Continued...
I switched my laptop on and glanced up just as he walked through the door. His mousy-brown hair clung to his head, matted. My heart skipped a beat as he brushed past my table, uttering an apology under his breath. His smell wafted past me; polo mints and the musty smell of his damp coat.
I busied myself, sipping my coffee and checking my emails as he settled into his seat and ordered his usual pot of tea. He'd not shaven that morning. I could see the stubble spiking through around his chin.
He'd not shaven in the first profile picture. I remember thinking that he reminded me of someone, but couldn't think who. I know now.
I was lucky to find him on Facebook. All I was given was his name, Gareth Smith. There were thousands of them, but when I saw his picture, I just knew. Luckily, he'd listed his place of work as the gallery across the street and I'd followed him into the cafe a few times. Now, he just thinks I'm another regular customer. Just like him.
I snapped my glance back to the screen quickly as he looked up into my eyes. He must have felt me staring. When I looked back up, he was smiling at me. My cheeks flared red as I banged away at my keyboard, not really typing anything on the blank screen. When I looked up again, he was standing at the edge of my table.
To be continued...
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