The midday sun filtered through the apartment window, casting a golden glow across the hardwood floors and the semi-cluttered countertops in the kitchen. The faint smell of paper and the musty scent of old books and faded, leather bindings lingered in the air, drifting up from the Green Legacy below. Savannah hummed to herself as she cleaned up from breakfast, the rhythm of mundane tasks soothing her mind.
It had been a little over two weeks since they'd arrived in Rookpoint, and while everything still felt new and unfamiliar, there was a quiet comfort in the routine they'd begun to establish. The apartment, with its mismatched furniture and creaky floors, was starting to feel like home. She could feel herself getting more and more used to the quirks of their new home, from the way the closet doors would sometimes stick to the spots in the hallway that would creak when stepped on.
She wiped down the last of the dishes, setting them in the drying rack, and glanced around the apartment. The living room had been cleaned up the way she liked, and two carpets they'd brought with them were drying on the back balcony railing. She'd folded the patchwork quilt she loved to snuggle up in over the back of the couch, and watered the plants that had moved from the windowsills to the tables. She liked them better there.
Samuel was at work today, picking up an extra shift, and she smiled as she thought of him. Rookpoint's quiet appeal wasn't something he knew how to handle very well. He was a man of action, and she could tell that he didn't know just what to make of this sleepy little seaside town… yet. But he was adjusting, albeit slowly. They'd actually taken some time to have a cup of tea on the back balcony the other day, watching the sunset over the harbor. It had been nice to just sit with him – to breathe.
She walked over to the window, resting her hands on the sill as she watched the town below. Off to the right, she could see the marketplace on the corner, a couple of blocks down the street. It was bustling with the midday crowd – locals haggling over fresh produce and artisan goods – and the air was crisp. Refreshing. The sun was bright, but it wasn't a scorcher. Not this time of year, anyway. Grace had once mentioned that the summers here in Rookpoint could get a little toasty, but that was still a few months away.
Speaking of Grace, the airy bookseller had already closed her shop for the day, no doubt wandering off somewhere like she usually did. Still, the space downstairs was alive with its own energy. Even walking past the bookshop when it was closed, Savannah had always felt like it was its own entity. Its own space. As much a part of Rookpoint as any of the residents. She found herself visiting often when it was open, enjoying the quiet atmosphere. The dusty, old shelves, and the scents of paper and ink. There was a kind of peace in it all. It reminded her of things she hadn't thought about in years. Of the quieter places she'd sought out when the world became too loud.
Her eyes drifted down to the market again, and she watched as a woman carrying a basket of apples stopped to talk to one of the local shopkeepers. A faint thought stirred in her – perhaps it would be nice to get out for a bit. Out of the apartment. She could walk to the market, pick up a few things like fresh fruit and maybe some herbs for the stew she wanted to make tonight. Get some fresh air and enjoy the nice, sunny weather. Sometimes, it felt like she spent days in the apartment at a time. Sometimes cooking and cleaning, other times reading and listening to music on the CD player they'd brought with them. It had been a while since she'd just taken a walk, and with the chill of the morning gone, the day promised a refreshing stroll. It was also one of the things she'd learned to love and appreciate about Rookpoint: the streets were never filled with people or the same frantic pace as the city. It was slower here, and the people were kinder, with time to offer a smile or greeting as they passed.
Grabbing her jacket from the chair by the door, Savannah stretched and shook some of the morning stiffness from her libs. She had a habit of getting lost in her thoughts, and the afternoon would slip away if she gave it half a chance. Samuel would be working until later, but he should be home for dinner. Or at least, that's what he'd said. A short walk to the market would be a great way to clear her head and get some fresh air before she came home and started on dinner. Besides, if she did find a good deal on some fresh herbs, it would make dinner even tastier than if she used the dried ones in the cabinet.
As she stepped out of the apartment, the air nipped at her skin, but it was nothing unbearable. She tossed her scarf around her neck, more a comfort than a necessity, and made her way down the stairs of the building, pausing for a moment to look into the window of Green Legacy. Grace had told her to join her for some tea next time she was in, and the idea made Savannah smile. But that was for another day. Turning down the street, she set off in the direction of the marketplace plaza on the corner. It wasn't a long walk, and the streets were mostly quiet – most of the locals were either at the plaza or at work. Rookpoint felt more like home every day, and as much as she missed the convenience of a more populated town, there was something deeply comforting about the quiet little life they were carving out here.
Her thoughts drifted back to Samuel as she walked. She could imagine him at the bar, his face set in that hard, focused expression he had when he was working. He was good at what he did, even if he hated it. She knew that about him. It didn't matter if it was a job, an errand, or taking care of her. He was pragmatic, driven, and stubborn. Still, she hoped that as they continued to settle in, he'd find more joy in the simplicity of their life here. Maybe he would even warm up to the slower pace, find a sense of ease in it. She hoped so.
As she walked, something unusual caught her eye near a small stone bridge arching over a narrow canal. There, kneeling by the water's edge, was a short man in a gray coat, tossing pieces of fish to a trio of playful otters splashing about. The otters chirped and squeaked excitedly as they scrambled for the food, their sleek bodies darting through the water with effortless grace. Each one wore a different collar—green, red, and yellow—and the man smiled and spoke to them in a low voice as he fed them. Savannah slowed her pace, curiosity piqued. She had never seen anyone with pet otters before, and the sight was too endearing to pass without a closer look. The man seemed to sense her approach, turning his head slightly, though he didn't stop feeding the eager little creatures.
