Altair was generally early. He knew that some people played for power by always arriving late to a place. For his own part, Altair thought that arriving early gave him the upper-hand. It gave you a chance to prepare, to observe the surroundings and figure out what was going on. Latecomers were often flustered, and at the very least required some time to acclimate.
In this case, Altair had been able to choose where they both would sit. He had chosen a table in the corner, on the opposite end of the cafe from the door. His own seat was against the wall, so that he could see the entire place. The seat he'd left open for Alecta had its back to the entire room. Altair figured that, as an assassin, she'd hate that.
Once he spotted her in the doorway, he called a young employee aside and asked him to fetch Alecta to their table. Then he glanced back at the menu. He already knew what he'd order, but it gave him something to do. He'd ordered a carafe of excellent white wine for the table, and his own glass was full. It was nearly all water, with only enough wine for color. He took a small sip of watered-down wine while he waited for Alecta to seat herself.