By Karri L. Moser
She pulled the lever down and added the froth, glancing from the corner of her eye. Ding went the bell. On time, just like every morning. 42 weekday mornings. Today she would ask him out when handing over his coffee. She was shaking, spilling some of the froth. He extended his hand, froth dripped on a new ring he wore. It felt like a dagger when she realized 42 mornings amounted to a morning, or two, too late. He gently wiped the froth from his shining wedding ring, smiled, and walked out of the shop and on with his life. Hers? Well, that was a life that needed to start over on morning 43.