Day 1.

  The air changed as the girl walked in.

Her hair was auburn, lightly curled, falling a bit past her shoulders. She was wearing a white blouse and a floral skirt. Her eyes were a forest green, and some freckles were visible through her light makeup above her cheekbones. Her lips were a soft pink color, as were her fingernails as she handed me money to pay for her medium-sized cappuccino.

As usual, I thanked her, and she smiled softly at me.

Not one of the grouchy Sunday customers smiled at me.

But the girl in the coffeehouse smiled at me, then gingerly took her coffee mug in one hand and carried it to an empty table near the back.

Curious, I watched her, wondering why she was only using one hand to carry the precariously full mug of coffee.

But I saw as soon as she sat down: her other hand had been carrying a book.