"Quite the sight, isn't it?" he said without looking directly at her. His voice was smooth, and carried a hint of amusement. His hand flicked out another piece of fish, which one of the otters caught in mid-air before splashing triumphantly back down into the canal.
Savannah smiled, nodding as she stepped closer. She didn't want to get too close and scare them, but she wanted to get a good look. "They're adorable. Are they… yours?"
"Not exactly. They're more like… old friends." The man straightened, brushing off his hands on a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket before turning to face her. He had an easygoing air about him, his dark hair slightly tousled despite his obvious efforts to contain it in a short ponytail, and his blue eyes were sharp and observant despite the relaxed, almost lazy smile on his lips. There was something about him—something hard to place—that made him seem both approachable and inscrutable. "I take care of them when they show up. They like to hang around after a good rain. Sometimes they bring friends."
Savannah glanced back at the otters, who had now started playfully wrestling with one another. "They seem to like you."
"I have a way with creatures, I suppose." He folded his handkerchief neatly and tucked it back into his pocket. "You're new in town, aren't you?"
Savannah blinked at his blunt question. "I—how did you know?"
He shrugged lightly, stuffing his hands into his pockets and tipping his head. "Small town. New faces stand out."
"Right," Savannah said, offering a sheepish smile. "Yeah, my—uh—my brother and I moved here a couple of weeks ago. We're still settling in."
"Brother, hm?" The man tipped his head slightly, as though filing away that piece of information. "Must be quiet a change, moving to a place like Rookpoint."
"It is," she admitted. "But it's nice. Quiet. Peaceful."
"Peaceful can be good," he agreed, his tone light but noncommittal. "Though sometimes it's the quiet places that have the most interesting stories."
Savannah gave a small laugh. "I suppose that's true, but we haven't been here long enough to hear any of them yet."
"Give it time," he said. "Rookpoint's got a way of revealing itself when you least expect it." He glanced down at the otters, who were drifting lazily away along the surface of the canal. "Speaking of stories, I don't think I got your name."
"Oh, I'm Savannah," she said, her smile warm and genuine.
"A pleasure, Savannah," he said with a small smile. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pouch. "Well, I'd best be on my way. These little ones have had their fill, and I've got business to attend to." He tossed the last of his fish to the retreating otters, who quickly made a mad dive for the treat. They chirped in what sounded like gratitude before diving beneath the surface. He gave a nod before turning away. "Take care, and welcome to Rookpoint."
"Thanks," she said, her curiosity still lingering as she watched him walk away. She realized she'd never asked his name, but he didn't seem bothered by it. She glanced back at the otters, who were once more treating the canal like their own personal lazy river. Something about the man stuck in her mind – his easy charm, his sharp eyes… and something about the way he spoke. She was just about to turn away from the fading chirps of the otters when a voice called out behind her.
"Hey, you shouldn't be talking to him."
Savannah turned to see a young woman briskly approaching her, looking in the direction the man had gone. She had striking features – sharp eyes framed by short, windswept hair the color of what, and a posture that exuded confidence. There was an edge of wariness in her brown eyes, and she kept looking as if afraid the man in the gray coat would hear her.
"Talking to who… that man?" Savannah asked, confused.
"Yeah, that guy you were just with," the woman said, stopping a few feet away. She shot another glance down the street where he'd disappeared to. "Julian Steele. You'll see him around a lot, lurking wherever something interesting is happening. It's weird."
Savannah raised an eyebrow. "Lurking?"
The woman nodded. "Yeah. And don't let the charming act fool you. Rumor has it he's trained those otters to steal things for him."
That caught Savannah off guard, and she looked after the otters. "Steal? Seriously?" The otters were almost out of sight, but she could see them floating on their backs, completely unbothered by the world around them. She couldn't picture them sneaking off with stolen goods, but then again, she didn't know the man—Julian—well enough to dismiss the idea entirely.
"Seriously," the woman said, her tone deadpan. "Nobody's ever caught him in the act, but things have a way of disappearing whenever he and his otters are around. Coins, trinkets, sometimes food from market stalls…" she sighed, shaking her head. "It's probably just gossip, but you never really know with him."
"Well, he seemed... polite, I guess," Savannah said hesitantly. "A little odd, maybe, but not threatening."
"And that's how he gets you." The woman's tone lightened slightly as she gave Savannah a small smile. "Anyway, I'm Fiona. Fiona Xander. You must be new here – I've never seen you around before."
"Savannah," she said, offering a smile. "Savannah Fenn. My brother and I just moved here a couple of weeks ago."
"Oh, well welcome to Rookpoint, then," Fiona said, her smile shifting into something friendlier. "Though, fair warning, it's not as quiet as it looks… especially if you hang around people like him."
Savannah laughed softly. "Thanks for the tip. I'll be careful."
"You heading for the market?" Fiona asked.
"Yeah, thought I'd get some fresh air and see what they have," Savannah replied. "I haven't explored much of Rookpoint yet. I've been busy unpacking, and it's bigger than I expected for a small town."
"It is, but you'll get used to it," Fiona said as the two began to walk towards the market plaza. "I can show you the best stalls if you want. Some places have better deals than others, and there's this one bakery that makes amazing cinnamon bread!"
Savannah's face lit up at the mention of the bakery. "That sounds great. I'd love that!"
As they walked along the canal path towards the market, Savannah glanced at Fiona, curious. "You sound like you know this place really well. Have you lived here long?"
