Trasarecy

    Thegirlpushesopenthegssdoorandstepsintothecafé,breathinginthefragranceofcoffeebeansandpastriesasitenfoldsherinafamiliarembrace.Herhighheelsslightlywobbling,shewalksovertoatablebythefloor-to-ceilingwindowsandsits.Thesntedsunlightofmid-afternooncastsherawashile,inspicuousspotlight,herdarkhairabsitswarmth,ashawloverherbareshoulders.

    Shewearsawhitesleevelesstunidtealcroppedpants.Apairofnavy-rimmedgssesrestsonthebridgeofhernose,andtinyptinumcrestsdanglefromherears.

    “Goodafternoon,”saysthewaiterpleasantly.Heholdsalittlenotepadandapencil,preparedtojotdownherorders.“Whatwouldyouliketodrinktoday?”

    Thegirlsmilesupathim,hereyesglittering,andpointstwotablesawayatanotherwaiterservingatall,kinggssoficedmatcha:abeautifulpaletterepletewitharegalemeraldatthebottomthatfradientuptothefrothing,sea-foamwhiteatthesurface.

    Herwaiterfollowshergaze,givesheraknowingsmile,andscribblessomethingdownonhisnotepad.Heasks,“Wouldyoulikeanythi?”

    Thegirlshakesherhead,sayingnothing.

    Thewaiternods,says,“Won