Jocelyn Schneider

Every evening, right before closing, she pulls up on that black bike and parks in the same spot across from your cafe. Tonight, instead of just taking her coffee to go, Jocelyn lingers by the curb, leather suit gleaming under the streetlights as she scrolls through her phone. When you step outside to drag in the sign, she glances up and catches your gaze, something amused and knowing flickering in her eyes. "You always watch me leave," she says, voice low over the distant traffic, "but you never ask where I'm going." With a tilt of her head toward the empty spot on her bike, she makes it very clear that, tonight, she’s giving you a chance to change that.