ONE
ABBY
The café doesn’t belong to me in the same way a house belongs to a person.
It belongs to the mornings and the regulars who know which stool wobbles and which mug they like best.
It belongs to the quiet hour before I flip the sign to “open”, when the first rays of light make the whole world look beautiful and full of potential.
My name might be on the lease, but it isn’t mine. I’m its steward for the moment.
I make my way from table to table with a fresh pot of coffee, pausing when I reach the small round table by the front windows where Gigi and Selena are already settled. Steam curls up from their mugs, fogging the glass behind them.
They make quite a pair: the world-famous plus-size model who is new in town and the hometown girl who struck it big in the fashion world.
And now they’re here, claiming their space in the café’s history. It feels right.
“Refill?” I ask tilting the pot.
“Yes, please,” Selena says. “I can’t get enough of how good your coffee is. New York City has nothing on you.”
“She roasts half of it herself,” Gig brags on my behalf. “She’s a true artist and a visionary.”
I laugh, pouring with practiced expertise. “Says the woman who designs clothes people actually wear.”
Gigi scoffs. “That’s fifty-percent luck and fifty-percent stupidity.”
“I know for a fact it’s one-hundred percent your hard work.”
Her lips quirk in a half-grin. “Thanks for that.”
“You’re welcome,” I say.
They’re both bundled up against the cool morning, their cheeks flushed from the walk over. Gigi looks exactly like she always has—confident, expressive, like she’s never once doubted her place in the world. Selena is still new enough to the town to take delight in the things we all find familiar and, frankly, boring.
I envy that, sometimes.
“How’s married life?” I ask Selena, setting the pot down.
“Surreal. Wonderful.” Her expression takes on a dreamy look. “Sometimes, it’s still a little disorienting. I sometimes think I’ll wake up in a hospital bed again and discovers this has all been a really lovely dream.”
“It’s real. I promise.” Gigi reaches across the table and squeezes her hand. “My brother might be a real pain in the ass sometimes, but he’s very much real. And really in love with you.”
The gesture is small but intimate, and something tightens in my chest.
I’m genuinely happy for them. I am. For their friendship. For the great loves they’ve both found.
But there’s a particular ache that comes from watching other people step into futures you once imagined for yourself but had to set aside.
“So,” Gigi says, leaning back in her chair, eyes flicking over my shoulder toward the counter before returning to me. “How are you holding up, really?”
I know what she’s asking. She always does.
“I’m good,” I say automatically. “Busy. Tired.”
“Those aren’t feelings,” Selena says gently.
I huff out a laugh. “They’re my default settings.”
