Caffeinated Routine

The very first morning they strolled into his cafe, he thought nothing of them. Actually, he was a bit annoyed. He was going through his usual routines. Slicing the freshly baked bread, roasting the coffee, wiping down the countertops. It was surprising that such a young couple would be out so early. The cash register still wasn't turned on. Many of his usual customers hadn't even arrived yet. Their presence made him feel rushed. But none the less, he was ready.

Their request wasn't anything out of the ordinary. Two cafe con leches and some croissants.  As he usually would, he completed their order with pride and a splash of showmanship. His movements were exact. There was no room for error - this was his life - his livelihood. He glided between the grinder and the expresso machine effortlessly, knowing exactly how many steps it'd take before he was within reach.

Four.

As he moved, he was extra careful not to spill any of the grounds from the portafilter. Not a grain was to be wasted. When the coffee had finished dripping out of the machine, he brought it over the counter, pouring the freshly steamed milk into the mugs in front of them. Making sure to leave a unique design in the froth. Perfect.

He was satisfied to see the smiles on their faces and the twinkles in their eyes. If they were pleased with his presentation, so was he.

They quickly paid, collected their mugs and croissants, and made their way to a little table in the corner of the cafe, far from the door. There they remained for quite some time, talking amongst themselves, never too loud for him to hear from behind the counter. They minded their own business - barely looking up at the other costumers that came and gone - never taking their eyes off one another. It was clear they were infatuated with one another. Was it just something new? Or was it something true? When they finally left, he was surprised by their politeness. They brought all their dishes to the counter, including their used napkins and empty sugar tubes - leaving the table in the corner absolutely spotless and ready for those who'd use it next.

He was pleased to find them coming through the entrance at the same time the next morning. Pleasant as the day before, asking for the same breakfast. It was nice seeing them return. So he went about his business, as precise as always. But this time, he made sure to leave them new designs in the foam of their cups. It needed to stay fresh. The rest of the visit played out the same. They sat at the same table. Hunched over slightly, leaning in towards one another - never speaking loud enough to disrupt anyone else. And of course, just before they left, their plates were returned and the table was in the same condition as they found it - clean and ready to be used.

And so it continued. Through the third day and into the fourth. Then the fifth and six. Soon it became a week, followed by another. They no longer were just customers. They were his most regular. Although they never spoke, he felt like he had a wonderful relationship with them. There was something refreshing about how simplistic their order was. The fact that it never changed. Its consistency kept him relaxed in the morning. He knew exactly what to expect and yet it never felt old or repetitive. They always arrived on time, at the exact same moment and their cups would be ready, literally poured just as they opened the front door. The steam just beginning to rise as they made it to the counter.

But this morning, the steam had stopped rising. They had never made it to the counter to collect their breakfast. Of course he waited a while. Worried that they might eventually show - he even brewed a second batch and re-poured when the others mugs had lost their heat. But they never walked through the front door. It was strange. He never really spoke to them. Never uttered more than a few simple greetings and phrases - but he knew them. Their presence had become part of his mornings. It wasn't just wanted, but expected. And without him, it didn't feel right. His movements weren't precise. He spilled grounds, burnt some milk. He just couldn't get them out of his head.

He hoped they were alright. Out there somewhere, still together. Happy and content. Maybe they had moved on, found a new place - brought something special to someone else's morning.

Regardless, he'd be ready for their return - with two cups on standby below the counter, waiting to be poured.