The Full English Breakfast plus baked beans

Kim greeted with a broad smile, this morning, and was clearly pleased to see me. Her hair was washed and not tied back, as it had been in previous days. She was wearing a little make-up. I would like to claim responsibility for the improvement but, in truth, have no idea what prompted it. Maybe it was just a celebration of  it being Friday. We engaged in a little small talk and I ordered a Full English Breakfast, plus baked beans. 

I took off the jacket of my light grey suit, folded the jacket in half and laid it over the back of the chair to my right.  I placed my bag just to the right of the chair, where I could reach it with my foot. When Kim came with the over-laden plate, it was a simple task to nudge the bag, unseen, into her path. Knowing she was going to trip over the bag, I was already on my way out of my seat, to protect my clothes, the jacket excepted. The air was filled with sausages, bacon, tomatoes, black pudding, eggs and a hailstorm of baked beans. Kim clattered to the ground and plate smashed into uncountable pieces. 

I helped her to her feet, making physical contact for the first time. She looked in horror, her hand raised to her mouth, as she saw my jacket covered in a Full English Breakfast plus basked beans. I was still holding her hands as she began to apologise profusely. I squeezed her hands, "don't worry, don't worry. It's nothing, it will clean up fine." The apologising continued at pace and I took the opportunity to give her a reassuring hug. I wondered when the last time was that someone hugged her with the lustful desire that I harboured. Was she too fraught to realise that she was in the arms of a man who wasn't her husband? I let the hug linger, past a natural point of reassurance. I let her feel the contact of my body.

After I let her go, she said, "I'll get it dry-cleaned straight away. There's a really good cleaner in the High Street who owes me a favour. It will be ready in a couple of hours." We then did the verbal dance of me saying "no, please don't bother, it's completely unnecessary" and and her insisting "no, it was my fault and I want to fix it." This was one little joust I was keen for her to win.

"OK," I conceded, "but I am about to leave for a long-weekend, so will not be able to pick it up today." She looked mildly panicked and I added, "but I can come back on Monday."

"But I'm not here on Monday."

"Oh dear, are you going away?" I asked

"No, no, I am just not working here."

"How about we meet for lunch?" I almost hear her mind whirring. "We can talk about Doris Lessing?" I added in a jokey manner.

She paused a long time for thought and I thought I was going to lose it, before finally she said,  "yes that will be nice, I'll look forward to it."

"Splendid, give me your mobile number, just in case something goes wrong. Oh, and where should we meet?"

"Oh I am not sure," she said.

"Do you have an email address?" 

"Yes I do."

 "Well give me your email address and mobile. We can arrange it over the weekend. I'm away but will still have email access." I look forward to it I said, taking her hands softly for a moment.

"Yes me too, " she said, withdrawing her hands at no great speed.

And so I left the cafe with her mobile number, her email address and a date for lunch. My only problem was that I was still hungry.