The Hermit steps back in time...

Good morning Wednesday. I never realised how hypnotic a smile was until now.

It can reach out, catch and make a single, magic moment in time last…and last.

It can tell the rest of the world to go to Hell while more important things are happening in the space between two sets of eyes.

There are new Lovers in the coffee shop. New hands attracted to each other like magnets.

No need for nervous laughter.

These lovers are straight down to business. They are Antony and Cleopatra. Lancelot and Guinevere. Bogart and Bacall. He knows how to whistle. She knows how to have and have not.

That’s all they need to know for now. Everything else is unnecessary.

To their right, The Hermit shuffles through the doorway, gold on his fingers.

He sees The Lovers and steps back in time.

Back to when his trousers were pressed, his wife was alive and his future was bright. Back to when the love in his heart wasn't a faded memory of a feeling he used to know well. Back to when his home was bright and happy and not the solitary confinement it is now.

He doesn’t come here to remember what it’s like to live amongst people.

He doesn’t come here to take a break from his loneliness.

He comes here to take a break from his abstinence. He indulges in caffeine. That’s all. And only here. Nowhere else.

I asked Little Italy one month ago to the day. Is he homeless? She gave me the full skinny.

He’s extremely comfortably off, she said. He’s not filthy stinking rich, but he’s not far off, she said. He just doesn’t like people, she said. But he likes coffee. It’s the only love affair he has left.

I see The Hermit talking to Little Italy. I see her smile. Take down a special box from above the stainless steel machine.

The box containing her extra EXTRA strong blend. The blend that puts hairs on chests. Makes eyeballs bulge. Gives blood a damned good reason to rush even faster through the veins.

She makes up a cupful and follows him to the most faraway table on the floor. The one with the ‘do not disturb’ sign on a card sitting on the dark wood.

She waits until he’s comfortably sat down, then she places the cup in front of him. Pats his left hand gently. Twice. Leaves.

The Hermit unwraps an old expensive-looking scarf from his neck, runs his fingers through his white hair, takes a deep breath, and begins the ritual.

Closes his eyes.

Thinks of his wife.

Sees her face.

Sees her smile.

Watches as the smile reaches her eyes.

Waits a heartbeat. Then another.

Then freeze-frames. Slowly breathes out. Opens his eyes.

Reaches for the coffee.

Takes a sip.

**********************************************

The above is an extract from my book Love & Coffee (available from all good Amazons).

It's about the lives and loves of the customers in a city centre coffee shop. And it's about the woman who takes care of them.

You'll find Love & Coffee (along with all my other books, Ad Lib, Ad Hoc, Ad Infinitum, and Heaven Help Us) waiting for you to fall in love with, on Amazon. Any time of the day or night. Right here...

Love & Coffee: https://amzn.to/28IWaHq

Ad Lib: https://amzn.to/2kd4LKf.

Ad Hoc: https://amzn.to/2Nx8GL8

Ad Infinitum: https://amzn.to/3pof7Uq

Heaven Help Us: https://amzn.to/2nkQ1Jk

Grab a coffee, grab a chair, and grab a sneaky peek.

Then grab a copy...