The sky outside had darkened to deep ink, with rain still whispering against the windows. The café had thinned out, only a few lingering customers nestled in corners with their laptops or lattes. The warm lights gave the illusion of time slowing down inside, while the rest of the world rushed on.
Collin was still seated near the window, an hour before closing, his iPad open but mostly forgotten. Work had gotten done — technically — but more than half of his attention had been drifting to the counter.
To her.
She was still there. Still moving like she had purpose in every gesture. Cleaning mugs, checking stock, organizing little pink and red boxes of Valentine's specials near the pastry display.
I wonder what's her name? He thought, the question warm in his chest like a candle flame. He smiled to himself.
Her presence was steady, but there was something distant in her gaze, like she was here, but not really here. Like her thoughts were elsewhere — somewhere softer… and sadder.
Catherine wiped down the counter for the third time in five minutes. Not because it needed it. But because her mind wouldn't slow down.
Valentine's Day tomorrow.
For most people, it meant flowers, chocolates, couples parading their love like trophies. But for her…
Her memories were quieter.
Bittersweet.
She could still see it like yesterday — her father sneaking into her room at dawn with a red rose, heart-shaped pancakes stacked high, and hot chocolate filled to the brim with fluffy marshmallows.
"You'll always be my Valentine, Cat," he used to say.
And for her, those moments were priceless. The kind of love that couldn't be wrapped in ribbons or bought with diamonds.
Now it was just a memory. Both her parents, gone.
She swallowed hard, hoping the cinnamon-sugar in the air would numb the ache. Hope you two are dancing in the stars up there, she thought. Celebrating without me.
Then there was Maverick.
He used to be thoughtful. Sweet. Never missed a Valentine's Day — even when they were just teenagers exchanging paper hearts and candy bracelets.
But that was before.
Before the long hours. Before the unread messages. Before the silence that replaced laughter.
She still smiled when she thought of him. Still defended him in her head.
Maybe he's just busy. Working hard for our future.
But a small voice inside whispered: Or maybe you're just not in his anymore.
"That guy over there is freakishly hot," Aina whispered, leaning close with wide eyes, practically bouncing behind the espresso machine.
Catherine blinked and turned, following her line of sight — right to Collin, still at the window, staring at something on his iPad. Or pretending to.
Her lips twitched. "Hot guys don't usually look that tired."
"Still counts. He looks like he fell out of a Netflix drama. Rain-soaked brooding type, sipping oat latte alone? Girl. I've read enough romance novels to know he's a walking plot twist."
Catherine laughed, genuinely. "Well, let's hope this plot twist tips well."
"Or asks for your number."
Catherine rolled her eyes, chuckling under her breath. "You're impossible."
Just then, as if on cue, Collin stood up and made his way to the counter, iPad under one arm, empty cup and crumpled napkin in hand.
He stopped in front of Catherine, offering a polite smile — one that didn't try too hard.
"That was honestly the best latte I've had in a long time," he said, voice calm but sincere. "And that hot cinnamon bun? Incredible."
Catherine blinked at the compliment, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "Thank you. I made the glaze myself this morning. Secret recipe."
He nodded, impressed. "Well, whatever the secret is… keep it. You've got a real gift."
There was no flirtation in his tone. Just warmth. Respect.
Aina pretended to be organizing spoons nearby, her entire soul vibrating.
Catherine offered a smile, softer this time. "Glad you liked it. You looked… deep in thought back there."
"I was," Collin said. "This place is good for thinking. Or maybe just for remembering how to breathe."
That surprised her. And it moved her a little more than she expected.
"Well… I hope you find what you're looking for," she said.
Collin paused, then gave a small nod. "You too."
He turned to leave, stopping at the door just as she glanced away.
His eyes caught it — her name tag.
Catherine.
It clicked into place in his mind like the final note of a song.
Of course. Catherine.
He didn't smile, not outwardly. But something shifted in his chest.
Politeness. Grace. Sad eyes and strong hands.
He stepped out into the rain again — quieter now — and didn't bother with his hood.
Inside, Catherine turned off one of the pastry case lights and sighed.
The night was almost over.
And for the first time in a long while… she wasn't dreading tomorrow.