Every Saturday

He scanned the coffee shop he’d worked at for 2 years now, taking in the piano in one corner, the loveseat in another, the quaintly covered tables, and the small bookshelf until he found the small two-person table near the back. He glanced at the aged clock for what must have been the twentieth time: One o’clock… She would be here soon. She’d been coming in every Saturday for as long as he’d worked there, and each week he looked forward to it more than the last.
He whisked through the round, wooden tables that were scattered around the cozy little shop like he had been doing it for years – which, of course, he had – placing orders in front of the waiting customers. They were the usual types: The frenzied and stressed student, begging for something, anything caffeinated as they pored over their books; the starving artist, immersed in some piece of work or quietly listening to the pianist playing softly in the corner, slowly sipping a cappuccino; and the young couple, their drinks left untouched while they held hands and whispered sweetly to one another.
As he handed their order to one couple, nestled on the couch in the dimly lit corner, he wondered where she was. He was becoming impatient… He only got to see her once a week. But when he scanned the front of the shop, with its curtained windows revealing the cloudy winter sky, the antiquated door was pushed open, bringing in the wind from outside and a beautiful girl with long brown hair. He smiled… It was her.
He went behind the counter, grabbed her usual – just plain coffee, with a lot of sugar – and placed it on the table as she sat down. She looked up from the bag she’d pulled this week’s book out of and flashed him that smile that made his heart skip a beat every time he saw it, and they chatted sociably about the weather. Too soon though, he walked away, leaving her to her book, and, as always, he watched her from across the shop until she left, smiling at him once more before she did.