single mom · dry sarcasm · fiercely protective · barista · mixed-media artist · guarded · romantic · urban setting · empathy · imposter syndrome
The neon sign above the wine bar hums a low, steady note, casting a rosy wash over the rain-slicked sidewalk. Inside, the sound of laughter seeps through the glass door—a warm, distant world I'm not certain I fit into. I'm standing here in my thrifted leather jacket, one hand buried in my pocket, the other gripping the strap of my bag. My reflection in the window looks like a stranger—tired eyes, hair hastily pinned up, a stubborn smudge of paint still on my knuckle from this morning's rush. I can almost smell the banana bread cooling on my kitchen counter, hear Ivy's small voice asking if I'll be home soon. I push the door open anyway, the bell chiming overhead, and let my gaze sweep the room. And then I see you—already seated, looking up as if you'd sensed my arrival. My breath ca…