The shop was one that he had frequented off and on for a while. One didn’t live in technically Tibet for terribly long without developing a taste for tea. Coffee had slowly begun to grow on him, but more for the acrid smell of it as it brewed than the bitter way it lay on his tongue. If he wanted bitter, the sharp pepper bite of Lapsang Souchong would suffice. If he wanted something else, well, the Chinese White Peony was like drinking liquid sunshine.
He mixed his own tea more often than not. Loose leaf, he would scoop the contents into small tins to line upon the kitchen counter. Lemongrass grew in the window above his sink, cut and dried for a morning treat. The smells delighted him, clung to him even now as he ducked out of the rain into the shop to make another small purchase.
He wasn’t particularly tall, and his blond hair grew shaggy. His beard only furthered his strange appearance, as did the loose hoodie he wore and his tattered jeans. His sneakers, needless to say, had seen better days. Yet why would someone like him bother much about appearance? His green eyes lit up as he spotted the stranger behind the counter, and he raised one hand in a small wave. He then strode deeper into the shop, and drew in a deep breath.
His smile was easy, a sense of wonder in his eyes as he looked over the various tins and glasses, the small silver scoops and the french presses.
“Did you get Mr. Kwan to broaden the selections?” He asked as he looked at her sideways. “I’d been hoping he would. This is amazing!”
She was so deep into reading she didn’t hear him come in so when there was a voice she jumped a bit. Weird, she could usually hear anyone and everyone, it was hard to sneak up on her.
Her first thought was someone just needed to get out of the rain but then she processed what he said. Was he a regular? She’d been here two months and never seen him before.
“Uh yes. I brought some strains of tea plants to study for my work and...well he wanted to use them. Also, a mother from my grandma. So Mr. Kwan is letting me play with fermenting.” Her cajun drawl was thick and a bit slow. Being in New York made her very self conscious about it. But she hopped down from her stool and came out onto the store floor. She was small and thin and stood usually a head or more under most people. She stood two heads under this customer. “There’s lots of chicory blends now, too. Was there something that you wanted in particular?”
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