Prompt courtesy of the Friday Fictioneers
Coyote stirred three spoonfuls of sugar into his coffee as the woman sitting across the table picked at the edges of a raspberry muffin.
Ten years earlier, he secretly loved her. He thought he might still love her, but in a distant way, like it was packed up in a dusty box with his other mementos from high school.
They came together by chance, sat together on the city bus for three stops before either realized. Her stop was next but she gave him her number.
Dust danced in a slant of light slashing between them.
Somewhere, a box opened.