1. When he started at the office, he couldn't help but notice her: the way she took her lunch out of the microwave, the way she tucked the wisp of hair behind an ear, her modest nod exiting the copy room. But by the time he got up the nerve to speak to her, she was unavailable.
2. It happened like this: At a coffeehouse, a distinguished older man got up to leave, and as she brushed past him to sit in his newly vacated seat, she saw he'd left a spoon behind, a small caramel drop in its bowl slowly drying.
She slid the spoon to the side of the table, intending to ignore it, but there was no denying the sudden tingle as they touched.
She left the coffeehouse alone, but the lift she felt lasted far beyond the buzz of the caffeine.
3. A month later, the same coffeehouse-- she orders to go. At the counter, next to the cardboard cup sleeves and the plastic lids, there it is, that same spoon. Stainless steel, worn, in amongst a dozen others. Her spoon.
On a whim, she pours a spot of sugar into her cup, picks up the spoon, and gives her coffee a good stir. She pulls out the spoon, slowly, and gives it a coy smile. On an impulse, she raises it to her lips, opens her mouth, and licks the spoon clean, then--her cheeks flushing --quickly places it in the used silver container, dashes out the door, her heart pounding wildly.
4. At work she realizes she left her coffee there at the counter. Twice during the day she finds herself gazing out the window at the parking lot.
5. She wanders into the coffeehouse at odd hours, even when she's not interested in coffee. She pretends to look for a snack-- a scone, a bagel. Sometimes she orders a bottle of water. Sometimes a Diet Coke. When the barista's back in turned, when she's sure no one is looking, she rummages through the container of spoons on the counter, but she does not see her spoon.
She wonders if it is too late. If her spoon had given up on her, made a connection with someone else.
She thinks back to the missed opportunities of her life: band camp, the trip to China, the internship at CNN, saying goodbye to her grandmother.
"Will that be all for you?"
6. She takes a break from reading her email to Google silverware. As she looks at the Oneida, the Royal, the endless catalogs of stainless steel flatware, she searches the intricate patterns of both the modern and the traditional designs for a familiar shape, but they all seen gaudy and ostentatious, and she closes the browser window, feeling slightly disgusted.
Later it dawns on her she should have looked up restaurant tableware. Duh.
That night she dreams of sugar cubes.
7. She takes to reading the missed connections ads on Craigslist.
8. It's Saturday. She's been for a run. On the way home, she stops for coffee. Reaches for the milk, and there it is. The spoon.
She picks up the spoon, brings it and her cup to a table, and sits down. She drinks her coffee without tasting it, her eyes absent-mindedly surveying the people passing by on the sidewalk outside. She holds the spoon in her left hand, her fingers running up and down its length. She grips it in a fist, pushes her thumb against its rounded bowl, squeezes. She stands, drops her hand to her side, presses it into the top of her hip, and with a giddy thrill walks out into the morning sun.