The coffee you handed me because she was clearly not coming

It was a minus twelve morning outside a cafe in Kensington, and you were holding two coffees and looking down the street like you were waiting for someone who was late. I walked past three times. On the fourth you handed me one of the coffees and said, keep it, she is clearly not coming. I have decided that was the nicest thing a stranger has done for me. I hope she came. I hope she was sorry. I hope the other coffee was very good.