Fiona shrugged, stuffing her hands into her jeans. "Pretty much my whole life. Born and raised in Rookpoint."
Savannah's eyebrows rose with interest. "That's amazing! I've always wondered what it's like to stay in one place for so long. My brother and I moved around a lot before coming here, so we never really had the chance to call anywhere 'home'."
"That sounds… difficult," Fiona said, thoughtfully. "Moving around like that. Not being able to put down roots."
"It had its ups and downs," Savannah agreed, smiling gently. "But it made us pretty close. Samuel—that's my brother—and I, we're kind of all each other has. So, no matter where we went, as long as we had each other, it felt like home."
Fiona chewed on her lip, giving a small nod. For a moment, her gaze was distant, unfocused. As if she was turning Savannah's words over in her mind. "I get that. Even though I've always lived here, I know what it's like to only really count on a few people. Most of the town's nice, but…" she trailed off, her voice tightening just slightly. "There's always been a line between the locals and anyone who isn't one of us. It's unspoken, but it's there."
"Really?" Savannah asked, frowning. "Everyone's been pretty welcoming so far."
"Yeah, most are," Fiona hesitated, then added, "but a few? Not so much. You'll figure out who soon enough. Just be careful." She gave a wry grin, as if trying to downplay her earlier seriousness. "Anyway, that's enough of that. Tell me more about you. Why'd you and your brother move here? Rookpoint isn't exactly a place people just stumble upon. Something brought you here, right?"
Savannah hesitated, unsure of how much to say. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, glancing down at the cobblestone path beneath her feet. "Well, we needed… a fresh start, I guess. Things were… tough before we came here. Rookpoint seemed like a good place to slow down and just… just be, for a while. To breathe. To get our feet back under us."
Fiona didn't press for more, sensing the weight behind Savannah's words. Instead, she offered a small smile. "Well, if it's a fresh start you're after, this place is perfect for that. You get the ocean, the hills, the quiet nights… and, like I said, the best cinnamon bread."
Savannah smiled, looking over at Fiona, curiosity in her eyes. "So, what do you do around here? You seem to know a lot about the town."
Fiona shrugged casually. "I do deliveries for a few businesses around town. Nothing too exciting – just hauling things from one place to another with my sister. Keeps us busy."
Savannah's face lit up in recognition. "Deliveries? That's funny. My brother mentioned he met a guy who does something similar. Do you work together with him?"
Fiona's easygoing expression shifted instantly, her nose wrinkling in distaste. "You must mean Malcolm Summers?"
Savannah blinked at her sudden change in tone. "Uh… yeah, I think that's his name. Samuel didn't seem too fond of him."
"Can't blame him." Fiona gave an exaggerated sigh, shaking her head. "Malcolm's… well, let's just say he's got a reputation. He's loud, cocky, and always in the middle of something shady. He claims to run some 'discreet delivery service', but most people figure he's just moving questionable stuff around town."
Savannah tipped her head, curious. "You… don't work with him, then?"
"Not a chance in hell, thank you very much," Fiona said firmly. "I keep my deliveries above board, thank you very much! The last thing I need is people thinking I'm part of whatever scheme he's got going on. The guy might be obnoxious, but so far he's managed to stay out of real trouble. Who knows when that'll change. No, I'm fine staying far away from him."
Savannah nodded, unsure of how to respond. She had yet to meet Malcolm yet, but hearing Samuel rant about him—and now Fiona expressing her own distaste for him—painted a clearer picture in her mind. "Sounds like my brother's run-in with him wasn't unique. I don't know if I should be happy about that or not."
"Sounds like it," Fiona muttered before giving Savannah a quick grin. "But forget him. We're almost at the bakery!" They rounded the corner, and the scent of warm bread and spices filled the air. Savannah's mouth watered at the inviting aroma.
It wasn't a market stall, like Savannah had expected. Instead, the bakery was a small, cozy-looking shop that looked out on the plaza where the public market was being held. Wide windows showed off rows of fresh loaves, pastries, tarts, and other treats. A bold wooden sign above the door read Bright's Bakery in cheerful, carved letters that looked hand painted. Despite the fresh colors on the sign the wood itself was obviously worn and weathered.
Fiona held the door for Savannah as they went inside. A young woman with short, bouncy hair stood behind the counter. She wore a flour-dusted apron over a vibrant blue sweater, her expression bright and welcoming as the bell over the door jingled. She couldn't have been much older than Savannah—early twenties, perhaps—which caught her off guard. She'd expected someone much older.
"Hey Fi!" the woman called, waving enthusiastically. "Who's your friend?"
Fiona smiled in response. "Hey, Marnie. This is Savannah. She just moved here with her brother. Thought I'd introduce her to the best bread in town!"
Marnie's grin somehow got even wider, making her look like a very friendly jack-o-lantern. She hastily wiped her hands on her apron as she came around the counter. "Well, welcome to Rookpoint, Savannah!" she said, enthusiastically shaking her hand. "You made the right call coming here. Our cinnamon bread is basically famous. Well, not officially, but it should be!"
The young baker's energy was infectious, and Savannah felt a smile creeping onto her own face. "Thank you, Marnie! It smells amazing in here!"
"Only the best for our town!" Marnie said proudly, clapping her hands together. Despite her best efforts to clean them off, her palms were still coated with a fine layer of flour, which puffed out when she clapped. "You've gotta try a slice while it's fresh. Fiona's right – it's the best way to settle into Rookpoint. Oh, and if you ever need a little pick-me-up, we do these tiny fruit tarts too. They're small… but mighty!"
