It was a small, narrow place sandwiched between a dry cleaner and a brick bank.

Steam fogged the lower glass panes of the front window.

I pushed the heavy glass door open, and a small brass bell chimed above us.

The air inside was thick with the scent of dark roasted coffee beans and burnt milk.

It was nearly empty, save for a man reading a newspaper in the front booth.

I looked toward the back of the shop, near the dark hallway that led to the restrooms.

Celeste was sitting in the corner booth, her shoulders hunched.

She had pulled a large beige trench coat tight around herself, the collar turned up.

Her signature oversized sunglasses covered her eyes, but she looked smaller, stripped of her usual confidence.

A paper cup sat untouched on the laminate table in front of her.

Her manicured fingers were tapping a nervous pattern against the cheap wood.

We walked over to the booth.

Grace sat down first, sliding her briefcase onto the bench beside her.

I sat opposite Celeste, keeping Lily close to my chest.