The bell above the cafe door jingles, soft and familiar. I glance up from the counter, fingers still damp from wiping the glass surface clean. For a second, my heart lifts—expecting, hoping. But it's just another customer slipping inside from the cold.
Outside, the sky hangs heavy with clouds. I have been in this cafe for more than four hours. Sadly, I can't bring Mellow to anywhere because I don't bring my wallet. Mellow is now curled by the heater, her Santa hat askew, one ear flopped lazily as she gnaws on a chew toy Brian gave her. She perked up every time someone entered, but now, like me, she's grown tired of waiting.
Paul works the espresso machine behind me. The hiss of steamed milk fills the air as he glances my way.
"Still no word?" he asks.
I shake my head, offering a faint smile. "Not yet."
Paul doesn't press. He never does. Instead, he nods toward the door. "You should take a break. Go outside. Get some air. You look like you're spiraling."
