ARIA'S POV
Joe, the Tuesday barista, had my order ready before I reached the counter. Flat white, one sugar and my name already written on the cup in his terrible handwriting that somehow always spelled Aria as *Area.*
"You're seven minutes late," he said.
"I had a meeting."
"Your table's taken though."
I looked over. My usual spot by the window, the one with the east light and enough distance from the speakers to actually think, had a man's jacket over the back of it and a half-drunk coffee on the surface.
I took the table next to it instead. Not ideal, The light was slightly wrong and I'd be closer to the foot traffic from the door. I opened my laptop anyway. I had a grant application to finish reviewing and two hours before I needed to be anywhere.
The café filled up by half past
