The coffee shop was packed. The only seat was at the counter that faced the front window, looking out into the street. The light rain slid down the outside of the window and there was drip from the ceiling, caught in a small plastic tub on the counter. The Greatest Hits of Ella Fitzgerald bubbled in the background.
The strong coffee steamed and left her nose moist. There was a clean draft from the door. She settled back into her seat and breathed in the wet. Steam rising from her cup, drip splashing in the tub, rain splattering on the window.
Her reflection glittered a crystalline sparkle that grew pink and gold as the barista lit candles on the tables behind her. A man standing under the awning outside smiled at her. She returned the smile.
She turned the page of her New York Times, took another sip of coffee. There was nothing to race home to.
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