Spaced Out

It was 3:23.

"She's still ill?" He asked quietly, averting his eyes as soon as I looked up at him.
I was serving tables, balancing the large tray on my forearm and trying to avoid the various handbags scattered around the tables. Trip hazards were less than welcome when carrying 5 coffees and a flapjack.
"Yeah. I'm not sure when she'll be back." I shrugged and placed the cups on the table of elderly women, nattering about the bus times and only pausing to thank me.
It was only when I turned around that I noticed he was watching me. He'd retreated to the other side of the shop, standing close to the heater, despite the relatively pleasant weather.
I quickly made my way back to the till, blaming my 'active job' for the slight flush of colour in my cheeks.
He still wasn't sitting down. He hadn't ordered a drink either. It wasn't until then that I noticed he was early.
Everyday, except Sunday's, he would arrive between four and ten past. He would order his coffee and sit down. He'd leave at five to five.
It was 3:23.
"Is everything okay?" I asked, walking over hesitantly, playing with the notebook in the pocket of my apron.
He didn't speak, but reached into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a slightly crumpled envelope.
"When she's back.. Can you give her this?" He asked quietly and held out the small, red envelope.
I looked up at him and nodded, taking it from his grip.
"Thank you." He said and nodded slightly. I put the envelope into my pocket and wiped my hands on my apron.
"Would you like a drink?" I asked and cleared my throat, taking out the notebook and pencil.
He simply nodded and strolled, rather lopsided, to his usual seat.
I sighed and quickly walked behind the counter to make his drink.
"Caffè Americano.." I mumbled to myself and rolled my eyes.
There was something about him that pissed me off.
He came in here everyday, bluntly ordered his drink, and didn't even drink it. In fact, he didn't even order his drink this time. He just expected me to know what he wanted.
Trust me to live up to his expectations.
Despite the frustrating things about him, he was the most interesting person to ever walk through the doors of the shop. For some reason, he made me want to go to work. I wanted to watch him, attempt to make conversation. I wanted him to ignore me, or reply with a half hearted response.