He hated going to this place.

For one, it was hard to get a parking spot, and if he was lucky enough to find one, his already beat-up car was sure to have another dent on it by the time he got back. The café was so popular among lovers and those who were hoping to find love that it was always crowded, even on a Wednesday night.

The thing was, he wasn’t looking for love. She was already there, waiting, and it made the long walk in the bitter cold almost worth it. Pulling his scarf closer to his face, he trudged along. The streets were bright from the light cast by the lamp posts and shops, and he could see the curling steam from his breath, his boots crunching on the dirty snow.

It wasn’t long before he stopped, and he eyed the awful rendezvous of choice of just about every couple that went to the nearby university with distaste. He took a deep breath as he checked for oncoming traffic and crossed the street.

It was tucked between a clothing store that sold flowery dresses and skirts made of gauze-like material all year-long, and the used bookstore where he found his French copy of The Little Prince. The exterior itself wasn’t so bad, with its huge, clear glass windows, mounted on dark, thick, wooden frames. The maroon bricks that held the sill a few feet from the ground were faded, and so was the wooden signage, with the café’s name in loopy font, that hung from the wrought iron bracket just above the entrance. The heavy antique door with its brass doorknob was a nice finishing touch to the quaint look of the place. He thought everything looked nice. It was the people that ruined everything for him, the couples who can’t seem to keep their hands to themselves, and those who were on blind dates, they were the worst; the men with their crisp shirts and the women with their glossy lips and perfect hair. He scanned the inside and his palms became slick with sweat when he saw her.