The place smells like fresh coffee and flowers with a mix of freshly baked pastries. The kind of smell that makes you feel human again. I take a moment to breathe it in.
Dried flowers hang from the ceiling, fresh ones sit on every table, and plants are everywhere you look. Soft music plays in the background. Beside the counter, there are cookies, muffins, and donuts, croissants and bagels, all lined up like they are waiting to be chosen.
Someone had put real thought into this place.
There are only a few people in front of me in line, which gives me time to scan the menu. Basic coffee, fancy lattes, breakfast sandwiches, and pastries that look delicious. I am starving, which means I am going to order too much.
Then I hear her.
“I can help the next person in line.”
The voice hits first.
Soft. Familiar. Like something I haven’t heard in years but somehow never forgot.
I step forward, already searching the face that belongs to it.
Copper curls. Freckles across her nose. Blue eyes that used to glance up at me from the cafeteria tables at lunch.
It takes a second.
“Violet?”
Her eyes widen before I even finish saying her name. She freezes, coffee cup in hand. “Everett Callahan,” she says slowly, like she’s testing if I’m real. “You’re actually back.”
And just like that I am sixteen again, leaning against a locker, pretending not to notice her laughing with her friends, pretending I didn’t look for her at every football game.
I let out a breath. “You remember me?”
She lets out a small quiet laugh. “Small town. You don’t really forget people, especially the ones who leave.”
There is no accusation in her voice, but something lingers under the words. Not sharp, just, history.
“I didn’t expect to see you behind the counter,” I admit.
She glances around the café, and a smile forms across her face. “I own it.”
That shouldn’t surprise me. Even back then she had this steadiness about her, like she knew where she belonged before the rest of us figured out where we were going.
“Well, it suits you,” I say, smiling.
For a moment, we just look at each other, not awkwardly, just remembering who we once were and who we are now. Aware of the time passed, of who we used to be, of everything we never said.
“Well, Everett, what can I get for you? Coffee is on the house today,” she adds, smiling.
I order an Americano and a breakfast sandwich.
She clears her throat. “Here is your Americano, your sandwich will be right up; if you go sit down, I’ll bring it to you,” she says.
Our fingers brush when she hands it to me, quick, accidental, but enough to send a strange warmth up my arm.
“Welcome home, Everett.”
My phone buzzes as I step out onto Main St.
Riley
Riley:
