Lucy Martin<br/>Location: GPC Split Bean<br/>Tagged: Dylan Murphy<br/><br/>His grip was firm. It was easy to notice as he shook her hand.  Still with a smile, she showed him to her favorite table. It was tucked away in the corner, away from the flow of people, away from the noise, secluded somewhat, and yet still in plain sight. “Sometimes the best things are overlooked,” she said as he pulled out her chair. Once more she shook his hand, offering her name is return. “Lucy. Lucy Martin.” It felt strange to say her name, knowing it was on the nametag. Still she appreciated him treating her though she wasn’t wearing one. It allowed her to feel for a moment like she wasn’t the waitress she was. Of course she didn’t feel there was anything wrong with the profession. It was just that for a moment, she didn’t feel as though she was at work, dependent on her job. For a moment, she felt like she imagined the people who lived her did. Financially secure, able to afford the luxurious condos here.<br/><br/>He talked about himself, and she appreciated that as well. She felt like his equal, though she was sure that wasn’t the case. It never ceased to amaze her how people would spill their lives to her over a cup of coffee. People are strange in that sense. They spend their whole lives being guarded and protective of themselves, and yet a smile and warm cup of coffee can open up so many doors. Lucy drank in every word he said, relishing getting to know him better. An attractive man was talking to her. For her, there was no time for dating or meeting men. So this was a rare treat.<br/><br/>“ A typical city girl,” she laughed. “No. I’m not.” Lucy laced her fingers together in front of her as her hands rested on the table.  “Your family sounds as though they have their priorities in line,” she told him before clearing her throat. “I can appreciate that. My mom raised for the few years of my life alone. My dad….well the man who is biologically my father….was a real piece of work. She taught me people can be strong on their own. Finding someone to share things with, well now that’s just icing on the cake. She found my dad, my real dad, years later. I think real parents raise their kids and then let them make their own choices. Sure they’ll screw up. I mean we all do, but real parents are always there for them. I could pick up the phone and call them, and they would have me back, but no,” she said, looking around the coffee shop. “This is my dream. Not working here,” she quickly added with a laugh. “To be on my own, maybe go to school, maybe find..someone..someday, to have a life,” she shrugged. “Does that sound crazy to you?”