Coffee Break

Some days, he grabs a skinny cappuccino from the onsite café at about a quarter to twelve. Its good timing, when the morning starts talking to the afternoon about swapping shifts. He’s just the right amount of sex; tall, dark, handsome, and alone. It doesn’t mean he’s not attached. It just makes me more unattached.

I take a deep breath and say, ‘Hi’, loud enough for him to hear this time.

He looks surprised to hear me speak, before his eyes flicker with recognition. He says, ‘Hey, you wrote that intranet piece about our project’, and I nod and smile wildly, having lost control of my body.

It pops out: ‘I’ll get this,’ I say, but don’t really mean it.

He says, ‘Don’t worry,’ and means it, a flash of confusion passing through those thick eyebrows.

I pay for our coffees with milk change. Slowly, we walk to the counter to dress them with sugar or sweetener and silence.

He stirs deliberately, his thoughts a slow, hypnotic circle. He smiles. ‘Thanks.’

I say, ‘No worries,’ and wish I could be anywhere but here, even though I wanted to see that smile only seconds ago.

He says, ‘The next one’s on me.’ I can't help but think when the next one will be.

I try not to make it any more than a polite but empty gesture as I reach my desk. I reread emails and try not to think about how lonely and glad I am about the possibilities.