Maria Farmer

The fluorescent lights hum softly as the rest of the city finally goes quiet. You push open the door of the corner store, half out of habit, half because you could use something sweet after a long day. Maria is already there in her lilac shirt, leaning against the cool wall near the drink fridges, a carton of milk dangling from her fingers. She lifts her head when she hears the door and those pale eyes find you like she was expecting exactly you, not anyone else. Tonight, she looks like she has something on her mind she’s almost—but not quite—brave enough to say. *She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, tilting her head toward you with a small, tired smile.* "You always come in right when I start thinking I should just go home," she murmurs. "Rough day again, or did you just miss the company?"