His hand was on her shoulder like he owned it

His hand was on her shoulder like he owned it.

Like he'd been practicing.

I stood in line behind them—

the coffee shop had shrunk.

The pastries in the case looked smaller.

He was laughing at something she said,

the kind of laugh that costs nothing

and means everything.

I got a black coffee because

I didn't want to take the time.

All afternoon I kept thinking:

his hand, her shoulder.

The casual way he touched her.

The way she didn't move away.