Chapter 5
Taylor
The lunch rush thinned to a manageable murmur, and Taylor finally ducked into the corner table with a bowl of tomato soup and a grilled cheese that had gone lukewarm while she plated pastries for everyone else.
Emma slid into the seat across from her with a salad and a sigh that sounded like it came from her toes.
“Ten solid minutes without a diaper,” Emma said, stabbing a cherry tomato. “This is luxury.”
Taylor smiled and reached into her apron pocket. The paper felt crisp against her fingers, the handmade bookmark a gentle weight she couldn’t stop touching. She set both on the table between them.
Emma’s eyes went wide. “Ooh. Is this it?”
Taylor nodded, suddenly self-conscious. “The first note was two nights ago. This one was waiting for me yesterday. And the bookmark was tucked inside a book at the shop.”
Emma picked up the folded paper and read it twice, mouth curling. Then she flipped the bookmark over and traced the ink heart with her thumb. A laugh slipped out of her, bright and delighted.
“This is cute,” she said. “Like, a real swoon. Not a prank. Someone actually planned this.”
Taylor tried to hold on to her guarded smile, but warmth pressed at her throat. “I told myself not to get excited.”
“You are allowed to be excited.” Emma tilted her head. “Did the secret admirer leave anything else? A name? A hint that he is the town librarian with forearms of justice?”
Taylor snorted. “Sadly, no forearms. Just the heart.”
“Classic. Understated. Romantic.” Emma slid the note back across the table. “Do you have any idea who it is?”
Taylor shook her head. “I mean, it has to be someone who knows me. Or watches me, which sounds creepy when I say it out loud, but the notes do not feel creepy. They feel…kind.”
“Someone who knows you always go for the third row at the bookstore,” Emma said. “Which I only know because I have been dragged there a hundred times.”
Taylor broke off a corner of her sandwich and stared at it like it might answer for her. “Part of me thinks it’s a joke. Then I read the lines again, and it feels like a gift.”
Emma leaned in. “Could it be a regular? That guy who orders honey cinnamon lattes and tips in exact change? Or the substitute teacher who reads poetry to his students?”
Taylor laughed. “Mr. Exact Change barely makes eye contact. And the teacher is married, remember?”
“Right. Cross him off the vision board.” Emma chewed, eyes dancing. “What about the contractor who fixed the back door. The one who looked at you like you were a puzzle he wanted to solve.”
“That man talked to my collarbone the entire time,” Taylor said. “I’m not giving the scavenger hunt prize to that level of bravery.”
“Fair.” Emma swirled her fork through greens.
“Whoever wrote this knew exactly where in the store to look. That is very specific.”
Emma tapped the note again. “Someone has paid attention to you for a while.”
Taylor smoothed the edge of the paper. The idea felt fragile and impossible. “Maybe I should ignore it.”
“If you ignore it, I will personally staple the next clue to your jacket,” Emma said. “What does ignoring it get you? Another year of serving heart shaped cookies to couples while pretending you don’t care?”
Taylor made a face. “That was savage.”
“I’m a mother who hasn’t slept through the night in months.” Emma sipped her iced tea. “There is no filter left.”
Taylor folded the bookmark and slid it back into her pocket. “Besides, we don’t even know if there will be another note, and I really don’t want to get hurt.”
“You don’t have to marry your secret admirer,” Emma said gently. “You only have to walk to the next place. One step. See what happens. If it feels wrong, you stop. If it feels right, you keep going.”
Taylor nodded, throat tight. “I can do one step.”
“That’s my girl.” Emma brightened. “Tell me everything about the bookstore. I want details. Did the clerk notice? Did the lights glow a little brighter? Did a choir of paperback angels sing?”
“The clerk drank tea and looked bored,” Taylor said, laughing. “No angels. But I pulled my favorite author off the shelf and the bookmark fell out like magic. I thought my heart would fall out with it.”
Emma pressed a hand to her chest. “I am living for this.”
Taylor leaned back in her chair. The café noise rose and fell around them, blending with the soft clink of cups and the hiss of the steamer.
For once she wasn’t counting down to the next order.
For once she wasn’t bracing for the afternoon slump.
