From two tables off to a side, he watched a very shy young girl hover around her father, touch his arm on the coffee table, snuggle against it, drop her head on his shoulder, all along trying to pull his eyes off a newspaper story.  At one point, she ran off, and stood in thought a distance away, but it too went unnoticed.  That’s when her head fell to the side, as if a key had been turned.  She paced her way back to her father as someone much older, and older still when she then locked a look on him.  Who was she?  Her mother?  She held the look, with hands now on her hips.  With eyes still on the newspaper, her father’s one arm did come off the table, wrap her up, pull her in — but she didn’t give in to it, she didn’t lean in or snuggle.  Instead, she let him hold her while, still a grown-up, she took a good look around the cafe — and directly at anyone looking back.  He watched her catch the coffee roaster’s eye.  She instantly broke out of her father’s grasp and ran with such energy to the woman with the beans that she almost ran into her.  He watched the woman let the girl explore the roaster, even finger through the beans, and felt surprised at the thought that the little girl had perhaps not been seeking her father’s eyes after all but rather his arm, seeking only to be held onto, long enough to summon the mettle necessary to step away and explore on her own.