Dr. Zhivago

The Russian manager of the Starbucks near Gallery Place/Chinatown is seriously sexy. He is one of the two men to ever simply smile at me and make my bones go liquid as a direct result. It's understated, other world sexy. It's obvious he's been in the States for some time, but his accent shrouds all his words in a weird softness. His blue eyes are open and warm.

When my work schedule is not interrupted to cover jobs for other coworkers, I can usually bank on seeing him once a week when I go in for the requisite morning joe (or mocha or latte). I never think of him unless he is right in front of me. And in those moments of his right-in-front-of-me-ness, I think to myself 'right.'

This morning while waiting for my toffee nut beverage and my raspberry croissant (mmmm), I noticed a little placard with a picture of him beside the register. It was a professional photo of him with a seriously sexy look on his face, in his green work apron (wearing a grey turtleneck sweater--one of the best things a man can wear, in my opinion), and holding a cuppa. It was an advertisement for his "coffee seminars" held every third Wednesday of the month.

In a lovely twist of fate (and my schedule) I now go downtown on Wednesdays and Fridays. Oh, I am sooo there....