Two seats down, but worlds away

I'm at a coffee shop sitting next to possibly the most attractive man I've ever encountered: His hair living its life independently in currents of light brown faintly bleached in hidden tucks and folds—not by vanity, but by an active (surf-filled?) lifestyle I presume. His face is angular and confident, suggesting a hint of Aryan architecture, but with a more Scandinavian gentleness, and what I can only imagine is an architect's sense of simple, efficient style with undertones of originality and rebellion concealed for those who care to look. He's wearing two watches—one on his right wrist, one on his left. Perhaps one is set to Swede time? Or perhaps he's just waiting to scoot next to me, strap one onto me wrist and tell me "Here, now you won't be late..." "Late for what?" I'll coo, barely able to see his tall, lean form through my hummingbird lashes. "For our date, silly."  Alas, my daydreams are dissolved by the sighting of the dreaded wedding ring. Though, truthfully I should have known the instant he pulled up outside riding a tandem bike—the second half being built for a child. But, I just naturally assumed he was late for work, and with his single-man's bike having a flat, was forced to borrow his procreating neighbor's bike. I think I'll just default to my usual theory—the wedding ring's a fake, used only to stave off the throngs of female admirers he's surely accustomed to; This mock matrimony will dissolve and the "ring" will slip off like melted butter as soon as we make eye contact. What?! What's this? He keeps looking my way... Ok, be cool, control your reactionary underarms... oh, wait. He's just looking at his bike out the window. Probably doesn't want it to be stolen. His neighbor would be pissed.