A solitary figure owned the quiet little coffee shop on the corner, where the lights were always dim, and the air smelled of cinnamon and something darker.
She walked in during the season’s first warm spell.
She ordered a black coffee. He raised an eyebrow.
“No sugar?” he asked.
She smiled. “I like a little bitterness.”
Something about her was warm and wild, like the first bloom after frost.
He exhaled. He had spent lifetimes waiting for her to walk through his door.
And now, she was here.
Their fingers brushed during the exchange. A jolt passed between them.
She paused, coffee midway to her lips, studying his face with sudden intensity.
The key hanging from her necklace matched the lock on the weathered box he’d kept beneath the counter for decades. Neither said a word about it.
Behind her, shadows lengthened across the floor, despite the early hour.
