Sunday Scribblings, "Soul mate"

The prompt over at Sunday Scribblings is “soul mate.”

Made for Each Other
He meandered through life as a shadow, a wispy on at that. To pass him by wouldn’t even raise the specter of a chill upon your flesh, or cause a single memory to be formed.
If vanilla is as plain as you can go in the realm of ice cream tastes, she was store-brand. Not even as interesting as French or churn-style or even vanilla bean. Plain. In a cup.
He liked to think he worked in finance, but a cubicle with a dried up plant and a motivational poster – “Hang in there Kitty, Friday’s Coming!!” - in a call center answering questions about car warranties wasn’t Wall Street. It wasn’t any street that didn’t end in a yellow dead end sign.
She liked to imagine her work skills as necessary to the fabric of society itself; in reality, she was a barista (and not a very good one at that) at a strip-mall-centered, corporately-owned coffee shop.
He breezed in to get a small coffee, black.
She was working the counter for once, this being a slack time for the more adventurous customers.
Coffee ordered, he handed her a $5 and she handed back his change. As she did so, the handful of silver fell and skittered across the marble counter. They both bent to retrieve it.
Their skulls collided. The sound was that of hollow coconuts, or a thumped melon.
Their heads snapped back, and they looked at each other with hands on foreheads and through a sting of tears.
The skin of their cheeks went rosy, simultaneously.
“You know, why don’t you toss a shot of vanilla into that order,” he said.
She shivered, gooseflesh raised on her arms, and smiled.