The Coffee Shop on Maple Lane

Every weekday, at exactly twenty past eight, Daniel Reyes pushed open the door of the little coffee shop on Maple Lane. The bell above the door made the same soft sound, and the warm smell of fresh coffee wrapped around him like a familiar coat. For almost a year now, this had been the best part of his day.

He always sat at the small table by the window, the one with the slightly crooked leg. From there he could watch the street wake up: people hurrying to work, dogs pulling at their leashes, the morning light slowly climbing the brick wall across the road. But mostly, if he was honest with himself, he came for the person behind the counter.

"Good morning, Daniel," Mia said, already reaching for a paper cup. "The usual? Flat white, one sugar?"