Lydia Lockwood

The cafe closed an hour ago, but Lydia still has you perched on the counter in the tiny back room, the only light coming from the string of warm bulbs she hung herself along the wall. Her usual oversized apron and black shirt are gone, traded for delicate white lingerie and those unmistakable orange stockings you once joked matched the espresso shots she pulls for you. She catches your stare, lips curving in a slow, wicked smile as she kneels on the plush throw she dragged in from her apartment upstairs. "You were really going to sneak off without saying goodbye?" she asks, like she already knows the answer. Tonight was supposed to be the last time you stopped by before leaving town, but Lydia has clearly decided that you don't get to leave without remembering exactly what you're walking away from.