A Love Story
It wasn't the first time they met at the coffee shop across the street from the office. He was the over-worked researcher, lost in a data table analysis and in desperate need of a cup of tea. She was the girl behind the register.
He only knew her name from the neat scrawl on her name tag. She greeted him as 'sir'.
"Earl Grey tea?" she asked with certainty. "Is that all I can get for you?"
"There is one thing," he said, searching his pocket. He pulled out cash and a pen. Flipping over the only source of paper he had, he scribbled down ten digits and his name. He tore the chart, resigned to the fact that he would have to run the tests again anyway. "Take this."
She took the ten and the paper, eyes slipping over the numbers, processing them.
He didn't wait. Grabbing his hot tea from the counter, he headed for the door.
"This is—"
"My number," he called over his shoulder. "Call me if you're free tonight."
"But wait" — she scrambled to pick up the small silver coins — "your change!"
"Keep it."
XXX
Gene pulled a chair up beside Noll's desk, leaning across it to peer at his brother's face. So it wasn't a mistake. "You look happy."
Noll didn't look up from his computer. "I don't know what you're referring to."
"That thing your face is doing, it's called smiling."
"It's called expressing," Noll sighed, "and right now I am expressing the desire to be left alone. I have calculations to do."
Gene read the header off the file hovering at the edge of the desk, obviously abandoned. "Is this the Hoffman case? Didn't we finish those tests this morning?"
"We did."
"…and?"
Noll leaned back in his chair, knowing Gene was too nosy for his own good and wouldn't leave until given a proper explanation. "And the results reported some statistical interference. The numbers are useless. I have to run them again."
Gene chewed his finger nail. Something wasn't right. He searched Noll's expression for more information but there was no trace of the tiny smile any longer. "Interference my ass." He mumbled, but left the office, his brother, and the unnoticed torn paper in the bin, alone.
That evening Noll was the last to leave the office, as he was most evenings. Though, unlike most days, work was the furthest thing from his mind. Fidgeting with the corner of his new print outs, he gazed out the window that happened to face the street and that little coffee shop. As he watched, the lights turned out one by one. A small figure, now lit only by street lamps, left through the front door, but stood there, hesitating. Was he mistaken or was she looking up at him as he was looking down on her?
A moment passed — or maybe many — and then his phone rang.