She stole my cactus. I caught her eye.

I saw her in Pret. Not by chance.

The queue was long, but I found my way behind her.

Her faint, floral lift tickled my senses. It was soft. Clean. Like hotel soap or freshly laundered clothes.

She picked up a ham and cheese. Same as me.

Caught her eye. Casually. Waved my lunch in her direction. “Good choice.”

She smiled, stroked her sandwich. “Only one without a soggy bottom. The cheese protects the bread.”

I grinned. “Do you work in my office?”

She stopped a beat to look at me. To take me in. “You did that presentation on Tuesday?”

“That’s right. You took a lot of notes! Your pen scratches.”

A tiny hmm. No apology. Another smile. Straight at me this time. “Well, must dash.”

She turned to pay with her phone. Quick tap. Gone.

—

The cashier asked me if I wanted anything else. Two times.

“Not from you”, I joked. “Sorry. Today not going as planned.”

Counted out some loose change and handed it over. Took too long. No sign of her when I got outside.

Should’ve used my card. Missed a chance to use the lines I’d rehearsed.

“Hey, so listen. Last week, I think you might have been in my office?” I’d say. “And you took my cactus!”

Delivered with a mock-stern face and a little finger wag.

She’d play along. Put her hands up. “Guilty!” Then I’d land my prickly situation gag. We’d both giggle.

“Got any plans later?”

—

Shouldn’t have said that thing about the pen. Had a mustard stain on my shirt, too. I got a new one that night. Fitted. Tried the same routine the next day.

“What are the chances?” I said. “Still no soggy bottom?”

Rubbish. Still makes me cringe.

Maybe if I’d played it better, she’d still be here.

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