. Reading all that chick lit with happy endings may have addled her brains. She did meet Marlow at the designated time on the right day. He sat there waiting for her, ready for their morning caffeine. Today, he seemed slightly abstract, bit morose. Clara longed to escalate this occasion, yearning to soothe his manly woes with some hot and steamy sharing of their salivary lips.

So, as Marlow was picking up his eternal umbrella. Clara stuttered, "Do you want to see a movie on Saturday night? We could meet at the Rainsville Cinema. Something funny and light. My treat for once?"

It was Marlow's turn to flush, almost shy, as he said, "I know I should have listened. This coffee date was a mistake. Don't take this the wrong way, but I live in the Monastery on the hill. I'm here to broaden my perspectives. I mentor recovering addicts. I am a monk and a counsellor. I usually live in a remote seminary on a beef farm, making communions." Then he sat down with a thud, hoping Clara was not too disappointed.

Clara's face was bright scarlet. "Does this mean I have to go to confession?" she asked, "I do say the strangest things."

Her concept of love had made her think the most inappropriate, slightly delusional. fantasies. "That was not the way I was brought up. I respect your vocation. Good for you."

Marlow had let her down lightly. He and Clara parted, never to do more than wave across the library shelves or coffee shop. He was only there for a little while, following his dedication to the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Clara took her time, learning to unlove Marlow. She had never had a ghost of chance of kissing him on his attractive mouth.

But then the rain clouds vanished, and sunshine suddenly beamed on Rainsville and its residents. Clara womanned up one morning, as yet another tall handsome stranger went to take his takeaway coffee. Clara held it in her hand. "Hey, you've got the wrong coffee. That one's got my initials, C.M. What's your name?"

Another chance meeting. Clara was praying hard to all that was holy upstairs, maybe this guy was her one. She might have more than a ghost of a chance.