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“There’s a man across the street,” Charlotte said. “He has been standing in front of the same shop window for six minutes.”
I followed her gaze. There was indeed a man, in his thirties, holding a paper cup and looking at a display of theatrical posters. He seemed lost in thought, either deeply moved or simply distracted.
“Let’s play a game. What do you think he’s doing?” she asked.
“Okay, I like this. He is waiting for someone. The coffee says he’s not in a hurry, so he is looking at the posters until they get here.”
“That is the least interesting interpretation.”
“It’s the most likely one.”
Charlotte smiled. “He’s obviously an actor waiting to audition for a role he has dreamed about since childhood. He’s secretly in love with the woman who landed the female lead and is hoping the part will finally give him an excuse to hold her close.”
I looked back at the man. He took a long sip of his drink, checked his phone, and was joined a minute later by a woman with a stroller. She kissed his cheek and pointed at the poster.
“I believe that’s one point for me.”
“Well,” Charlotte said. “My version could be a novel. Or a really good true story.”
Our breakfast arrived and it was worth the wait.
“I have a problem,” Charlotte announced after three bites.
“Personal or fictional?”
“Fictional. The personal problems can wait until after the opera.”
“I support your priorities.”
“Act three of my novel won’t cooperate,” she sighed.
“How come?”
“Because two people spend an afternoon together and almost nothing happens. Nobody storms out. Nobody kisses anyone. Nobody drops a bombshell.”
“What do you think is the problem?”
“Everything changes after that afternoon together.” She pointed her fork at me. “How do I make the reader feel it when nothing has actually happened?”
I thought about it for a moment. “Maybe something does happen. They just don’t realize what it is until afterward.”
She stared at me for a second. “Well,” she said eventually.
“What?” I asked.
“That’s annoyingly good.”
I laughed.
She picked up her fork again. “How are your eggs?”
I took another bite before delivering my verdict. “Exceptional.”
Charlotte smiled. “I knew this place wouldn’t disappoint.”
We continued sipping our coffee. Charlotte made three more observations about people passing on the street. I proved her wrong twice. The third one was harder to argue with. I simply couldn’t think of a more plausible explanation for the gentleman in a top hat carrying a large bouquet of flowers.
“He is in love with the leading lady,” Charlotte theorized.
