Cappuccinos of Fate

There’s a small café on Gregor Street that has faithfully crafted the world’s best crepes since the elm trees that now canopy it were saplings. Victor, ever the pragmatist, never noticed the place until he fell in love.

Calculated men tend to notice a lot of new things when their hearts find something to beat for. For Victor, it was the shimmer of sunrise clouds, the dandelions sprouting between cracks in the sidewalk, and the Gregor Street café.

The mingled aromas of fresh pastries and fresher coffee did their best to distract Victor as he entered, but nothing would interrupt his stride. First row, second table from the left, gazing out the south window, Beth. On a dish before her sat an untouched almond croissant. Delicately she propped her chin with an open hand and shifted her weight, sighing at the couple on the tandem bicycle across the street. She did this twice a week.

Victor took his usual seat across the room and hid behind a newspaper. Most lovers know they are in love, but two had yet to meet.

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