I called her twice last night, but she didn't answer.

It's Monday morning, and I'm sat at Thorpe's, half dreading the moment she will walk through the door and half fearing she won't come at all.

I'm sat at her table in anticipation of her hopefully imminent arrival. My eyes dart to the door every time I hear it open, but she doesn't come.

For the first day in over a month, I might not see her, and that thought doesn't sit well with me.

I grow impatient. I need ...