Hope coaxes one last photo out of her camera, catching Jenny and me at the front counter with Leo in my arms, Luka at my side, Anya and Nikolay leaning in from behind. Misha anchors one end of the group, awkward and stiff until Anya pokes him in the ribs and he cracks a reluctant smile. Isaak sits in his wheelchair at the front, his eyes sharp but softer than usual. When she shows it to me, my eyes sting.
“Send me that one too,” I tell her.
“You’re going to have a whole wall by the end of the week,” she laughs.
“Good,” I answer. “This place deserves to remember today.”
By the time the floor is mopped, the dishes are done, and the espresso machine is wiped down, it’s close to ten. The café is quiet again, but in a different way than it was this morning. It feels used now. Broken in, like it has accepted being alive again.
Anya, Isaak, and Nikolay say their goodnights, with Anya promising to be back for the weekend rush. Jenny yawns her way to the door, blowing a dramatic kiss at the pastry case.
Misha lingers, checking locks and windows one more time before nodding to Luka. “Cameras are set,” he says. “I’ll have someone swing by on patrol every few hours.”
Luka claps his shoulder. “Spasibo.”Thank you.
“I’ll wait in the SUV for you to finish,” he responds.
When they’re all gone, it’s just us. I stand behind the counter for a moment, my fingers resting on the wood, and let my eyes roam.
Every table, chair, and light fixture is something I chose. Every nail and beam holds a memory of sawdust and blueprints, late-night planning, and Luka standing beside me while he argued with building inspectors and subcontractors.
I trace a circle on the counter with my fingertip.
“I thought it would hurt more,” I say softly.
Luka looks up from where he’s putting away the last of the mugs. “What would?”
“Being here again,” I whisper. “After everything that happened. I thought I might walk in and only see what we lost. The fire. The empty space. The walls closing in while Hope was gone.”
He dries his hands on a towel and comes toward me.
“Sometimes I still see it,” I admit. “Quick flashes. I smell smoke when it isn’t there. I hear sirens. But today…” I search for the right words. “Today it felt… full. It felt like we finally took all those broken pieces and turned them into something amazing.”
He stops in front of me, close enough that I can feel his warmth. His eyes hold mine for a long second.
“You did that,” he says. “You walked through all of it and still chose to build. You chose to stay.”
He reaches out, hooks a finger under my apron strap, and tugs me closer. The towel falls from his hand onto the counter. His other arm slides around my waist. My body fits against his like it always has.
“You are tired,” he says. “Sit for a minute.”
“I sit and I won’t get up,” I warn.
“Then I will carry you,” he replies. “I have done it before.”
Heat curls low in my stomach at the memory. Leo makes a soft sound from his bassinet, pulling my attention for a second. I turn my head. He lies there on his back, arms slowly waving in that aimless newborn way, eyes half-open and unfocused. Vega is stretched beside, him watching with sleepy devotion.
“Do you ever look at him and think this can’t possibly be real?” I ask, still watching our son.
“All the time,” Luka says quietly. “Especially when he wakes at three in the morning.”
I elbow him lightly. He laughs under his breath, then rests his chin on the top of my head. I breathe him in. Coffee, soap, and something uniquely Luka. My muscles loosen under his touch, my heart easing into a rhythm that has become familiar and safe.
“I like it here,” I say quietly.
“Good,” he answers. “Because I am not going anywhere.”
We stand there for another minute, just breathing together, listening to the soft sounds of our son, the faint hum of the refrigerators, and the distant buzz of the street outside.
