Noah leaves just before noon. He tucks his scarf over his coat collar and pauses by the counter, one hand on his thermos and the other resting lightly against the polished wood. "I have some things to handle," he says. "But wait for me after your shift. Alright, good luck on your shift, team."
Me and Chloe nod, watching him disappear through the glass door. The faint jingle of the bell sounds quieter when he walks away. Like it knows something changed. Now it's just me, Chloe, and the low hum of jazz again.
Only three customers remain—scattered around the room like quiet punctuation marks. A young man with headphones and a sketchpad near the window. A pair of old friends catching up slowly, stirring their tea more than drinking it.
It's peaceful.