Fiona leaned on the counter, raising a playful eyebrow at Marnie. "Tiny, overpriced tarts, you mean?"
Marnie gasped in mock offense. "They are perfectly priced, thank you very much! Artisan baking isn't cheap, you know!"
Savannah laughed, enjoying the banter. It was obvious that the two had known each other for some time, and it reminded her of how she and Samuel teased each other when things were light. "I'll definitely take some cinnamon bread," she said, still smiling. "And maybe a tart or two for later."
Marnie's eyes sparkled. "Good choice – coming right up!" she skipped back behind the counter, grabbing a fresh loaf from one of the shelves behind her. She slipped it into a brown paper bag with the Bright's Bakery logo on it. "You want butter with that? I make my own – it's extra creamy."
"Sure, why not?" Savannah said, already feeling at ease in the little shop.
Marnie slipped two containers into the bag with a sneaky wink. "We do regular and brown sugar honey butter," she explained before carefully folding the bread and butter into the bag. "Here you go—fresh and warm, just the way it should be. And the butter is perfect for spreading. This time it's free, but next time it's on you."
Savannah took the package with a grateful smile. The warmth of the bread seeped through the bag, and the smell of the cinnamon curled around her like an embrace. "Thank you, Marnie! I can't wait to try it."
"Of course! And bring your brother next time. I'm sure he'd love it here," Marnie said, leaning casually on the counter. "Nothing like a little Rookpoint hospitality, right?"
Savannah giggled. "I will. He loves fresh bread; he'll definitely be interested."
Fiona gave Marnie a playful look, arching her eyebrow. "Uh-huh. We all know the real reason you want her to bring him by."
Marnie raised both hands in mock surrender. "Guilty as charged! I mean, he's a new guy in town, right? Fresh meat, so to speak. You can't blame me for being curious!"
Fiona rolled her eyes, but there was a playful edge to her voice. "Fresh meat, huh? Is that your type now, Marnie?"
The baker's cheeks flushed a little, but she grinned impishly at Fiona. "Hey, I like what I like. Besides, what's wrong with a little harmless flirting? You know, it wouldn't hurt you to try it sometime."
Fiona snorted, shaking her head. "If there's one thing I know about myself, it's that I'm no good at flirting. Plus, I don't need to flirt with every new guy that shows up in town."
"Oh, come on," Marnie teased, "you could use a little bit of fun in your life, Fi. You're so serious all the time."
Fiona shrugged. "I'm serious because I'm not interested in getting my heart tangled up with someone who's just passing through, or with the wrong person, or—"
"Oh, I get it," Marnie said before dropping her voice into a teasing whisper. "Maybe you're just too busy with all the ladies in town to notice a nice guy, hmmm?"
Fiona froze for a moment, her eyes widening in surprise. Then she shot Marnie a glare, leaning towards her as a blush crept into her cheeks. "I swear, you're impossible, shut up," she muttered, though her voice carried no real anger.
Savannah, who had been listening to their playful banter with a quiet smile, felt her face warm with the sudden shift in the conversation. The atmosphere had taken a turn, and she wasn't sure if she should say something or just let it pass. She decided to opt for the safer route.
"You two are really fun to watch," she said lightly, glancing from Fiona to Marnie with an amused expression.
Marnie laughed, and Fiona quickly looked away, blushing harder. "Alright, alright," Fiona said, nudging Savannah playfully. "Let's go before she roasts me any further."
Marnie grinned wider, clearly unbothered. "You know where to find me, Fi. Don't be a stranger!" she then looked at Savannah. "And it was great meeting you. Seriously, bring your brother by next time. It'll be fun."
"Will do," Savannah promised, smiling at the baker. "Thanks again, Marnie."
As they stepped out of the bakery, the cooler air greeted them with a sharp bite, but the cinnamon bread warming Savannah's hands made the moment feel cozy. Comfortable. Fiona fell into step beside her again, the teasing atmosphere settling back into a comfortable silence for a moment or two before Fiona spoke. "Well, let's get going to the market before you eat all that bread," she said with a smile.
Savannah smiled, nodding. "Yeah, you're right. I'm already tempted. It smells amazing!"
Fiona gave her a knowing glance, smirking. "You'd be a fool not to be. And it tastes better than it smells."
The low, droning hum of the bar's interior seemed incessantly noisy. Samuel shut off the last of the lights, rolling his shoulder as he looked around the interior of the Ocean's Cradle. It was late afternoon, and the sun had already begun to dip below the horizon, casting a soft, golden glow through the front windows of the bar.
Samuel was exhausted. The extra shift had been a far cry from his usual role as a bouncer. Not only had it kept him on his feet all day, but it was the kind of work that sapped his energy in a different way. He had spent hours cleaning, mopping the floors until his legs felt like jelly and wiping down the counters. He'd organized the back room where they stored their stock, put together an inventory list for the bar, fixed the leak in the bathroom, swapped out some of the light bulbs, and eliminated the stubborn grime in the kitchen. All tasks that left his body aching and his arms sore. The exhaustion in his bones made it hard for him to focus on anything other than the small, warm apartment back home.
