Chapter 4: The Fourth Week

My depression turned to delight when we, at a struck of luck, rode the elevator together early on Monday morning. She had just pushed the button, when I leaped into the small compartment.

"Good morning," she said and smiled happily. "So, have you had your morning coffee yet?" She laughed as she spoke.

"Not yet," I said, and then fell silent. Then, as the elevator began moving, I added "I can make you one as well?"

"I bet you can!".

"Well, can I?"

She hesitated. Then, she said "Yes, why not?"

"Where are you going," she asked as I turned to leave, her cup of hot coffee in her hand.

"Er, to my office?" I replied.

"Oh," she said, looking disappointed. "Oh, well."

"I'm sorry?" I said, both confused and, indeed, sorry.

"Nothing," she smiled and laughed falsely. "I just thought you wanted to chat?"

"Yes, of course, but..." I began, then halted.

"But?"

"I, I wanted to make you coffee."

She looked incredulously at me. "All right. And now you have. See you around." She turned and walked away.

I hesitated for just a split second, then I hastened after her. "Listen," I said. "That came out all wrong. Of course I want to chat with you!"

"But you also have this need to make me coffee?" She smiled slightly again.

"Yes!" I burst out.

"Then so you may," she said. "Every morning at nine o'clock this week you can make me a coffee. But no speaking!"

And so it was. At nine am precisely I stood at the coffee machine, and pushed the button when I heard her steps arrive, the clinking of her heels on the floor. She would take the cup with a simple "Thank you", and walk away. Always the same kind of black, high heeled shoes. Always the same sexy, expensive, yet sensible skirts. Always the same legs and bosom. But her eyes, I thought, were now teasing, testing, assessing me.