He sees her car pull in and feels a quickening in his body. He has been through this routine countless times and has been through it even more often on his days off. She finally finds a spot in the back of the parking lot, away from the caffeinated comings and goings. She thinks no one notices that she changes in the parking lot, but he knows. He imagines from behind his counter her pulling off the thin work cloths and uncomfortable shoes and slip into old jeans and older shoes. He can see the tight squeeze and the lifting of the pelvis in the drivers seat as she pulled up the jeans that laid dormant during the long work day. Finally equipped for comfort she enters his realm. He watched from the side as she entered the loud and bright coffee shop. The other patrons lift their anxious heads to see what is disturbing their psuedo-intellectual conversations and lap-top conferences. She seemed to smile at the room, at no one in particular. Approaching the counter she doesn't notice the menu but does notice the glass case that she will never order from, but is daily tempted by. He doesn't even pretend to not know her order; large coffee, extra shot, add some ice to quicken delivery. She smiles at the familiarity; as if no one knows her as well as he. Her smile is so genuine he actually starts to think that that is true. But someone must be waiting for her to come home, counting, sighing for her presense. Every day, she might not notice, but he comes a little closer, smiles a little bigger, tries a little harder to coincide his releasing of the cup with her attaching. Across the counter, across that small moment, he can connect with her. For that split second they are not alone. She retraces her steps and he watches every one. as he does he imagines his tomorrow; he will wear his newest workshirt and those black corduroys that he got from the thrift store during high school. Show her that he doesn't address the need to pay hundreds of dollars on what Macy's thinks is appropriate. He will wear the black bandana over his shoulder length hair and the Chuck's that had seen better days. He would have energy, that carbonated idea that he could do anything. Everyone would see his smile and want more of it; especially her. She would walk in right on schedule in nice tight jeans and an old, tight blue v-neck. He can picture her putting them on in her car and he feels warmer suddenly. She would feed off his energy and smile and flirt and the moment, the right one that always is readily available in romanitic comedies but flailing and rare in real life shows its face, right down the center. He grabs it and says, "We have to stop meeting like this."She smiles and he feels a foot taller. "Where do you suggest we meet then?" He knew she was perfect.
The real tomorrow arrives and he sits perched at his coffee throne and waits for 5 o'clock. 5:15, 5:47, 6:13. He takes off his bandana and curses the thing that changed her mind.