Page 71 of Faking the Goal

My stomach growls loud enough to interrupt my self-pity.

I press a hand against it.

Right. Food.

Probably should've thought about that sometime between box number twelve and nearly throwing out my back trying to move the couch by myself.

I check the time on my phone and groan. It's already after nine, and because today is Thanksgiving, almost everything nearby is closed. I noticed that much during the move. Restaurants, cafés, even the little takeout place down the street that I'd been mentally counting on for dinner.

Of course.

There is, however, a twenty-four-hour convenience store about five minutes away, and unless civilization has completely collapsed while I've been unpacking, it should still be open.

Surely I can assemble something resembling a Thanksgiving dinner from whatever's sitting beneath a heat lamp.

Maybe a questionable hot dog. A bag of chips. Some kind of pastry with enough preservatives to outlive me.

A feast.

I pull on a hoodie, grab my wallet and keys, then head outside.

The neighborhood is quieter than it was earlier, but not completely dead. A few cars pass along the main road, and a couple of people walk along the sidewalk despite the late hour.

I'm halfway to the convenience store when a soft pink glow catches my attention from across the street.

SAKURA CAFÉ.

The sign is framed by little painted cherry blossoms, and beneath it, an illuminated OPEN sign hangs in the window.

I slow down.

Wait.

A café is open?

On Thanksgiving?

Suddenly, sad convenience-store hot dog has competition.

I cross the street and head toward the café, already hoping they still have coffee and something edible left, but once I get closer to the windows, I slow down because the place is definitely not what I expected.

Instead of the usual little tables and people hunched over laptops, the entire interior is lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves packed with manga. There are reading nooks tucked into the walls, couches under decorative cherry blossom trees, and enough volumes crammed onto those shelves to make my inner nerd sit up and pay attention.

Okay, now this is interesting.

I move closer to the glass, trying to take everything in at once. This isn't just some café with a cute manga theme slapped onto it. It's an actual manga lounge.

I push through the door and immediately forget that I'm hungry.

The place is fucking adorable.

Soft lanterns hang from the ceiling, bathing everything in warm pink and gold light. Floor-to-ceiling shelves run along most of the walls, packed tightly with manga. There are couches scattered throughout the middle of the room and little wooden reading nooks built along one side, each one filled with cushions and tucked far enough into the wall that you could crawl inside with a book and happily ignore humanity for several hours.

Decorative cherry blossom trees stand between some of the seating areas, their branches wrapped in tiny fairy lights.

I slowly turn in a circle.

Where the hell has this place been all my life?