He sat there, in the corner on the round table as always and read the newspaper, news about the presidential election and world politics. His perfectly cut curly hair was put behind his ears. He must have dyed it, no one at that age has that color hair anymore. Sometimes he turned and looked at me telling me something he read from the paper. He was eating a bagel one side at a time with whipped cream cheese on top and coffee with sugar, no milk. He was my only customer before noon.
When I started this place I had a simple idea, everyone would have a different kind of cup to their needs. A slim tall cup for someone who wants to take time to enjoy the drink, a small one for someone who takes a quick stop to get something strong, and a big round one for someone who likes to wrap hands around it. There were also many other shapes to choose from and different animals painted on them for kids to enjoy. Tables were placed so that it was easy to walk around or sit in peace around the corner. The color scheme was pretty simple, orange in different shades but mostly black and white. That way it was a nice place for everyone to come and relax. I had a world map on one of the walls where everyone could put a pin to where they were from. There were pins all over the map already and every day someone would put another one somewhere. I loved this place and I thought I could keep it forever but business was going down.
This man sitting in the corner was my last hope. My hope to bring more customers in, to get my business up again. He came everyday to read the papers I ordered for my customers to read. Although I had many different ones, The New York Times was the most popular and some people came just for that, to read it in the peacefulness that I could offer. Which was fine but didn't bring me money. 

I didn't even know this man’s name back then because we never actually spoke about anything personal, but this one day when he came in, I decided to talk to him a little more than usual.
“The usual?” I smiled.
“Yes, please,” he nodded.
He was very polite every day but used very few words as if it was hard for him to open up and speak to people which wasn't that good considering my needs. His lips shook when he spoke, and he was twirling his hair around his fingers. It was just a friendly conversation, but I guess it wasn't comfortable for him. After thinking for a while I asked for his name smiling and he told me.
“Martin Howard.”
Nothing more, just his name, but this made my heart skip a few beats. I think he knew mine already as it was in my business’ name too, Annabel’s Cups, but I told it anyway to be polite.
“I’m Annabel Howard.”
We had the same last name, what a coincidence. I didn't ask more that time.
He drank his coffee from a black, large round cup. I myself used a big white cup with polka dots. He took his time to drink his coffee while the black colored cup kept it warm, and he still could wrap his hands around it to feel the warmth. My long brown hair fell on my face when I was about take a sip of my coffee. I brushed it away with my fingers and almost burned my mouth with the coffee.
I didn't go home that evening. My mother was happy to see me when I rang the doorbell. She smiled with joy. I loved her smile; it was like the most warming feeling for me to have to see her smile just for a second. My father had left us when I was five years old and my mother was down for a whole year. We had financial problems and living wasn't easy with her wage of the time. But we made it up and I got my own business going, and she got a better job in law.
I came to ask her about my father: I had always been angry that he left and didn't want to know anything about him but now I wanted to. My mother had always told me he would have been a bad influence for me, and I believed her. Well, that was all the information I had.
“He was very polite when I met him, and when we got you, he seemed to love you from the bottom of his heart. I loved him,” she paused and took a deep breath, “I loved him, but I guess he didn't love me.”
I had never even seen a picture of him, the last time I asked for one my mother said I was too young and she didn't want me to go looking for him because I wouldn't understand the true meaning of everything. Now I asked for one, and reluctantly she went to her living room and when she came back, she had an orange box in her hands. It wasn't very big, but it carried all the information I needed. She handed it to me and I sat down on the floor to open it. When I took the lid off, a tear fell on my cheek. I was right, this man, my only customer before noon was my father. I didn't know what to say or how to feel. He had come everyday for one year now and all this time I had had no idea who he was.
I noticed that my mother was staring at me with a confused look. I knew she wanted to know what was going on, and I owed her an explanation. Another tear fell on my cheek when I told her about the man in my cafe. I closed my eyes.
“Do you think it’s him?” she asked biting her fingernails.
I didn't know what to think. I had been talking with my father every day this past year and had no idea. I wondered if he knew. He probably did, maybe that’s why he came everyday. My mother came closer and closed me in her arms. Hugged me very tight, it felt good. I kept my eyes closed and cried of confusion.
I went to work early the next day. I was nervous of meeting him again now that I knew. How could I tell him who I was? What if he didn't know and wouldn't believe me? My hands were shaking uncontrollably, my heart was beating twice as fast,  and I was starting to sweat. I was never this nervous, not even when I had a presentation in front a big class. But this time, I didn't know what to expect or how I should start.
I had been so into my thoughts that I didn't even notice the time flying. It was already ten o'clock when I finally looked at the clock. Why wasn't he there? Usually he came around nine. I didn't really know what to think. I went to the front door and looked around. When my eyes hit the ground, I saw a note with a little box. I picked it up confused. I put it down on one of the tables and opened the orange, silky ribbon holding the note. The note made my pulse drop. It was him, he knew. He knew I was his daughter, and he was sorry about leaving us.
“Meeting you and spending the last year in your cafe was the best time of my life since I left. When you asked my name, I knew you would find out, so I had to go. I am sorry. I just couldn't stay. I hope this will help you in the future.”
I opened the box with shaking hands and I couldn't believe my eyes. It was perfect. It fit my finger like it was made for me and it said I will always love you. I couldn't help but to cry. The gold shined and the little diamonds inset were so beautiful. This would have been enough, but before I realised the little bell over my front door started ringing and people swarmed in. Probably dozens or more. I hastened behind the counter before they got to it.
“Hey, I saw a very interesting advertisement in the local media center and thought I’d check your cafe out.” the first one in line said smiling.
“Oh”, I was amazed, “I haven’t put anything out there”. I had a feeling that it was my father but how could he do something like this so easily.
“It had a man’s name”, she stopped to think, ”something starting with the letter M”.
“Martin?” I asked with anticipation.
“Yeah, that’s it!”
I couldn't believe it. He had spread the word and my cafe was full of customers. I was saved by my father. I kissed my ring and closed my eyes. “Thank you.” I was happier than ever before. I knew my father still loved me and even when I didn't know why he left, I was happy.