Sleep came easily last night, and I wake up before my alarm, the early morning light already sneaking through the shades. I’ve grown accustomed to these peaceful, quiet mornings after years of early starts.
After a quick, hot shower, I towel off and stand in front of my closet, eyes scanning for something cozy but practical. I settle on my favorite pair of well-worn jeans, soft and snug in all the right places, and a powder-blue sweater that’s like a hug in fabric form. I pull it over my head, smoothing out the fabric with a quick flick of my hands before stepping into my boots.
I glance at the clock, then quickly wring out my hair, still damp from the shower. I twist the wet strands into a loose knot at the back of my head, securing it with a few pins. Not the fanciest, but it’ll keep the hair out of my face for the day.
Grabbing my keys and bag, I head out into the brisk morning air. The sky is still tinged with pink, the sun just beginning to stretch its golden fingers over the horizon. I inhale deeply, savoring the tranquility of the early hour before the world fully wakes up.
As I round the corner to the café, I spot a familiar figure hunched by the door, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. It’s Mr. Wilson, one of our regulars. He’s always here early, but today…it’s even earlier than usual. I can’t help but smile at the sight. He’s as dependable as my morning coffee
“Morning, Mr. Wilson,” I call out. “You’re out and about early today.”
He turns, a weary smile creasing his weathered face. “Aye, lass. Couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d come down and see if you’d let an old man warm his bones a wee bit early.”
I can’t help but smile back, the warmth of his words melting away some of the early morning chill. “Of course. Come on in.”
He gives an appreciative nod, shuffling past me into the café. I follow him inside, flicking on the lights and turning on the espresso machine. As Mr. Wilson settles into his usual seat by the window, I start on his coffee, already thinking about my to-do list for tonight.
I know most folks would probably say I’m putting in too much effort for something so simple. Decorating cookies, reading books, just a little kids’ night. But it’s special tome. I’ve always loved the sound of laughter echoing through the café, the excited chatter of little ones discovering new things, and the way they can make even the dullest afternoons feel full of life. It’s the kind of magic I wish I could bottle and keep for myself.
I’ve always imagined having a family of my own, raising kids who’d grow up in this space I love, surrounded by the same coziness and joy I try to offer every day. It doesn’t matter how much I dream about it, though. Because as it turns out, life doesn’t always line up the way you picture it.
I’m only twenty-five, and it’s not like it’s entirely impossible for me someday, but the doctors have made it clear that it will be difficult. It’s harder to accept than I’d liketo admit. Harder still to look at families with their children, laughing and living, and knowing that I might not have that for myself.
So, I focus on the joy I get from the little ones that do come into the café. Their faces lighting up with excitement as they discover new flavors, new friends, new little bits of happiness. Some days, it’s harder than others. The truth is, I’d give anything to be the one baking cookies for my own kids, reading bedtime stories, and sharing serene mornings like these. It’s a longing that pulls at me, always there, just beneath the surface. It doesn’t matter how many times I tell myself I’ll be okay—how it’s just not meant to be—because that longing never really goes away.
So, I do what I can, which is putting in the effort to ensure tonight is something special. Just because I might not have it for myself doesn’t mean I can’t create it for someone else.
As I hand Mr. Wilson his steaming cup of coffee, the weight of that ache mixes with something bittersweet. I blink it away just as the bell above the door chimes, signaling another early bird.
I take a deep breath, pushing the hushed thoughts aside. Another day. Another chance to create something comforting for someone who needs it.
“I think we’re all set,”Poppy remarks as I add the final touches to the cookie table.
We’ve been closed for a couple of hours, but in just a few minutes, the doors will open again for the evening’s event.
In the corner of the café, I’ve arranged a long table, its surface covered in wax paper. Bright, vibrant icing in everyshade imaginable sit in bowls alongside colorful sprinkles, with freshly baked cookies waiting for small hands to decorate. Tiny chairs circle the space, perfectly sized for little legs.
On the opposite side, nestled by the bookshelves that line the walls, I’ve set up a cozy reading nook. A soft circle of cushions sprawls across the floor, inviting little ones to curl up with a book, stacks of well-loved children’s stories ready to be read.
The plan is simple. Let the kids unleash their creativity on the cookies, then gather them in the corner for a story as they nibble on their sugary masterpieces.
And, of course, coffee is ready and waiting for the grown-ups.
I raise my hand to swipe at the beads of sweat gathering on my forehead, pausing to take in the scene. With my hands on my hips, I give the setup a once-over, nodding in approval. “Yep, this looks perfect. We’re all set.”
A sudden knock on the door makes me freeze. “What the?—”
I can’t even finish the thought before the whole MacKenzie circus barrels through the door. Callan’s the first one through, of course, carrying Maisie under his arm like a squirming sack of potatoes while Keira clings to Knox. Bree and Juliette are right on their heels.
A helpless laugh breaks free. “What…exactly are you doing?”
“We thought you could use reinforcements,” Callan says. “Early reinforcements.”
Bree grins as she steps up beside him. “He insisted we shouldn’t wait in the car like normal people.”
“We’re not normal people,” Callan declares. “We’re efficient. And helpful. And incredibly good-looking.”
I snort. “Ridiculous.All of you.”
