By midweek, the rhythm of small-town life had settled back into its usual hum. The café buzzed with morning chatter, the smell of espresso and baked bread drifting into the crisp autumn air.
Emma had made a quiet habit of showing up early — sometimes helping restock mugs or sweep before opening, sometimes just sitting at the corner table with her notebook. Hannah never said much about it, but her smiles came quicker now, easier, every time she saw Emma walk in.
That morning, rain tapped gently against the windows, turning the main street into a watercolor blur. Inside, it felt cozy — the kind of day where everyone lingered a little longer over their coffee.
"Perfect writing weather," Hannah said, sliding a fresh mug across the table. "You've been staring at that same page for twenty minutes."
Emma laughed, brushing her hair out of her face. "You caught me. Maybe I'm just waiting for inspiration to walk over with another refill."
Hannah raised an eyebrow but played along. "That'll cost you a smile."
Emma gave her one without hesitation. "Worth it."
For a while, the world outside faded — replaced by the sound of rain, the hiss of the espresso machine, the gentle rhythm of comfort they'd found together.
Later that afternoon, when the rain finally stopped, Hannah locked the front door early. "No one's coming in at this hour," she said with a shrug. "We deserve a break."
They sat by the window as the clouds broke apart, sunlight glinting off puddles on the street. The quiet stretched comfortably between them until Emma spoke.
"You ever think about how this all started?"
Hannah smiled softly. "Every day."
"It feels… different now. Like we've built something. Slow, but real."
Hannah nodded. "That's the best kind of real."
For a moment, they just watched the light shifting across the street — no grand gestures, no rush. Just the quiet certainty that whatever this was, it was becoming something lasting.