Zooey Musgrave sat at the window of the small shop sipping chamomile tea and occasionally turning a page of his book. His black hair was combed and neatly parted down the middle, his glasses polished to perfection.
Just as he began to sigh, Lola Darskins walked in. “Zooey, dearest, please forgive me. I quite forgot the name of this café.” Lola removed a tube of red lipstick from her small black purse. Reapplying it, she glanced at the menu. “Anything good, dearest?” Lola plopped into the seat next to him. “I’m dog tired, dearest, dog tired!” she cried happily.
Zooey quietly reached over and wiped the lipstick from her cheek with his napkin. “Pardon me, sir,” Zooey called, his Turkish accent barely noticeable. “We are ready to order.” The waiter returned promptly, a pad and pencil in hand.
“I’ll have eggs benedict, and a large mug of coffee.” Lola offered with a smile.
“Please, I would like another cup of tea. If I may.” Zooey whispered.
“Zooey, your name suits you. You simply must be grave always.”