The place I was taking Charles was a short drive away from my apartment, tucked between a butcher shop and a used bookstore. I knew all three owners for their cakes, their quality pork shoulders, and their fantastic selection of hardcover books that I could add to my bookcase for the ~aesthetic~.
It was an expensive little café I went to whenever I finished a book because I could celebrate with a really good cup of tea and a large assortment of sweets. You know, something to splurge on.
Café Rosalina had the best scones, actual scones, along with tea cakes and tiny tarts. Their little finger sandwiches were good, too, and anything small could be ordered in its larger, standard size.
There was a slight possibility I'd no longer be able to eat there again after I officially broke up with
