“I think I just met the happiest person in the world!”

I said it again with as much gusto as I could muster. The face staring back at me looked less convinced than ever. My therapist said if it was the first thing I heard every morning after looking in the mirror that one of these days I’d believe it. I think I need a new therapist.

Shower, shave, coffee, breakfast. Won’t be doing any of that. Bottling in my body odor with this oversized sweater sounds a lot easier. Glass of water, that should do. Forgot to charge my phone, thirteen percent.

Piles of bloody flesh on the floor, no, just the canvas I tore up in anguish last night. Created over four months, destroyed in four seconds. My soul churns.

Out the door, down the block, stomach grumbling, head starting to thud. Need caffeine. Wallet barren. Charlie O must be working.

I peek in the window of the cafe, there he is sweaty as ever, I hop inside.

“Charlie O’Malley!”

“Ah, starving artist! Let me guess, free coffee?”

“Well, if you’re offering.” I land on a stool at the counter.

He smirks and hands me a cup. Friends with benefits. A fancy old man walks in.

“Double shot?” Charlie knows his order, must be a regular.

“Merci.” They exchange a knowing glance.

I sip my coffee, my brain jolts. “Nice mustache.” I compliment the gentlemen.

“Merci, aussi.” He twirls his facial hair. “And who might you be?”

“The happiest person in the world.” I sip.

The old man opens up a barrel full of french laughter, sounds like a goose fight. He reaches inside of his overcoat and produces a monogrammed handkerchief that he uses to dot the corners of his eyes.

“Oui mon ami, this must be true!” He sits on the stool beside me and places his handkerchief back in his coat. Charlie places a tiny steaming mug on the counter in front of him.

“And who might you be?” I raise my eyebrows and sip, pinky out this time.

“Well, when you get to my age, you will have been many different people. But you may call me Jacques.”

“Pleased to meet you Jacques.”

Charlie sweats behind the counter as he purges the steam wands on his espresso machine.

“The pleasure is indeed mine. But you must share your secret, what makes you the happiest person in the world?” He raises the tiny mug to his lips.

I think back to last night, the fleeting moment of frustration. Months of work squandered in an instant of uncontrolled emotion. I let out a deep breath.

“Belief.” I say to the old man before finishing my coffee. He seems to contemplate this for a moment, nods to himself then downs all of his espresso.

“A powerful tool indeed.” The old man smiles as he rises from his stool. “Charles, my thanks for another world class cup. I must be off, affairs to attend to.”

Jacques reaches into his coat again and this time pulls out a small business card. He places it face down on the counter next to me.

“Au revoir.” The old man slides the card in front of me and tips his hat. In a moment he is out the door and Charlie is looking at me with that smirk again.

“Another cup?” He’s already pouring me more coffee before I can answer.

I turn the card over on the counter. Simple but elegant lettering.

‘Believe - Art Gallery’

Before I can stop it a smile is spreading across my face. I look up at Charlie who is topping off my cup, he’s fighting back his own grin.

“One day I’ll pay you for these coffees Charlie.” He smiles at me but says nothing. “Don’t you believe me?”

“Let’s just say on that day, consider me the happiest person in the world.”