There was a string of light inside her, small and stubborn.
Emma watched her for a long moment, her teasing expression softening. “You look different,” she said. “Lighter.”
Taylor rolled her eyes to keep them from stinging. “Do not get sappy on me.”
“Too late.” Emma nudged her foot under the table. “I will say one more thing and then I’ll stop. You’re allowed to be the heroine. Not just the barista who knows everyone else’s order. Not just the friend who solves everyone’s problems. The heroine.”
Taylor swallowed, then managed a wobbly smile. “You’re supposed to be eating. If you make me cry in my own café, I will ban you for life.”
Emma saluted with her fork. “Noted.”
They ate for a minute in comfortable silence. The front bell chimed as a couple came in holding hands.
Taylor stood and gathered their plates, grateful for an excuse to move. “I need to get back behind the counter before Jenna starts sculpting foam swans again. We had a customer post one on the internet and call it a goose.”
“Tragic.” Emma rose too and reached for the bookmark, then stopped and smiled. “Keep it close.”
“I will.” Taylor tucked it deeper into her pocket like a secret. “If another clue shows up, I will text you.”
“You better.” Emma leaned across the table and kissed her cheek. “And Taylor?”
“Hm?”
“Try to enjoy it.”
Taylor watched her best friend weave through the tables and out into the afternoon light. The door swung shut, the bell gave a cheerful ring, and Taylor drew a slow breath. She pressed her palm flat over her pocket. Paper crinkled under her fingers.
Cute, Emma had said.
It was more than cute. It was a beginning.
“Order up,” Jenna called from the counter.
Taylor slipped back into the rhythm of the café with a smile that didn’t feel borrowed. As she poured a cappuccino and slid it onto a saucer, she let herself imagine who her secret admirer might be.
* * *
The café bell jingled as the last customer of the evening left, bundled against the February chill. Taylor locked the door behind them, pressing her palm against the glass for a moment before flipping the sign to Closed. The silence that followed was like a long exhale.
She turned back to the counter and surveyed the mess. Plates stacked in the bus bin. Coffee rings staining the wood. Crumbs littering the floor. A mountain of dishes waiting in the sink. Closing time was always the same, a little exhausting and a little soothing.
She rolled up her sleeves and got to work.
It took her an hour to wipe down the tables, run the dishwasher, count the register, and sweep the floor.
Her muscles ached, and the smell of espresso clung to her sweater, but she didn’t mind.
There was comfort in the rhythm of it. Comfort in knowing that when the lights went out, the café would be spotless and ready for another day.
By the time she slung her bag over her shoulder and flicked off the overhead lights, the only glow came from the string bulbs along the front windows.
She stepped outside, locked the door with a practiced twist, and stuffed the keys into her pocket.
The street was quiet, the cold air sharp enough to sting her nose.
Then she saw him.
Ryan Carter, leaning casually against the lamppost near the corner.
Taylor froze, hand still on her bag strap. “What are you doing here?”
He pushed off the post with an easy grin. “Waiting for you.”
“Why?”
“To walk you home.” His tone was matter-of-fact, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Taylor shook her head. “I told you, I don’t need an escort.”
“And I told you, it isn’t safe for you to walk alone at night.” He shrugged, slipping his hands into his coat pockets. “Humor me.”
She sighed, fighting the urge to argue. He looked annoyingly confident, standing there like he had all the time in the world. And truthfully, the quiet street did feel colder, darker, more isolated than usual.
“Fine,” she said, starting down the sidewalk. “But only because I don’t feel like wasting breath convincing you to leave.”
He fell into step beside her, his stride easy. “You always were stubborn.”
Taylor glanced at him. “And you always were bossy.”
“Somebody had to keep you and Emma from getting yourselves killed.”
The corner of her mouth tugged upward despite herself. “Oh, please. We were fine.”
“Fine?” Ryan laughed. “You climbed onto the roof of the shed to prove you could fly. Emma tied a blanket around your shoulders and told you to jump.”
Taylor groaned. “I was eight. And it was her idea.”
“You jumped, Taylor.”
“I sprained my ankle. That hardly counts as reckless.”
