Romance For Oranges

She sat at the corner booth, alone and happy to be so. He watched her from afar, peeling a tangerine and staining his white uniform with its juices. He’d found out her name was Amelia Walters. She was a secretary for some business or something. She’d come in to his coffee shop each lunch break, grab the same corner booth, and sit and eat an orange and sip his orange-creme blend cappuccinos. When he’d seen her come in with her oranges, his heart skipped a beat. Oranges, for some reason, held so much meaning for him. They were the best of any fruit, to his way of thinking. Evidently, Amelia thought so too.