The café was almost too quiet for a city like New York.
It was the kind of place that felt like it had been carved into the world, not built—narrow, warm, filled with the scent of clove and paper, every table tucked beside a bookshelf. It didn’t even have a sign outside, just a cracked gold plaque that read: The Reading Room.
Junie had only found it by accident. She’d been walking home from a community arts panel, lost in her thoughts, when the drizzle started. She ducked inside for shelter, thinking she’d stay just long enough to wait out the rain.
That was how she met Noah Reyes.
He was sitting at the corner table, reading a novel with a red pen in hand. Not underlining. Not doodling. Editing.
Junie took the table near the window, peeled off her coat, and pulled out her notebook. Sh
