That thought settles into me, something solid I can hold onto.
I repeat it quietly in my head like a promise as I curl in on myself, the keys clenched tight in my fist, the metal pressing into my palm while I drift in and out of sleep. I never fully let go, never sink completely under. Every sound pulls me back up again. Footsteps somewhere in the distance. An engine turningover. A door slamming far enough away that I can pretend it has nothing to do with me.
The cold doesn’t let me rest. It settles deep into my joints, into my neck and knees, turning every small movement slow and stiff, like my body belongs to someone else.
By the time exhaustion finally pulls me under for more than a few minutes at a time, my body feels hollowed out, drained, but something inside me stays sharp.
I only need one chance.
???
I wake at dawn, stiff and aching, my breath already fogging the windshield in uneven bursts. The moment I sit up, a sharp pull runs through my neck and makes me wince, and my fingers feel swollen and clumsy when I try to move them, like they don’t quite belong to me yet. I don’t remember when I finally fell asleep, only that it wasn’t long and didn’t feel like enough.
I need coffee.
I dig into the cup holder and count my change, the coins clinking softly in my palm. Three dollars. It will have to be enough. Right now, caffeine matters more than food.
The second I step out of the car, I regret it.
The cold hits hard, sharp and immediate, slicing through my jacket like it isn’t even there, stealing the breath from my lungs before I can brace for it. I lock the door, pull my coat tighter around me, and start walking, moving fast enough to keep the feeling in my toes as I circle around the bar and head toward the main road. My boots crunch against the frost, the sound too loud in the quiet morning as the sky slowly shifts into something pale and grey.
A coffee shop comes into view,Sugar & Spice,warm light glowing behind the windows, and relief flickers through me before dropping just as quickly when I see the sign.
Closed.
I let out a slow breath and lower myself onto the bench outside, rubbing my hands together, blowing warm air into my palms, trying to coax some feeling back into them. Thirty minutes. I can wait. I’ve waited longer for worse things.
A few minutes later, a truck pulls up. A woman with long dark brown hair steps out, keys already in hand, moving with the kind of quiet certainty that says this place belongs to her. She reaches for the door, then pauses when she notices me.
“Hi,” she says, turning fully toward me.
“Hi. Do you open at seven?”
She nods. “I do.”
I glance at my phone, the battery barely hanging on, and see it’s only six thirty. Of course it is.
She looks at me again, really looks this time, her gaze taking in my coat, the way I sit, the way I can’t quite stop shivering no matter how still I try to stay.
“It’s cold out,” she says gently. “Why don’t you come in? I can make you a coffee while I get the pastries started.”
Her baby-blue eyes hold something soft and knowing. Not pity, something quieter than that. Understanding. Like she already knows I don’t have anywhere else to be.
“I’d really appreciate that. Thank you.”
I follow her inside.
The moment the door closes behind us, the heat hits all at once, and it hurts. It blooms through my fingers, my toes, my face, sharp and overwhelming, like my body doesn’t know how to handle it anymore. A soft sound escapes me before I can stop it, something between relief and pain.
“Easy,” she says gently.
“I’m Summer,” she adds, flipping on the lights.
“Lexy,” I manage, my voice quieter now as I ride out the sensation, clenching and unclenching my hands, waiting for my body to remember what warmth is supposed to feel like.
She sets a mug in front of me, and I wrap my hands around it instantly, the heat seeping into my skin as I breathe in the smell, letting it settle somewhere deeper than just my fingers.
“How much is it?” I ask, already reaching for my wallet.
