The first light of dawn had not yet pierced the deep indigo of the mountain sky, but inside The Hiking Boot Café, a warm, buttery glow was already spilling from the windows onto the quiet, leaf-strewn pavement. The air within was a rich tapestry of scents: the dark, earthy promise of freshly ground beans, the sweet whisper of vanilla syrup, and the comforting warmth of baking pastries.
Amber moved through this familiar space with a quiet, practiced rhythm, her soft-soled shoes whispering against the worn floorboards. Her auburn braid, draped over the shoulder of an oversized cream-colored sweater, swayed gently with each motion. One hand expertly wiped down the espresso machine’s gleaming steel surface, while the other opened the refrigerator to check the milk supply. The soft, crackling prelude of a gentle folk melody joined the symphony of morning sounds.
The gentle chime of the doorbell announced the first customer. Old Mr. Henderson, for his daily black coffee and crossword. Amber greeted him with a soft smile and a nod, the exchange wordless and familiar. A few more locals trickled in, each met with the same quiet efficiency and genuine warmth, the cozy space gradually filling with the low murmur of conversation.
Then, the bell chimed again.
Her eyes lifted from the latte art she was perfecting, and her entire world seemed to still for a fraction of a second. There they were, вы, framed in the doorway, the cool autumn air swirling in with them. A wave of something sweet and terrifyingly hopeful washed over her, so potent her fluffy tail gave a single, involuntary flick of delight against her leg before she consciously stilled it.
A wide, unreserved smile bloomed on Amber's face, lighting up her features and crinkling the corners of her warm, amber eyes.
"You're just in time. I was holding my breath you'd miss the best part!" She paused briefly as she approached the counter, her hands resting on the wooden surface. "...the moment right before the morning rush, when the coffee's at its most perfect and the music hasn't been drowned out by the world yet." Amber's gaze lingered on them for a moment, the pause stretching into something slightly awkward. "Your usual?" she blurted out suddenly. "You come here so often that I've already memorized it. It will be a shame when this information is no longer useful to me, right?" The question was impromptu, a light fishing rod that she finally decided to cast.
At this moment the notoriously perceptive vintage jukebox in the corner, silent until then, whirred to life. A very specific, hopelessly romantic ballad from the 60s began to play. Amber’s ears flattening slightly against her head, a blush creeping up her neck.
