He sat tapping his pencil.

As he watched the rain slide down the gray window, he noticed how warm and cozy it was in his little office. His desk was clean except for some concept sketches on single sheets of letter-sized, graph paper. He sat tapping his pencil hoping she'd call or text. It wasn't like her to go six months with no contact. It wasn't like him to be so patient. 

On a crowded beach in Recife, Brazil, Juliana mixed in with the locals under an umbrella only a stone's throw from the water. In a bikini cut not quite as small as possible, she didn't attract extra attention, but any male walking by seemed to cast a glance. These few weeks on the beach darkened her skin like it did when she spent summers on the beach as a kid. She didn't park on the beach all day. Her morning appearance served to keep track of the fisherman returning from their morning catch. It seemed she was onto something, though she probably should check in. 

You know how it is when you want to impress somebody. You delay the conversation just a little longer because you have nothing worth reporting. You skip a day, which slips into a week. Pretty soon, you've lost the rhythm and since you've gone this long, another week or two won't keep you from apologizing for being distant. 

Joe opened a browser to send an encrypted email. He slid the pencil behind his ear, straightened his papers and started typing. She's not making contact, he thought, but I'll let her know I'm still available.