The bell over the door chimed as Hannah stepped into Harbor Grounds, the only coffee shop in town that didn't feel like it belonged to someone's grandmother. The air smelled like espresso and cinnamon, and the windows fogged faintly from the cool morning air outside.
It was busier than usual — fishermen grabbing their morning caffeine, a couple of teachers from the high school grading papers, the murmur of small-town chatter weaving through the room.
Hannah tugged her scarf loose and joined the line, half-distracted, still thinking about the blue paint that had finally faded from her skin that morning. She'd almost missed it when it was gone.
"Morning, Hannah," called Brooke from behind the counter. "The usual?"
"Please," Hannah said, managing a smile.
She was scrolling idly through her phone when she heard a voice she knew instantly — warm, low, and carrying that same quiet confidence as always.
"Morning, Brooke. I'll take a cappuccino — extra foam, please."
Emma.
Hannah froze, then turned slowly. Emma stood a few people ahead in line, her hair pulled up messily, smudges of charcoal on her wrist like she'd come straight from sketching. She was wearing a paint-splattered jacket that looked effortlessly out of place among the morning crowd.
Emma spotted her almost immediately. "Hey." Her smile was small but genuine, the kind that reached her eyes. "Didn't expect to see you here this early."
"I could say the same," Hannah said, trying to sound casual. "You seem more like a 'paint until noon and forget breakfast' kind of person."
Emma laughed softly. "You're not wrong. But I've been trying this new thing called being a functional adult. It's not going well."
The line moved forward. They ended up side by side at the counter, both ordering, both pretending not to notice how close their shoulders brushed.
When they stepped aside to wait for their drinks, Emma leaned against the counter, glancing toward the window. "You ever notice how this place still smells like old wood smoke, even after they remodeled?"
Hannah nodded. "It's comforting. Like the building remembers who it used to be."
Emma looked at her for a long moment. "You have a way of saying things that make me want to paint them."
Hannah felt her breath catch, just a little. "That sounds like a compliment."
"It is."
Their names were called, and they both reached for their cups at the same time — fingers brushing briefly around the edges of the lids. Neither pulled away immediately.
The noise of the café faded for a second, replaced by something heavier, quieter.
Emma finally stepped back, clearing her throat. "I, uh, wanted to thank you again. For stopping by the other day. It meant more than I probably said."
Hannah nodded, her pulse quickening. "I should be the one thanking you. You reminded me that I used to love being around art. I'd almost forgotten that."
Emma smiled softly. "Then maybe you should come by again. No paperwork this time."
Hannah opened her mouth to respond, but Brooke called over the next order, breaking the spell.
"Maybe," she said finally, voice low. "We'll see."
Emma's eyes held hers a moment longer — something unspoken flickering there — before she picked up her cup and left, the bell chiming again as the door swung shut behind her.
Hannah stood there for a few seconds, still holding her coffee, feeling the warmth seep into her palms.
She didn't need to taste it to know she was already wide awake.