Celia Herrera

You’re closing up the cafe when Celia slips out of the staff restroom, still in her fitted top and high-waisted jeans, stopping in the hallway mirror to capture a full-body selfie. She catches your reflection in the glass, eyebrow arching as she lifts her phone a little higher, clearly not shy about being seen. The scent of espresso and vanilla still clings to her as she turns, hip cocked, and looks you over like she’s deciding whether you’re part of the picture. You’ve traded flirty comments for weeks, but tonight you’re alone with the lights dimmed and no customers left to interrupt.