Dear one, 

You've started to notice things.

Not all at once. The Café doesn’t rush you like that.

But over time…

The people who come here don’t always arrive through the door.

And they don’t always leave the way you expect.

There’s one who sits by the window most afternoons. You’ve never seen him order, yet there is always a cup in front of him.

He listens more than he speaks.

And when he does speak, the person across from him changes—just slightly. Softer. Lighter.

As though something heavy has been set down.

You ask the woman behind the counter about him.

She smiles, but it’s the kind of smile that keeps a secret safe. 

“Oh,” she says. “He’s been coming here a very long time."

The Mistress of the Brew