He sat at his usual chair at the
counter and slipped his hands around the hot mug of
strong, black coffee she had waiting. His hands
looked strong and capable, his nails neatly trimmed.
He was a civil engineer and always kept a slide rule
handy in his shirt pocket. She knew he looked
forward to his weekends because he loved the
outdoors. He often told her that coming here after
his first day back at work helped him miss the
weekends a little less and gave him something to
look forward to.She knew he referred to her
cooking, and maybe a bit to her company. But she
sure wished he felt more than friendship for her.
She slipped a fork and napkin next to his cup,
knowing he'd open the napkin immediately and lay it
in his lap. Millie took comfort in their routine and
though she dreamed of seeing him outside the diner,
she wasn't willing to take the chance of losing what
little they shared. Instead, she risked nothing. And
gained nothing. She settled for weekly coffee, pie
and a bit of conversation.
"Are you voting tomorrow?" She asked, watching as
he put a huge bite into his mouth and chewed.
Paul swallowed and nodded. "Of course. Truman
deserves another term, by my way of thinking. A lot
of folks think Dewey's going to give him some
trouble, so I figure every vote counts." He put
another bite in his mouth and his eyelids dropped
shut in ecstasy. "Nobody can make a pie like you do,
Millie. I'm going to miss it."
"Miss it? Why should you have to miss it?" She
cocked her head to one side, confused. "I'm not
leaving."
"That's true." His brown-eyed gaze lifted to
hers, somber and steady. "But I am."