He stood behind the bar for a moment, staring at the rows of empty glasses lined up on the shelves. His mind wandered to the things he'd been avoiding thinking about during the day – mainly the strange, lingering tension between him and some of the town's inhabitants. Even after a few weeks, it still felt like a strange, uncomfortable fit. He hadn't yet become accustomed to this place, to its rhythms. To the people, their routines, and their habits. If he was honest with himself, he was still trying to figure out his place here.
But for now, his only thought was getting back to the apartment. He grabbed his coat from the back office, shrugging it on with a resigned sigh, and then pulled open the heavy oak doors. The cooler evening air hit him like a cold splash of water, and he closed his eyes for a moment. It felt good, especially with how sore he was. It felt almost like it was sharpening his senses.
The street outside was quiet, with only a few people wandering about. Some of the vendors that were closing up their stalls, now that the market was closed for the week. It was peaceful, with only the soft clink of a nearby door shutting and the faint chatter of the handful of townsfolk to break the silence. He could smell the sea breeze coming in off the harbor, mixing with the comforting scent of fresh coffee that came from the café next door. He was exhausted, sure, but the quiet of the evening—the empty streets, the fading light—seemed to almost make the fatigue bearable.
Samuel put his hands in his pockets and walked along the cobblestone path, his footsteps slow and wary as he made his way back towards his apartment. But no sooner had he taken a handful of steps, something caught his attention. It was the unmistakable scent of the freshly brewed coffee. From the café. It had been a background scent before, but something about it reached deep into his mind and seized hold of it. Perhaps it was the blend they used, or the way the ground the beans, but something… something about it struck him. And then he recognized it – the unmistakable sweetness of a latte creeping into his nostrils, mixing with the undertones of rich espresso. The aroma was intoxicating – a quiet invitation he couldn't quite ignore.
He stopped for a moment, his hand instinctively reaching up to adjust the collar of his coat as the scent wrapped around him. Latte. It had been his favorite, once upon a time. The smooth blend of espresso, steamed milk, and just a touch of sweetness. The kind of drink that brought back happy memories and felt like a small comfort after a long day. For a brief moment, it was as if time slipped away. He stood there, his eyes gazing towards the coffee shop's large front window, almost as if the simple scent had unlocked something in him. A memory flickered, one that had been buried under the weight of the move, the new town, and the uncertainty of starting over.
It was a memory of Sophia, sitting beside him at a small café in the city. It had been a rare Sunday afternoon off for the both of them, a quiet moment after weeks of stress. She'd been laughing at something he'd said, her head tilted back as the sunlight caught her hair. And beside her… a latte sat on the table between them. She always ordered the same thing, just like him. Creatures of habit, that's what they had been.
Samuel remembered the way she'd smiled that day, the way everything felt easy. Like the whole world was in front of them, ripe with possibilities. There were no shadows in her smile, no hint of the things they'd lose. No hint of all the things to come. Just the simple joy of being together, of sharing something small like a drink at a café while the city bustled around them, ignorant of their existence. Two lives, lost in the endless swirl of life. He felt his heart give a painful lurch in his chest. He'd done his best not to think about Sophia for a while—he'd had to, really, for both their sakes—but moments like this, these sudden flashes of the past, came without warning.
Samuel exhaled slowly, almost as if trying to shake the memory loose. He looked up, blinking hard as he felt a tear threatening the corner of his eye. Through nothing but sheer force of will, he squeezed the feelings back down into the deepest part of his psyche he could find. He hadn't meant to linger here like this, standing outside the café like a fool. It wasn't fair to let himself get lost in something so fleeting. Not when he was trying to move forward. But for a brief moment, all the old memories—Savannah, their shared past—had surged in so suddenly that he couldn't stop himself from standing still. Lost in the familiar pain of something he could never get back.
He stood there a moment longer, caught between the pull of his old memories and the quiet present around him. The café's warm glow spilled out onto the darkening street, pooling around him on the cobblestones. It felt inviting, ordinary in a way that made it hard to resist.
He hadn't had a latte in… how long? He couldn't quite remember. Not since Sophia, that much he knew. For a while, even the thought of it had seemed unbearable, like drinking one would somehow cheapen what they had shared together. Or make her absence more real. But this wasn't about the past anymore, was it? This was supposed to be about finding a way to keep going, or reclaim those small comforts he'd been denying himself. Was it really so bad to have a cup of coffee? Something warm… something familiar? Something that didn't have to hurt?
Samuel glanced up the street in the direction of his apartment, then back at the café window. A soft sigh escaped his lips as he ran a hand through his hair. Maybe… maybe it was time to stop running from these little things. From letting grief's claws sink into his spine every time he thought about them. Maybe, tonight, a latte didn't have to be anything more than what it was – a quiet moment at the end of a long day.
He took a deep breath, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets, and stepped towards the door. The familiar scent grew stronger as he approached, wrapping around him like a well-loved memory.
Samuel hesitated at the door, his fingers resting on the handle.
Just a cup of coffee. That's all it would be.
After a beat, he pulled the door open.
The soft tinkling of the bell rang out as Samuel stepped into the café, the warmth of the place washing over him like a quiet tide. The smell of freshly ground coffee hung in the air, rich and inviting, but the room itself was eerily quiet. No other customers lingered at this hour; just the low hum of the appliances and the muted clatter of someone wiping down the counter. His eyes scanned the space, taking in the dim lighting and worn wooden floors. The café had an understated charm – cozy, but a little rough around the edges. Like a place that had seen years of use without losing its heart. It wasn't fancy, but it was welcoming in its own way. Or, it should have been.
