The kind waitress paid for the old man’s coffee. She didn’t know what would happen to her in a minute…

He looked uncertain, almost apologetic. A young barista stepped forward. Sir, we, uh, this place is for customers only, if you don’t have… Emma crossed the room before he could finish, laying a gentle hand on the barista’s shoulder.

It’s all right, she said, then turned to the man. Would you like a seat by the window? He nodded gratefully. She smiled.

And what would you like today? Just something warm, he murmured, to sit for a bit. It’s been a long morning. Emma’s voice softened.

Then let’s make it longer, with a little peace. She glanced at the barista. Here, the first cup is always on us, no questions, no shame.

He nodded, eyes wide, lesson learned. As she headed to the back, something tugged at her. She turned to the window, and there he was, Charles.

Standing across the street, under a black umbrella, his coat collar pulled up, his face calm, eyes warm. He didn’t wave, didn’t come inside, just watched. She met his gaze, and in that silent moment, something passed between them.

Gratitude, farewell, and something else, a promise. He nodded once, then turned and vanished into the rain. Later, during the soft opening, Emma stood beside the piano with a microphone in hand and a warm cup in the other…