Chapter 2: The Book Cafe’s Buzz

Theo Sinclair

The sign on the front door flipped to Open with a satisfying click. I leaned against the counter, letting the smell of fresh coffee and paperbacks settle into my bones. This place always felt right—solid wood shelves lined with books, sunlight spilling through the wide front windows, and the faint buzz of the café corner where Mia was already busy.

“Busy day ahead,” Mia called from the café, barely glancing up as she poured a fresh pot of coffee. Her small, quick hands adjusted the pastry display with precision.

“Poetry nights always bring out the romantics,” I said, stretching my arms over my head.

“And the cynics,” she added with a smirk. “Don’t forget the cynics.”

“Cynics still pay for coffee, boss,” she added, her tone dripping with sarcasm. Mia had worked here long enough that she ran her café like a queen ruling her kingdom. I just stocked the books and stayed out of her way.

“You’re unusually cheerful this morning,” she noted, narrowing her eyes at me. “Something’s up.”

“Nothing’s up,” I said, taking a sip of my coffee. “I’m always cheerful.”

“Right,” Mia said, drawing the word out. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with your little library adventure yesterday, would it?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Library adventure?”

“You know, you bursting into their sacred temple of silence like some kind of caffeinated bard?”

I grinned. “If by bard, you mean someone offering free poetry and coffee to a quiet town, then sure.”

Mia leaned over the counter, her grin widening. “Did you traumatize the librarian, or did she traumatize you?”

“Neither,” I replied, shaking my head. “She’s… traditional.”

“Uh-huh,” Mia said, dragging the syllables out again. “And?”

“And nothing. I handed out some flyers, she got annoyed, end of story.” I shrugged, trying to sound casual. “I doubt I’ll see her again.”

Mia’s smirk told me she wasn’t buying it, but before she could press further, the chime of the front door rang, and a customer walked in. She turned her attention to them, leaving me to sip my coffee in peace.

The morning passed in the usual rhythm: coffee orders, book recommendations, and conversations with regulars. I loved how steady the shop felt, like its own little world. It was nothing like the chaos I’d left behind in New York, where everything was too loud and too fast.

After the lunchtime rush, I slipped into the office to check emails—a mistake, as always. The first one in my inbox was from my mother.

Subject: A Reminder of Your Potential.

I leaned back in my chair, exhaling slowly. I should have ignored it, but my curiosity got the better of me. I clicked it open, scanning the lines of carefully crafted disappointment.

Your brother has been excelling in the company, one sentence read. It’s not too late for you to consider returning. You’ve always had so much potential. Don’t let it go to waste.

I closed the email and stared at the ceiling, letting the words sink in. No matter how far I ran, it seemed I couldn’t escape their expectations. The Sinclair name came with a lot of weight, and I’d never carried it well. Not like Alex. My brother had always been the golden child, the one who fit seamlessly into the family’s world of business and success.

I, on the other hand, was the one who walked away.

My eyes drifted to the stack of books on my desk, waiting to be restocked. One of them caught my attention: a worn copy of The Great Gatsby. I picked it up, running my fingers over the faded cover. Something about chasing a dream—even when it was doomed to fail—had always resonated with me.

“Boss,” Mia called, her head poking into the office. “You’ve got a delivery out back.”

I set the book down and pushed myself out of the chair. “On it.”

The afternoon settled into a familiar rhythm, but my thoughts kept wandering. Specifically, to Evelyn. I couldn’t stop picturing the way she’d looked at me yesterday, her big glasses slipping slightly down her nose as she tried to keep her irritation in check. Her red curls framed her round face, the soft fullness of her features making her look like she belonged on the cover of an art book. She had this air of calm, a kind of steady confidence that contrasted completely with my own chaos.

Even the way she carried herself intrigued me. She wasn’t someone who blended into the background, even if she wanted to. Everything about her—her curves, her sharp eyes, the way her voice held authority—stood out. And yet, I got the feeling she didn’t see herself that way.

I shook my head, laughing under my breath as I carried a stack of books to one of the shelves. She probably thought I was the biggest nuisance in town. Maybe I was. But I couldn’t help wondering if there was more to her than the buttoned-up librarian exterior she projected.

By the time the evening rush started, I was back behind the counter, ready to welcome the usual crowd. Poetry night always brought an interesting mix—romantics, cynics, and the occasional open mic enthusiast. It wasn’t exactly glamorous, but it was mine. This shop, this life—I’d built it from the ground up. And for the most part, it felt like enough.

Still, as I watched the door, I couldn’t help hoping Evelyn might walk through it. Just to see if her glare was as sharp as I remembered.