Two
Harper
The inside of Page sometimes I wonder if she sleeps upright, like a judge in repose.
She wears a pantsuit even on Saturdays, but today’s is a deep purple, almost black, and she’s paired it with what I can only describe as the world’s most intimidating pearl earrings.
She doesn’t do anything as overt as smile, but there’s a small relaxation at the corners of her mouth as she surveys the chaos.
Noah is in the kitchen, but he’s not moving with his usual loose, offhand gait.
He’s braced, like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, his hands overly precise as he arranges a platter of, what is that?
Oh god, those are tiny cucumber sandwiches, with the crusts removed.
He’s even cut the edges into little heart shapes.
I want to laugh. Instead, I take a long sip of my coffee and let the heat settle inside my mouth before I swallow.
Every ten seconds, Noah glances at the clock above the register. He checks the door, then the cupcakes, then the door again. His hair is gelled back, which is so unlike him that I make a mental note to razz him about it later if I ever regain the ability to do normal banter.
Luca’s energy is not just high, it’s off the leash.
He floats from table to table, rearranging flowers, lighting and relighting candles, inspecting every cupcake as if they might contain live ammunition.
He wears a pale pink shirt with tiny black hearts, no apron, just the shirt and a pair of dark jeans.
He moves like he’s choreographing a stage show, one where he is director, cast, and crew all at once.
Every time he passes by me, he gives a quick, tight-lipped smile, the kind you give a friend at a funeral when you’re trying to signal “I see you, but things are happening.”
There is a moment where the room dips into silence, a rare thing in Page the coffee grinder whines on, Leo snickers at something under his breath, a fairy light fizzles and pops near the back.
But the energy in the room heightens, everyone’s focus moving towards the door.
Elsie enters with the twins in her arms. There’s a beat, half a second maybe, where she seems caught off guard by the fairy-lit transformation of the café.
Then her face changes, and she goes into what I call “event triage mode”, that look she gets when she knows she’s about to walk into a surprise party, or a confrontation, or the kind of situation where every person in a room is one eyebrow twitch away from crying.