Sugar-Coated Hot Pepper

He was standing across the table from me. The café was crowded, and once again it appeared my table had the only open chair. He was holding a coffee cup in one hand and a black leather bag in the other.

“Sorry, you look like you’re about to leave,” he said, looking apologetic. He also was looking Hispanically handsome. Argentina, I wondered. But then Cuba was only ninety miles away for Key West. “Do you mind if I take this chair?” he asked in a deep, rich voice.

“As long as you don’t break my heart and take it to some other table,” I said, giving him my version of a radiant smile. “Please, pull it up and sit with me. I was about to ask for a second cup of coffee.” He smiled and sat, as I flagged down a waiter wading around the room with a coffee pot and received another hit.

“You don’t have to be anywhere?” he asked, as he took a black case out of his black bag and placed it on the surface of the table. Once again I sucked air in as I looked at the case and recognized the logo of a gray G entwined with a lower-hanging yellow S embossed on a bronze medallion embedded in the case’s top. I looked up into the man’s eyes and found him watching me closely. I knew what the logo represented—G. S. Instrument’s Van Buren sounding wand set. From the way he looked at me, I knew he knew I recognized the emblem.

He cast an obvious look at the logo on the case and then at me. I did the same.

“You are still fine with me sitting here?” he asked.