The sweet smell of warmed milky espresso wafted up from the white porcelain diner mug. The heat from the cup warmed her. The anticipation of drinking her first coffee of the day had Saris salivating. That first sip, a bright light in her early morning, the perfect amount of foam like a soft marshmallow, a sense of relaxation washing over her, after the chaos of her commute.

Walking into Billie’s Bakery, damp from the rain, set the stage for her thrice weekly writing pilgrimage. Seeing the familiar wooden counters stuffed full of fresh rustic breads, sweet pastries filled with fruit and cheese and chocolate, savory scones, a dozen different pies, and, her favorite, the cinnamon roll as big as a dinner plate, gave her the push she needed to focus. She always waited until she had written at least 500 words before she let herself order the gargantuan fluffy treat.

Saris looked up from her coffee, noticing a few other regulars. It was busier than usual, conversations roaring in her ears. She realized she had forgotten her noise cancelling headphones. She beelined to the back room, passing through the counter area and the booths. Fewer people congregated around the several couches and armchairs. It always surprised her how the bakery could be buzzing, but the quiet of the buttery yellow room welcomed her. The evergreen Bauhaus-style lounge chair was available, a comfortable option for writing. She could easily have her bag beside her, her coffee on the small side table, and her laptop on her lap.

The rain beat down outside, and thunder crashed. Saris pulled her burgundy marled fuzzy sweater out of her bag. Luckily, it hadn’t gotten wet in the trip from the car. She shivered, wrapping herself in the plush oversized warmth. She was ready.

Five hundred words felt like an insurmountable task before she began, much less 1200 words, her goal for today. Saris, inspired by Billie’s quaint charm and adorable baker, was writing a first draft of a cozy fantasy romance. While she wouldn’t admit it to her best friend Carole, Saris kept coming to the bakeshop because of Simon. He was kind, and funny, and yes, he was gorgeous. They had developed a bit of a back and forth over the last couple months. He was like that with all the regulars.

Saris opened her laptop, wincing at the brightness of the screen. She allowed herself a couple more sips of coffee, the blueberry tasting notes of the single origin espresso more potent at this cooler temperature. She took a deep breath, the buttery, sweet scent of the air filling her lungs.

Before long, Saris was in flow, writing without much thought, as if the words were automatic.

Time passed, but she did not notice. People entered the room and worked around her, but their presence went unobserved. Engrossed in her work, she barely registered the tap on her shoulder.

“Saris,” Simon interrupted, tapping her for the fourth time.

Saris jumped, nearly losing her laptop. “Oh gods!”

Simon smirked. “Writing something smutty?”

Saris’ face turned bright red, and she yanked on the collar of her sweater. “Yeeeah, actually,” she stammered.

“I’ve been trying to get your attention for 5 minutes,” he replied.

Simon had never gone out of his way to chat with her, much less touch her. Mortified, she closed her laptop to give him her full attention. Then, she noticed he was holding a dinner plate. On it was the pastry love of her life, the cream cheese frosting topped cinnamon swirled confection. She drooled for a moment, staring at it.

Simon laughed. “Many a man would pay A LOT of money to have you stare at them like you stare at these cinnamon rolls,” he said.

Saris looked up, surprised at his comment, her cheeks somehow getting redder.

“This was the last one. I didn’t want you to miss out,” he stated. “How many words have you got?”

“Enough,” she replied. “And thank you for thinking of me. I got a little lost in the story today.”

“I could tell,” he smiled.