The coffee was hot. Steaming hot as I poured it into his cup. It warmed my hands through the pristine white china. I set it down on his tray, smelling it and closing my eyes. His lips would touch the crisp edge of this cup. The coffee would pour into his mouth and warm it. He would bite into the scone that I have prepared for him with love, care, and extra everything. I set this one aside from the rest. He has been coming to my little café every Saturday and Sunday since it opened. He sits in the same place, drinks the same coffee, eats the same scones. He is my beautiful constant, and one day, I will build up the courage I need to go over there and talk to him and stop loving him from afar.