text: Leonard hooked his cane over the back of his usual chair. Taking a moment before he sat to enjoy the afternoon sun. Setting the cup of coffee down onto the little table he slowly took his seat. His knees protested as he bent them; his rear didn't much care for the hard seats they had at this little cafe. Still he came every Friday. He pulled back the sleeve of his suit and checked his watch. It was 3:55 pm. It would be about 10 more minutes. He fiddled with the cup as he set to waiting. There was a slight breeze at his back, as normal. The outdoor seating area was empty save for him. There would be one more guest along fairly shortly though. He knew he shouldn't be doing this anymore. He was too old to be wandering around after people, but he couldn't really help it. People passed by on the streets. In all there various shapes and forms. He was never much of a people person. His wife always joked how he would be alone if she hadn't adopted him. He had always argued, but he knew she was right. It had never bothered him being alone; until he had met her. Now being by himself was agony. His eyes turned towards the door, no one yet. He had been coming to this cafe for over two months. He had been walking by, part of the passing crowd, enjoying his memories of what this place use to be. A young blonde woman, mid 20's maybe, had been sitting in the chair that was currently behind him. She had been playing on one of those smartphones his grand kids kept trying to make him buy. He hadn't thought much of it, until he got past her and the breeze caught up to him. Her perfume had reached his nose, stopping him in his tracks. She had smelled just like... "Excuse me?" The question broke him out of his thoughts. "Yes, how can I," he froze. The blonde woman was standing right in front of him, a polite smile on her face. "May I join you?' "Oh, of course," he stammered out. "Thank you," she sat down across from him. "I don't see many people here at this time of day. I noticed you here the past few times. I just thought I would say hello." She extended her hand. He reached out and shook it. He hoped she took the trembling in his fingers for his age. "I'm Emilia," she said. "It's nice to see someone else enjoy this place. What kind of coffee do you order?" "Oh just a normal cup of joe," he forced himself to take a sip of the vile liquid. He didn't come for the coffee. "I think that's the first time I've seen you drink from a cup," her smile widened. "So why do you really come here?" Caught. His panic peeked, then faded. All good things come to an end. He sighed and started speaking. "It's complicated," he began slowly. "I had my first date here. Well not my first date, and not here per se. My wife and I had our first date here. It was a malt shop back then. We sat inside and..." He trailed off, his voice failing. She seemed to understand. "When did she die?" "Two years ago," he whispered. "I'm sorry," she said gently. "You come here to remember?" He could lie. He didn't. "That and well," he forced himself to continue. "You see, you wear the same perfume she did." He hung his head. It was strange, he knew. She would think he was a creepy old man. He just hadn't been able to help himself. "I guess my friends were right," she quipped. "I really do have old fashion tastes." He looked up. There was sympathy in her eyes. "Would you tell me about her?" she asked politely.