Behind the counter was a woman wiping down the espresso machine. She had pale skin and dark hair that was pulled back into a low ponytail, the loose strands framing a sharp, determined face. Her clothes were neat, but the faint smudges of coffee grounds on her blue apron and across her hands suggested she'd been hard at work for hours. She didn't look up at first, too focused on her task, but as Samule took a few more steps inside, her eyes flicked towards him, and something in her expression shifted.
It wasn't the welcoming look he'd been expecting. Not even close. Instead, her gaze narrowed slightly, lips pressing into a thin line. He could feel the weight of her judgment before she even said a word. "We're closing soon." Her voice was cool, detached. The kind of tone that made it painfully clear she wasn't eager for his company. "I'm not sure you're aware, but I think you might've missed the last call for… whatever you're looking for."
Samuel paused, catching the edge in her words. He wasn't expecting a warm reception, but this felt like something else entirely. She was bristling like he was here to rob the place. Or start a war. He considered turning around and leaving—he really wasn't in the mood for a fight—but he'd spent all that time working himself up outside for a cup of coffee. He wasn't about to back down now.
"I'm just here for a cup of coffee," he said evenly, keeping his tone neutral. "Been working all night. I just need something to take the edge off."
She set down the rag she was using and folded her arms, looking him over slowly as if she was trying to place him. There was something defensive in her stance, like she was preparing for a confrontation. Samuel could tell she was sizing him up, and whatever conclusion she'd reached, it wasn't a favorable one. "You're one of them, aren't you?" she said after a moment, her voice sharpening. "Bouncer next door?"
Samuel was caught off guard by the sudden accusatory tone in her voice. "What?"
She gave him a pointed look. "You work at the bar next door, right? Ocean's Cradle? I've seen you pass by." There was a hard edge in her tone, as if the simple fact of his job put him in a category she didn't particularly care for. "I'm not sure the Driftwood Café is the right place for someone like you."
For a moment, he didn't respond. The exhaustion weighting on him made it harder to process the sudden hostility, but the irritation followed quickly behind. He hadn't done anything—hell, he didn't even know this woman—and she was already treating him like he was trouble. "What do you mean 'someone like me'?" he asked, his voice low. More puzzled than angry, but definitely getting there.
She didn't flinch, her expression remaining as guarded as when he'd walked in. "You know what I mean. You're the kind of guy who's usually throwing people out of the bar." Her words came quickly, as though she'd been holding onto the assumption for a while. "I don't want troublemakers stirring up the café."
Samuel exhaled slowly, forcing himself to stay calm. He was too tired for this. He didn't come in looking for trouble – he'd just wanted a damn coffee, something warm to end the night with – but here he was, being sized up and judged by someone who didn't know a thing about him. "Lady, I'm just here for a coffee," he said, irritation starting to creep into his tone. "You don't know a thing about me, and I'm not here to cause trouble."
Her eyes flashed, and she took a step closer to the counter, her arms still crossed firmly over her chest. "And I don't want to know anything about you. Not if you're the kind of person who spends his nights throwing people around for fun. And I'm not your damn punching bag, so don't take your bad mood out on me."
He laughed dryly, though there was no humor in it. "I'm not here to cause problems – I'm just trying to get some peace after a shitty night. What's your problem with me anyway?"
For a moment, the only sound was the faint hum of the coffee machine behind her. She didn't say anything right away, but her expression remained tense and guarded. She was clearly still on edge, though whether it was all because of him for from something else, he couldn't tell. "My problem," she said finally, her voice quieter but no less firm, "is that people like you come in here and cause trouble. This place is for quiet, peaceful people. Not for thugs who throw others around like toys."
Samuel clenched his jaw, biting back the retort that came to mind. He didn't need this right now. He didn't need to explain himself to someone who had already decided what kind of person he was. But still, something about her words got under his skin, made him want to push back. To tell her how wrong she was. Instead, he took a slow breath to relax himself. "Look, like I said – I'm not looking for a fight. I just wanted a coffee on my way home. I'll even take it to go if it makes you feel better, okay?"
The silence that followed was tense. The kind that made Samuel acutely aware of how much space he was taking up in the room. She wasn't backing down, but she wasn't snapping at him again – yet. She was still staring at him as if weighing her options, arms crossed and her sharp, dark eyes fixed on him. Just as Samuel started to wonder if she'd kick him out anyway, the sound of footsteps echoed from the back of the café. A new voice chimed in, cheerful and bubbly, cutting through the tension like a sudden spring breeze.
"Well, well, well… what do we have here. Cammy, are you scaring off our customers again?"
A woman, shorter than the one behind the counter, appeared in the doorway that led to the back. She wore the same standard blue-white apron, her brown hair pulled back into a pair of pigtails. There was a playful glint in her eyes, and she had a smirk on her face that suggested she was more amused by the situation than concerned.
The barista—Cammy, apparently—shot her an irritated glare. "I'm not scaring anyone off, Nat. He just waltzed in here right before closing like we're some all-night diner."
Nat ignored the protest, walking right past her and leaning casually on the corner of the counter, her attention now fully on Samuel. She gave him a quick once-over, her grin widening, as if she found something about him entertaining. "Well, you don't look like trouble…" she tilted her head, her expression mischievous. "Tired, sure. Cranky, maybe. But trouble? Nah, you're too quiet for that."
Samuel raised an eyebrow, unsure of just what to make of the newcomer. He was too tired to respond with a muttered, "Just here for a coffee."
