Lance pushed through the glass doors and stepped outside, the morning already warm against his skin.
He headed straight for the bus stop across the street.
It was mid-july but it was always chilly in the morning.
The bus arrived a few minutes later, brakes screeching softly as it pulled up.
Lance climbed in, tapped his card, and took a seat by the window. He rested his forehead lightly against the glass as the city rolled past, letting the familiar route ground him.
By the time he got off near the café, the rush had already started.
The bell above the door chimed when he stepped inside.
Mariah looked up from the counter immediately.
"Oh, so you're alive," she said flatly, arms crossed. "Three days, Lance. Three."
"I know," he replied calmly, tying his apron around his waist. "I'm sorry."
She stared at him for a moment longer, clearly deciding whether to continue.
Then she sighed.
"Go wash your hands and man the counter. We're understaffed and behind."
"Yes, ma'am."
