Lauren remembered.
The corner booth.
The faraway stare.
The untouched second cup of coffee some mornings.
He wasn’t brooding.
He was searching.
“Tonight,” he said, “I nearly left. Then I saw a little girl at the counter. Back to me. Dirty dress. Braids. I didn’t want to believe it because I’d already mistaken three other children this week.”
Lauren’s throat tightened.
“But then she turned,” he said. “And before I could even stand up, you were kneeling in front of her.”
He looked at Lauren like he was seeing that moment again.
“You smiled at her.”
Lauren looked away.
“That’s not important.”
“It is.”
“No. The food was important.”
“The smile was first.”
She didn’t know what to do with that.
So she said nothing.
He continued.
“I watched her hand you that coin. Watched you take it like it mattered. Watched you talk to her like she wasn’t some problem to be cleaned up or shooed along.”
