Its 10:20 in the morning when I look down from my second story window of our terrace house to people walking past, checking the mood of the weather from the clothes they are wearing. Sun illumines leaves on vines cascading from rooftops, framing windows with lime green translucence. I notice jackets instead of coats and flats instead of boots.
Good, it’s warm out. I won’t have to wear my coat.
When I open the door and walk into the street, the clack-clack of my shoes echo on the concrete, breaking up an uncanny stillness in London. Sky is a clean sheet of brilliant cornflower hanging from the heavenlies.
On the corner of the next block a vintage tea room greets me with café tables and chairs lining the sidewalk. Each cushioned seat holds a blanket neatly folded, fringe hanging over the edges. For patrons who long to enjoy the fresh atmosphere of spring sans the chill that lingers from winter.
“I’m meeting someone here,” I inquire the young woman inside, standing behind the counter.
With a twinkle in her eye and a smile spreading out perfectly lined red lips, she says in a lovely British accent, “She’s just beaten you here by a few seconds, she’s downstairs in the loo.”
“We’ve never met in person,” I tell her, “I don’t know what she looks like. Well, actually she knows what I look like because my photo is on my website.”
She tilts her head and eyes dim as they slant. And then I realize how abnormal this sounds, meeting someone at a tea shop whom I’ve never encountered beyond an email exchange or comment box.
But this has become my new normal since moving to London — join me at Grace Table today for the rest of the story. Click here for a sneak peek to what happened. Psst, if you’re on Instagram, lets follow each other.