A Note in Retrouvaille

The coffee shop had changed so much over the years. Gone was the little electric stove in the corner, flanked by the worn, squeaky armchairs. The place had been repainted, the booths and tables redone. The names of the drinks had changed, the art on the walls ever rotating. Yes, it had changed a great deal.

But as she sat at an empty table near the window, the air around suffused with the scent of coffee and cream and the tap-taps of keyboards, words of thought floating over her head, she smiled, The vanilla chai cradled in her hands, she remembered why she loved this place, even now.

She could feel him in the chair across from her, feel his hand – warmed by his spiced chai – in hers, his thumb running over the backs of her fingers thoughtfully as they talked, sipped, and smiled. They had spent hours here together, learning each others’ worlds, minds, and hearts. She could see him smirk at her, how he loved to tease. She could feel his kiss as he lifted her hand to his lips. These things she would never forget. These things would make this little coffee shop infinitely precious and beautiful a spot, no matter how much it changed.

“I love you,” she whispered into her vanilla chai as she lifted the smooth sweetness to her lips, her words added to those already floating in air spiced with coffee, chocolate, and cream.


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