Belle waved to the barista like they were old friends. Which, apparently, they were.
“Hey, beautiful,” he called. “I didn’t know you were on the schedule today?”
“I’m not,” Belle said with a grin. “Just corrupting new people with caffeine and literature.”
He laughed and turned to me. “So you’re the new recruit, huh?”
Before I could answer, Belle said, “She’s my friend, James. And maybe my next victim if she keeps living with her mother.”
I snorted. “That’s fair.”
He handed us two steaming mugs, hers dark and mine drowning in whipped cream, and nodded toward the shelves. “You know where to hide.”
We wound our way through the maze of bookcases until we found a table in the back by the window. Belle dropped into her chair with a sigh that made me smile.
“So,” she said, blowing on her coffee. “Do you feel any better?”
I looked around. The low hum of conversation, the smell of espresso, the soft click of pages turning, it was the calmest I’d felt in months. “Yeah,” I admitted. “Actually, I do.”
“Good,” she said. “Because you deserve a break.”
I shrugged. “You make it sound easy.”
“It’s not,” she said simply. “But it helps to have people who get it.”
There was something in her tone, not pity, but understanding. I sipped my coffee and watched her, wondering how many people she’d quietly taken care of without anyone noticing.
“So you work here too?” I asked, nodding toward the barista.
“Sometimes,” she said, smiling. “I juggle a few jobs, cleaning, coffee, and the occasional bookstore shift. My ADHD loves chaos, and my bank account insists.”
I laughed. “You make it look effortless.”
“Oh, it’s not,” she said. “I just fake it with lipstick and sarcasm.”
I liked her honesty, the way she didn’t try to smooth out her rough edges. She was the opposite of everything my mother valued, and somehow that made me trust her even more.
The barista called over, “Hey, Belle — Penguin Project meeting tonight?”
Belle perked up. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
I tilted my head. “What’s the Penguin Project?”
Her smile softened into something fond. “It’s a theater program for kids with disabilities. They pair each kiddo with a mentor, and they put on a full musical. It’s chaotic and wonderful and the highlight of my year.”
My heart gave a little tug. “That sounds incredible.”
“It is,” she said. “I’ve been helping with them for a few seasons now. We’re doingCinderellathis year. Lots of glitter, lots of magic, very little sanity.”
I smiled, picturing it. “Ava would love that.”
Belle’s gaze flicked to me, curious but gentle. “You should bring her. Seriously. It’s magic.”
Something about the way she said it, no pressure, no pity, made my throat go tight. “Maybe I will,” I murmured.
Belle grinned. “Good. I’ll save you a front-row seat.”
There it was again, a tiny spark of excitement for something ahead instead of dread. Just coffee and conversation and a woman who made the world seem a little bigger.
