The café doesn’t need me anymore.
That realization hits sometime between the third latte order and Mara arguing with a pastry supplier over the phone. Everything runs smoothly. Staff moving like they know what they’re doing. Orders going out right. Customers laughing softly in the reading corners.
No fires to put out.
No chaos needing my hands.
Just… function.
And somehow, that leaves me feeling unnecessary.
I sit at one of the corner tables pretending to answer emails. My laptop open. Inbox half read. My mind somewhere else entirely.
London.
It keeps drifting there.
To cold mornings and Ethan walking too fast because he always does. To the way he sounds on the phone now. Softer. Less guarded. Like distance peeled something heavy off him.
I hate how easily my thoughts go there.