He shot her a look. “You bounced off the grass like a rag doll. I had to carry you inside while you screamed that you were dying.”
Taylor covered her face with one hand, laughing despite the flush creeping into her cheeks. “I forgot about that.”
“I didn’t.” Ryan’s smile softened. “You were a handful.”
She lowered her hand, meeting his gaze. For a moment, something unspoken passed between them, warm and oddly fragile. She looked away quickly, focusing on the icy sidewalk ahead.
“Do you remember the lemonade stand?” she asked, her voice lighter. “We made two dollars, and Emma spent it all on candy cigarettes.”
Ryan snorted. “And you tried to resell the candy cigarettes to the neighbor kids for double the price.”
Taylor grinned. “Entrepreneurial spirit.”
“Scam artist.”
“Same thing.”
Their laughter drifted into the night, mingling with the crunch of their boots against the pavement. The silence that followed was comfortable this time, filled with memories that wrapped around them like an old blanket.
As they turned the corner onto her street, Ryan glanced sideways at her. “Are you going to Emma’s for dinner this weekend?”
Taylor nodded. “She invited me yesterday. Said it’s the big family dinner. I’m bringing dessert.”
“Good. I’ll see you there.” He paused, his voice quieter now. “She’ll like having both of us around. Like old times.”
Taylor’s chest tightened. The thought of sitting around Emma’s crowded table, laughing and sharing stories, sounded nice. Dangerous, but nice.
They reached her apartment building, the small brick complex with peeling paint and a squeaky front door. She stopped at the steps, turning to face him.
“Well,” she said, clutching her bag strap. “Thanks for the walk. Even though it was unnecessary.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, smile tugging at his lips.
For a heartbeat, they stood there in the cold, streetlight pooling around them. Taylor’s breath fogged in the air, and Ryan’s gaze lingered on her just long enough to make her pulse quicken.
Then he nodded, stepping back. “Goodnight, Taylor.”
She swallowed. “Goodnight.”
He walked away, his figure fading into the shadows of the quiet street. Taylor stood there until he disappeared, her chest humming with an ache she didn’t want to name.
When she finally unlocked her door and stepped inside, she leaned back against the wood, heart pounding. The apartment was as quiet as always, but it felt different somehow. Lighter.
She pressed her hand to her pocket, where the bookmark still waited, and let herself smile in the dark.
She reached for the lock on the screen door, but something caught her eye.
A folded note had been slipped between the frame and the mesh. It fluttered faintly in the draft as though waiting for her. There was something attached to it.
Her pulse stuttered. Slowly, carefully, she tugged it free.
This time, it wasn’t just a note. A pen was clipped neatly to the paper.
A sleek, expensive-looking fountain pen in deep navy, the exact shade of ink she always used when she journaled.
She uncapped it with trembling fingers and swiped the tip across her thumb.
A streak of purple-blue shimmered there, familiar and startling.
Her throat went dry.
Attached to the pen was a sticky note, square and simple, but the words hit her harder than anything so far.
Don’t stop writing, even when no one is looking.
Taylor sat down hard on the arm of the couch, note and pen clutched in her hands. Her heart thudded in her ears.
How could anyone know?
Her writing was her secret. She scribbled on pages stuffed in notebooks she never left lying around. She had guarded that part of herself for years, convinced that if anyone found out, they’d laugh.
And yet here it was. Proof that someone not only knew but cared enough to remind her to keep going.
She stared at the elegant swirl of ink across her thumb, emotions knotting in her chest. A mix of awe and dread and something far more dangerous.
Hope.
“Who are you?” she whispered into the empty room.
The silence didn’t answer, but the pen gleamed in her hand, heavy and solid, as if it had always belonged to her.
Taylor set the sticky note on the coffee table, uncapped the pen again, and pulled one of her journals from the shelf. The words spilled onto the page before she could stop them. Not a story, not a draft, just a raw flood of thoughts.
Someone sees me. Someone knows.
Her chest ached, but she kept writing until her hand cramped. The pen glided smooth and effortless, like it was made for her.
When she finally set it down, exhaustion wrapped around her, but the fear of invisibility didn’t feel quite so sharp anymore.