Nat chuckled and straightened up. "See? Harmless." She turned to her coworker, who was still giving him an icy stare. "Come on, let him stay for a minute. You can handle one tired guy, right?" Then, without waiting for a response, she leaned over the counter and gave Samuel a wink. "So… what's your poison? We've got lattes, cappuccinos, macchiatos, americanos… or plain ol' black coffee, if you're boring."
Samuel blinked, caught slightly off guard by her energy. "…Latte?"
"Ooh, a man of taste!" Nat clapped her hands together, clearly pleased with his choice. She turned toward the espresso machine and gathering what she needed for his drink with practiced ease. "Don't mind Cammy, by the way. She's always like this around closing time – grumpy, defensive, and a total buzzkill."
"Natalie…" the other barista's voice was low, warning, but Nat only grinned wider.
"Relax, Cammy. I'm just being friendly. Take notes." She turned back to Samuel. "So, you're new, huh? Haven't seen you around before. Or maybe I have, and I just forgot. Happens sometimes."
"I… work next door," Samuel said, keeping his tone neutral.
"Oh, you're from Ocean's Cradle." Nat shot her colleague a knowing look, which earned her another steely glare. "Guess that explains why you look half-dead. Bar shifts'll do that to you."
Nat placed her hands on her hips, eyes sparkling with mischief. "You know what? Since Cammy here was so mean and got you all wound up, I think she should make your latte as an apology." She turned towards the dark-haired woman, the teasing lilt in her voice unmistakable. "Whaddya say, Cammy? Show him some Rookpoint hospitality?"
Her reaction was immediate – and exactly what Samuel expected.
She turned fully to face Natalie, her posture stiffening. "Stop calling me that," she said tersely. "And I'm not apologizing. He walked in here without checking the time and got mouthy when I told him we were about to close. That's on him, not me!" She snatched up her rag and went back to wiping down the counter, her movements tense and purposeful.
"Geez, no wonder you're single." Nat leaned on the counter, resting her chin in her hand, her smirk never wavering. "You're always so grumpy. Lighten up a little. I'm just saying you should be nice. It's not every day we get someone from Ocean's Cradle wandering in here like he's about to keel over."
Samuel's eyes flicked to the other woman, who was now ignoring both of them. Her lips were pressed into a thin line like she couldn't decide what she was supposed to annoy her more – Nat's teasing or being expected to play nice with him. Either way, she didn't seem like the type to give in easily. "I'll pass," she muttered. "You want to play hostess, be my guest."
Nat leaned on the bar, sighing dramatically and fanning her face with one hand before straightening up. "Fine, fine. You're impossible, you know that?" she shot Samuel a conspiratorial grin. "She's always like this – tough on the outside, even tougher on the inside. But don't worry, I've got you covered." She turned back to the espresso machine, beginning his drink herself. "You're lucky I'm around, or you'd be walking out of here empty-handed."
"Thanks, I guess," Samuel said, still a little wary of the whole situation. He was inwardly kind of glad that Nat was the one making his drink – he didn't need her to spit in it or something.
Nat moved quickly, her experience obvious as she expertly frothed the milk. "Anyway, I'm Natalie, but everyone calls me Nat. I run this place with Her Majesty over there," she jerked her thumb towards the other woman. "And before you ask, no, her name isn't really Cammy. It's Camille. But I like 'Cammy'. It's cuter."
Samuel caught a flash of irritation on Camille's face before she turned her back entirely. "I said, stop calling me that," she said again, her voice clipped.
Nat gave another loud, exaggerated sigh as she poured the perfectly frothed milk into the espresso, swirling it effortlessly to create a simple heart shape on top. "You're such a killjoy, Cammy. Honestly, with your cheery attitude, it's a wonder anyone comes in here at all."
Camille didn't even flinch. "They come here for the coffee, not for me."
Nat laughed as she popped the lid onto the to-go cup. "Ah, yes. Camille: Rookpoint's resident customer service queen." She turned back to Samuel, her grin undiminished as she slid the cup across the counter towards him. "Here you go. One latte, fresh and hot. And because Cammy here was about as welcoming as a brick wall, it's on the house."
Samuel paused, the warmth of the cup spreading through his fingers. He could feel both sets of eyes on him – Nat's, playful and inviting, and Camille's, guarded but undeniably attentive. He'd dealt with a lot of people in his life, and that led him to one conclusion: Nat enjoyed stirring the pot, and Camille had a short temper. This was a ticking time bomb. "I'll pay," he said flatly, already reaching into his pocket for his wallet.
Nat waved a hand, brushing off his offer like it was a pesky fly. "Nah, seriously, don't worry about it. Consider it a little apology gift. You didn't deserve all her prickles. Cammy's just cranky because it's late."
"Nat, for the love of God…" Camille muttered without looking up from the counter she was wiping down for the third time.
Samuel ignored them, pulling out a crisp ten-dollar bill and placing it firmly on the counter. "Keep the change."
Nat blinked at him, momentarily thrown off by his bluntness. "Wow. Okay, Mr. No-Nonsense," she chirped, leaning forward and propping her chin on her hand as she studied him with renewed amusement. "I get it – you're one of those guys who doesn't like freebies. Gotta pay your way, huh?"
Samuel didn't answer immediately, just held her gaze with the same unflinching calm he'd had since walking in. "I don't charity," he said flatly. "I don't like owing people anything."
Nat's cheeky grin widened further. "Oooh, mysterious. You've got layers. I like that."
