He walked through the door and stopped as though he had never been to a Starbucks before. After a long look around he pulled out a chair and sat down. I realized that he was probably expecting to meet someone here. I wouldn't have thought any more about it but he was in my direct line of vision every time I looked up. I look up a lot when writing. It is my way of clearing my mind and organizing my thoughts.

So I would see him without really seeing him if you know what I mean. Until he started fidgeting with his phone. When I focused on him, I realized that he had no coffee or pastry. That is what stood out to me. Not that he was picking his phone up and putting it back down, but that he was sitting at a table for four with no food or beverage. I realized he had been sitting there, by himself, for a while. "He has been stood-up'" I thought. His actions seemed to suggest that. He was drawn to his phone, like he was hoping it would ring, but made no effort to initiate contact. "Just call her'" I urged him in thought.

I openly studied him. He was a good looking boy, dressed in black. Not as a statement, but more like the uniform of a waiter. He wore black chinos and a long-sleeved shirt with the sleeves carefully folded to expose his forearms. His hair was combed. His face unremarkable except for a slight frown. That I was watching him did not seem to bother him. He may not have even noticed.

I don't know how long he had been sitting there. I tend to lose track of things when I am writing. But I have been here almost an hour and he came in when my latte was still hot so it has probably been at least forty minutes. No one had approached him in all that time.

Then, abruptly, he got up and left. Just like that. I sat a while longer. I wanted to see what happened next. I wanted a new chapter to the story that had started right before my eyes. I expected, nay, I needed, someone to come through the door looking for him. A young woman, perhaps, flustered at being late, a smile on her lips as she readied her excuses. I wondered if I would say something, and if so, what? "You're too late. He was here and now has gone." Better to stay silent and observe.

There was nothing to observe. No one came. I waited for another twenty minutes. Yes, there were customers through the door but none were looking for a lone boy. I thought back to those moments just before he left. His face had remained mostly impassive with only the slight frown. There was no shake of the head. No set of his jaw as he reached a decision. There may have been just a slight hint of sadness in his eyes as he left. Or I might have imagined it.

I realized if there were going to be an end to this story, I had to provide it. I picked up my pen.

                                                                  **To Be Continued**