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Every morning, they sit at the same table legs cross towards each other. He orders a coffee black I see it steaming from the classic wide white mug she orders a cappuccino most likely a tribute to a trip they might have taken to Italy together. On a plate he has a croissant and she depending on the season a sweet bread loaf. Her hair finally caught up to the grey in his and he’s getting shorter. They face the same way back to the wall and noses in the news paper. They are silent for the most part with intervals of brief updates in their section of the news. The pastries are nibbled not eaten, the way they should be a small bite followed by a few sips of coffee. The foam in her cappuccino on some days is thick and sticks to her lips only to be removed after a bite of her sweet bread followed by a lick of the lips. He tares his croissant and licks his finger tips before returning to his news.

One morning she sat alone. Still cappuccino, still paper news, still a sweet bread, and still the first customer. The next morning alone and the next and the next. For a week a few weeks a month a few months. Never a sadness never lost, only cappuccino, news paper, and sweet bread. It was late fall, her sweet bread was pumpkin. I bought my coffee and poured my cream and veered away from my spot in the corner. I touched the back of the chair and asked if I could sit. She scanned the empty cafe, I felt her strength when she looked me in the eye. She didn’t smile but she looked pleased, and nodded toward the seat. We never talked we just sat. Every morning I enjoy our silence while I write and she reads her paper news. My curiosity nearly ruined our silence but I held on.

One morning I sat alone. Still coffee with cream, still writing, still at their old table, and now the first customer. The next morning alone and the next and the next. For a week a few weeks a month a few months. Never a sadness never lost, only coffee, writing, and a table.

By Alexandra Lovell