By Monday morning, Maya felt a strange mix of excitement and nervousness. She had spent the weekend thinking about Daniel more than she liked to admit, but she tried to push it aside. Work at the café had a way of keeping her grounded, and besides, life moved fast in New York—there was no time to dwell too long.
When she arrived at Maple Street Coffee, the usual morning chaos was in full swing. The espresso machine hissed, cups clinked, and familiar faces greeted her with sleepy smiles. Yet, she couldn't help glancing at the door every few seconds.
At eight fifteen, the bell jingled.
Daniel walked in, carrying his guitar case and a small canvas bag. He shook off the drizzle from the rain outside and looked around until his eyes found hers.
"Morning, Maya," he said with that calm, effortless smile she was quickly learning to recognize.
"Morning," she replied, her voice a little higher than usual.
He stepped up to the counter, ordering the same coffee and muffin ritual they had established over the week. Maya prepared it, noting how natural it felt to serve him, even as her heart did tiny flips with each glance.
"So," he said, leaning casually against the counter, "any plans for tonight?"
Maya hesitated. "Not really. Why?"
"I thought maybe we could grab a bite after work. Just… dinner. Nothing fancy."
Her chest tightened. She wanted to say yes immediately, but she also wanted to seem cool, calm, collected.
"That sounds… nice," she managed, smiling.
"Great. I'll pick you up?"
"I can meet you there," she said quickly. She didn't want to feel like she was giving him too much permission.
"Fair enough," he said, nodding. "Same time as the bar, I assume?"
"Yes. Seven?"
"Perfect."
He gave her a small nod and went to his usual table, opening his notebook to scribble again. Maya caught herself watching him out of the corner of her eye as she went about the morning rush. There was something comforting about knowing he'd be there, writing quietly, thinking deeply, just as she liked to do in her own way.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. Orders came and went, but Maya's mind was partially elsewhere, counting down the hours until dinner.
When seven o'clock finally arrived, she found the small Italian restaurant Daniel had suggested. Warm lights glowed through the windows, and the faint smell of garlic and bread made her stomach rumble.
Daniel was already there, sitting at a corner table, a polite smile on his face as he waved her over.
"You made it," he said, standing to pull out a chair.
"Of course," she replied, sliding in and letting herself relax for the first time all day.
They ordered simple pasta dishes and spent the evening talking. Not about work, not about the café, but about themselves. Childhood memories, embarrassing high school moments, favorite movies, little quirks they hadn't shared with anyone else.
For the first time, Maya felt like she was slowly getting to know someone in a way that mattered. Not just a passing conversation. Not a casual hello.
She realized, quietly, that she was beginning to trust him.
By the end of the night, when they stepped out into the crisp evening air, Daniel gently brushed a wet strand of hair from her face.
"Goodnight, Maya," he said softly.
"Goodnight, Daniel," she whispered, feeling a warmth spread through her chest.
Something small, something real, was starting. And for the first time in a long time, Maya felt ready for it.