Camille put the rag down, her exasperation almost palpable. "Nat, quit bothering him. Some of us would like to close up tonight. We have homes. And lives."
"Fine, fine," Nat said, snatching up the ten-dollar bill and tucking it into the register with a theatrical flourish. "There. Paid in full. You happy now, Cammy?"
Camille shot her another look, but said nothing. Instead, she moved towards the back of the café, clearly done with the conversation. Samuel watched her go for a moment before turning his attention back to Nat. "Thanks for the coffee."
Nat hopped up on the counter, kicking her legs freely like a child. "Anytime! And hey, if you ever want to see the ice queen in action again, feel free to drop by before closing. Nothing livens up the night like a grouchy barista!"
From the back room of the café, Camille's voice called out, sharp and clear. "I can still hear you, Nat!"
Samuel lifted his cup in thanks, giving Nat a brief nod, before turning on his heel and making for the door before he could get dragged into another discussion. As he stepped outside, he heard Nat's voice ring out behind him, cheerful as ever. "Hey! You didn't tell me your name!"
The door swung shut behind him, cutting off any further remarks. He didn't hear anything else she might have said, nor did he care to. All he wanted to do now was get home, shower off the lingering exhaustion from his shift, and then pass out in bed. The cool night air was doing little to clear the irritation that still clung to him. His grip on his latte tightened slightly as his mind circled back to Camille's sharp attitude and judgmental remarks.
Why'd she have to act like I was some kind of felon? He'd dealt with people like her before – people who put up walls made of sheer stubbornness, acting like they didn't need anyone's company. Not to dissimilar from him, if he was bluntly honest with himself, but it still rubbed him the wrong way. He hadn't done anything except walk into the wrong place and what was apparently the wrong time, and somehow that turned into a whole ordeal. If not for Nat's intervention, he had a feeling Camille would have thrown him out on his ear. Possibly physically.
Still, something about her demeanor stuck in his mind. There had been something more than just annoyance or a late night in her eyes. Something wary, like she was expecting trouble and was ready to meet it head-on. It wasn't just him she had a problem with. She seemed like someone who was always on edge. Like her defensiveness was a shield she held in front of her wherever she went. He'd have to ask Marcus if any of the previous employees at Ocean's Gate had caused problems for the café next door… Camille certainly spoke like they had.
He shook his head, exhaling slowly. Not my circus, not my monkeys.
He reached the corner of the street, his apartment a few blooks ahead. His thoughts swirled, a mix of annoyance and fatigue, but something else lingered now. Curiosity, maybe? Or the faint aftertaste of the tension left behind by his encounter at the face. He hadn't even touched his latte yet, after all the work he'd put into fighting for it, but the aroma wafting up from the cup—warm, rich, faintly sweet—was starting to tempt him.
He paused under one of the streetlights, finally giving in. He lifted the cup to his lips and took a careful sip.
The first taste hit him with a familiar warmth. Smooth, balanced… but then something unexpected followed – a hint of sweetness. Subtle. Fragrant.
Vanilla.
Samuel's mind abruptly stopped working.
His grip on the cup tightened, the warmth pressing against his palm. He hadn't asked for vanilla. He'd asked for a plain latte. That was all he'd wanted. And yet… it was there. Unmistakable. The flavor wasn't overpowering – it was delicate. Barely more than a whisper. But it was enough to stir something deep in his chest.
Just like when he'd been standing in front of the café before, he suddenly found his mind somewhere else entirely. Back in the café, looking across the table at Sophia. The quiet hum of conversations blending with the clatter of cups and spoons. He could feel the weight of the moment – back when things had been simpler. Back then, he'd always ordered the vanilla lattes. The same thing. The same drink. Every time. Not because he particularly liked it, but because Sophia always ordered them, and because she had always teased him about being boring when he ordered something without a flavor in it.
He could still hear her voice in his mind. "Come on, Sam. Live a little. Just get the vanilla. It's not going to kill you, you know."
He swallowed thickly, the warmth spreading from his chest outward, though it wasn't the comforting kind. It was the kind that made him want to curl up and cry. It was the kind that left something hollow in its wake. A familiar ache that he thought he'd learned to live with. He remembered that Sophia had once told him that she loved vanilla lattes because they made everything feel a little lighter. A little sweeter. He hadn't touched anything flavored with vanilla since… well, since things had fallen apart. Since everything had gone belly-up and he'd lost her. Since she was gone.
Samuel forced himself to take another sip, slower this time, letting the taste linger on his tongue. The blend was perfect – the bitterness of the espresso balanced by the creamy smoothness of the milk and just that hint of sweetness from the milk… it was, impossibly, exactly how he remembered it from those days with her. Exactly how she would have liked it.
He lowered the cup, his eyes distant as he stared down the empty street. He didn't know why Nat had added the vanilla. Maybe she'd done it on accident. Or maybe it was something they did with all their lattes and she hadn't thought twice about it. Either way, it didn't matter. The result was the same.
For one emotional moment, he considered hurling the drink into the nearest trash can. It was too much – too close tot the memories he wasn't ready to face. But then he stopped himself. It wasn't the coffee's fault. It wasn't the barista's fault. It wasn't anyone's fault. It was just… life. Doing what life always did – throwing reminders at him when he least expected them. He exhaled slowly, pushing the memories back down where they belonged. Deep enough to where they couldn't take hold and rule him. One step at a time, he reminded himself. That's how you moved forward.
That's how you kept going.