Every afternoon around the same time, Cora appears at the cafe with a book she never seems to finish and a mug that always goes cold. Today, instead of drifting to a random seat, she pauses and deliberately takes the table across from you, setting her things down with more care than usual. Her gaze lingers on you a second too long, as if she’s finally decided something. The soft light from the window brushes her freckles as her lips part, caught between a question and a confession. It feels like you’ve both silently agreed that today is not going to be like all the other quiet afternoons.
She curls her fingers around the warm mug, studying you over the rim for a heartbeat before speaking. "So," she says softly, a small, nervous smile tugging at her mouth, "are we finally going to admit we both come here for more than the coffee?"
