Friday Coffee ☕️

The line at the coffee shop hadn’t moved in four minutes, which was long enough to notice the man in front of me was reading a battered copy of Middlemarch — the sign of someone who commits to things, I thought. 

“Slow going?” I asked, nodding at the book.

“Third time through,” he said. “I already know how it ends. I just like taking my time getting there.”

“That’s a lot of patience for one book.”

“Patience is kind of my whole personality,” he said. “I once alphabetized my spice rack. For fun. On a Tuesday.”

“Sounds like a very Tuesday thing to do.”

We laughed. 

The line inched forward. He asked what I was reading. I admitted I was between books — “in a bit of a dry spell,” I said, and immediately regretted the phrase. He didn’t laugh, exactly. Just filed it away, the way you’d dog-ear a page.

“You should try something with a strong opening,” he finally said. “I’m very particular. I like to know within the first page whether it’s worth my time.”

“That’s a lot of pressure to put on an opening line.”

“I’ve never had any complaints.”

Cheeky, I thought. 

By now we were close enough to the register that I could hear the barista rattling off syrups — vanilla, caramel, something seasonal and delicious — and he still hadn’t looked at the menu. Not once.

“You haven’t even glanced at the board,” I said.

“I already know what I want.”

Feeling a bit sassy: 

“I like a man who knows what he wants,” I said. “Preferably from the menu. And preferably quickly — the line’s getting long.”

He smiled, turned to the barista. Ordered a plain black coffee, no adjustments, no apologies.

“Uh, that’s a bit boring,” I joked.

“Efficient,” he said. “I save the interesting decisions for later.”

He held the door for me on the way out. Didn’t ask for my number. Just said, “See you Friday” — like he already knew I’d be back same time, same place, same everything.

I hadn’t told him I came here on Fridays.