The Table by the Window

He arrived carrying two umbrellas because he had forgotten he was already holding one. His name was Daniel. He looked nothing like the man June had invented, which was a relief.

They spoke awkwardly for the first ten minutes. A real conversation had pauses that pencil notes did not. Then he admitted he had reread her first complaint four times because he could not think of a clever reply.

June told him about the painting. He asked to see it. He did not ask whether she could sell it, or whether she was good. He asked what she liked about making it.

When the café closed, they left the book on the shelf. In the margin beside the final sentence, they wrote one last note together: There may be something to this beginning.