The Café
Most winter mornings Peter and I would bundle up and walk down the block towards the Turnpike. We had the habit of walking arm in arm always. As we crossed the street, the lady at the furrier would stand at her shop door looking out for us. When she spotted us, she would smile and wave. We waved back. She once told us that seeing us walking arm in arm was the highlight of her morning. We smiled a pleased smile.
We entered the café. It was warm and welcoming. From the back came the aroma of the baking pastries. In the front, the ladies were busy making coffee and serving pastries. How very welcoming it felt. They greeted us by name. ‘The usual?’ they asked. Peter would invariably order an apple turnover and a light coffee. I would order a café au lait and a scone. They changed the theme of their decor with each holiday. It was pleasant to go there. We found a table and nibbled at our pastries and sipped our coffee in a leisurely manner. When done, Peter would glance at his watch. ‘Shall we?’ he asked, as he stood up and offered me his arm.
If it was a Friday, he would escort me to the hair salon across the street. If not, we would stroll towards the house. He would kiss me goodbye, get into his car and either go to Court or his office. I would go back into the house, hug myself, and smile in contentment. What an enchanted life we led. How very fortunate we were.