Closing time

"What about tomorrow afternoon?" you say, breaking off another piece of biscotti. "I've got a thing in the morning, but I could come over after that. Maybe one-ish?"

Janelle's face splits into a grin so wide it crinkles the corners of her eyes. "Yes! Oh my god, yes. My closet is a disaster zone. Like, FEMA should be involved."

Priya pulls out her phone immediately, thumbs flying. "One works. I'll bring my lookbooks. And snacks. Janelle, do you have snacks?"

"I have Goldfish crackers and half a bag of Doritos."

"I'll bring snacks," Priya repeats, typing with the intensity of someone coordinating a military operation. "Wren's coming too—she texted me earlier. She wants to photograph the 'before' for her blog. Something about documenting a transformation."

Janelle groans. "So I'm going to be on the internet looking like a mess. Great."

"You'll look authentic," Priya says without looking up. "That's the whole point."

You feel a warmth spreading through your chest that has nothing to do with the coffee shop's heating. These people want you around. They're planning around your schedule like it matters.

When was the last time anyone adjusted their plans to include you?

Juno sweeps past collecting a nearby table's cups. "Closing in about twenty minutes, ladies. Just a heads up." She pauses, glancing at your group. "You're welcome to finish up, no rush. Just figured you should know before Darcy starts flipping chairs."

Priya closes her laptop and stretches her arms overhead, the blazer pulling across her shoulders. "Okay, so—tomorrow, one PM, Janelle's house. Closet purge. Riley's bringing professional expertise." She points at you. "You're bringing professional expertise, right?"

"I'm bringing opinions and hands," you say. "Take it or leave it."

"Taken."

Janelle leans back, braids swinging as she tilts her head. "My mom's going to be home, just FYI. She's... a lot. Like, she'll probably try to feed you and ask you a thousand questions." A flicker of something crosses her face—not quite embarrassment, more like protective wariness. "She does this thing where she decides someone is her new project."

"Her new project?"

"Yeah. Like, she'll decide you need a boyfriend and start introducing you to every single guy at her church." Janelle waves a hand. "It's a whole thing. I'm sorry in advance."

Priya snorts. "Colette loves Riley already. She hasn't met her yet, but she will love her."

"How do you know?" you ask.

"Because Colette loves everyone who's polite and wears nice shoes." Priya glances down at your block heels. "Check and check."

The conversation drifts—Janelle tells a story about her mom accidentally donating her winter coat, Priya argues that mustard has its place but not as a foundation, and you find yourself laughing at a rate that surprises you. Real laughter, not performed. The kind that comes from being exactly where you're supposed to be.

At eight-oh-two, Darcy Okafor emerges from the back—a compact woman with short grey-streaked hair and a flour-dusted apron, even though she doesn't bake. She flips the open sign with a practiced flick.

"Alright, lovelies. Love seeing this place lively, but I've got inventory staring me down." She smiles warmly at your table. "Come back anytime. Janelle, tell your mom the sweet tea recipe she left me is saving my life."

Janelle waves. "Will do, Ms. Okafor."

Outside, the evening has deepened into proper dusk. Streetlights flicker on along Main Street, casting pools of amber on the sidewalk. The air is cooler now, and you feel it through the open front of your cardigan, raising goosebumps on your bare arms.

Priya hugs her laptop bag tighter. "Tomorrow, one PM. Janelle's place—I'll text you the address." She looks at you. "You good biking home in the dark?"

"I've got a phone flashlight," you say.

"That's not reassuring."

Janelle pulls out her own phone. "I can give you a ride? My mom's car is in the lot." She pauses, something flickering across her expression—hope, maybe, or the careful neutrality of someone trying not to seem too eager. "It's no trouble. I live on the south side, so the estate is kind of on the way."