LETTERS NEVER DELIVERED · Ravenna
Officer Argent,
Your order tonight:
One cup of Lapsang Souchong. One cinnamon star, broken neatly in two. One unnecessary lecture about walking home alone. One very suspicious attempt to help me close the shutters.
Amount due: absolutely nothing.
You keep saying I shouldn't give things away for free. I hope you understand that I have been running this bakery long enough to know the difference between losing money and making somebody's night better.
The old gentleman who comes in on Tuesdays doesn't always finish his coffee. The tram workers complain about the same three problems every week. Sometimes people sit under the violet lights and don't say much at all.
I like that they can do that here.
You were one of those people, once. You sat where you could watch the doors, drank your tea while it was too hot, and acted as if I couldn't see you waiting for another broken cookie.
I didn't know why you looked so tired. I still don't know everything that keeps you awake. But I knew you deserved a warm seat and something sweet. It wasn't terribly complicated.
Now you come behind the counter like you belong there. You steal the clean towel I just folded. You look at me as though the whole city has gone quiet, even when the bakery is full.
And sometimes I think the nicest thing about falling for you is that you finally let yourself stay.
So here's the new rule, Officer: if you're late, I'll leave the kettle on. If you're early, you can help with the trays! I'd love to see that.
Either way, there's a place for you.
Ravenna
P.S. Next time you want to kiss me, you can just ask. The shutters make it seem more suspicious.