I deliberately tried not to stare at him while I ordered my
coffee and bun, but he was stil there by the time they
arrived. Stil there when I'd dumped my mug ful of sugar
and cream. He wore a white, long-sleeved shirt beneath a
black concert T-shirt and worn jeans that suited him
nicely. His hair looked as if he'd run a hand through it a
few times or just roled out of bed. He had a large mug in
front of him, stil steaming, and a plate with the remains of
a bagel slathered with cream cheese and lox. He was
staring out the glass onto the street, empty but for the
occasional weekend-traffic car cruising slowly past. In
front of him sat a pad of legal-size paper, white not yelow,
and in his left hand he held a thick-barreled pen. A worn
leather bag rested at his feet as faithful as a hound.
The lighting inside the Mocha was golden and indirect, but
late-winter bright sunshine shafted through the plate-glass
window and across his face. I wanted to stare and drink in
the fine-featured grace of him. The casual beauty. The
crooked twist of his mouth as he bit down on his lip in
concentration, the furrow of his brow. The way his hand
curled around the pen caressing the paper.
Fortunately for me, he was stil staring out the window,
absently doodling, when two people in matching tracksuits
slammed into me and knocked my coffee and cinnamon
slammed into me and knocked my coffee and cinnamon
bun al over a couple, who looked as if they hadn't yet
gone to bed, sitting at the table in front of me.
The fitness twins were very kind. They bought me new
coffee and pastry and replaced the party-kids' bagels,
soaked through by my spiled drink. They did it al with a
fanfare that smacked a bit of 'look at me, what a good
person I am,' but they did it. I didn't dare look at the man
by the window until al the fuss and feathers had died
down. When I did, finaly, my fresh mug was burning my
palm and my eyes had blurred from the dip in my blood
sugar. I didn't want to shove the entire bun into my mouth,
but a dainty nibble wasn't going to get the goods down my
throat and into my stomach fast enough.
He glanced over at me as I was licking icing off my mouth.
He smiled. I paused, coffee halfway to my mouth, and
smiled back.
I thought for sure he'd say helo, but maybe without the
alure of my fuck-me pumps al he could manage was the
grin. Maybe he didn't recognize me as the woman from the
elevator. Or more likely, he didn't care.
He got up, papers and pen already tucked away in his
He got up, papers and pen already tucked away in his
bag, garbage cleared from the table. He slung his arms into
a plaid flannel shirt I hadn't noticed hanging on the back of
