Chapter 3 — The Artisan Café
Lily
Lily Grant stood at the threshold of the Artisan Café, reluctant yet drawn in by its inviting warmth. The glow of pendant lights softened the exposed brick walls, and the faint hum of jazz music drifted through the air like a whispered promise of calm. It was the kind of place where people lingered, unhurried, with books and pastries, a small haven carved out of chaos.
She hesitated. Too cozy, too intimate. Not her kind of spot. But the thought of returning to the terminal’s cacophony made her shudder. Turning back wasn’t an option. Forward, she thought grimly, hearing her sister Claire’s voice in her head.
With a sharp breath, she pushed the door open, stepping into the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee and buttery croissants. The café’s ambiance enveloped her immediately, and her eyes swept over the space: a wooden counter etched with faint lettering, a shelf of travel guides waiting to be thumbed through, and patrons chatting in hushed tones or hunched over laptops. It felt almost too perfect, like something out of a staged Instagram post. She couldn’t deny the appeal, though she begrudged herself for thinking Max Holden might have been right.
Max Holden. Just the thought of his name sparked irritation. Calm, composed, and annoyingly unflappable, he’d suggested she “take a moment” earlier, as if she were some hysterical passenger on the verge of collapse. And yet, here she was, letting him get under her skin. Letting him be... right.
Her gaze landed on a corner table near the bookshelves, partially shielded from view. Perfect. She navigated past a group of travelers debating boarding strategies and slid into the seat. The chair creaked faintly, grounding her in the moment. For once, she allowed herself to exhale fully, her hands pressing against the cool surface of the wooden table. A waitress approached with an easy smile, and Lily ordered a black coffee, waving off the menu with a polite shake of her head. She wasn’t here to linger—just recalibrate.
Her hand drifted to her necklace, fingers finding the familiar compass pendant. The motion was automatic, as comforting as the weight of the chain against her skin. Claire had gifted it to her the day the divorce papers were finalized. “It’s not just for direction,” Claire had said, clasping it around her neck. “It’s for all the times you feel like you’re spinning in circles and need to remind yourself which way is forward.”
At the time, Lily had managed a brittle laugh, desperate to deflect the sentiment. Forward. It had felt more like an accusation than a promise. Now, sitting in this café with a disrupted itinerary and an equally disrupted life, she twisted the pendant between her fingers and wondered if forward even existed—or if she was just treading water in circles.
The waitress returned with her coffee, breaking the thread of her thoughts. Lily wrapped her hands around the mug, letting its warmth seep into her palms. She took a sip, and the smooth, rich flavor surprised her. For a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to appreciate it—the small comfort of something that hadn’t gone wrong.
The café door swung open, and a gust of noise from the terminal spilled in before being muffled again. She felt the shift in the room’s energy before she saw him. Max Holden walked in, moving with an efficiency that suggested he knew the space well. His blue eyes swept the room, landing on her with disarming precision. Her shoulders tensed as her grip tightened on the mug.
You have got to be kidding me.
She braced for a swirl of conflicting emotions: annoyance, curiosity, and maybe—just maybe—a flicker of relief she refused to name. By the time he approached her table, a wry smile tugging at his lips, she’d schooled her expression into something neutral.
“Mind if I sit?” he asked, gesturing to the chair opposite her.
“Do I have a choice?” she replied, her tone dry but lacking real bite.
“Not really,” he said, lowering himself into the seat without waiting for permission.
Lily set her mug down and tilted her head, hazel eyes narrowing. “Don’t you have an airport to manage?”
“I do,” he replied, his tone calm as ever. “But I thought I’d check in. Make sure you haven’t taken my advice to breathe so literally that you’ve hyperventilated.”
Her lips twitched despite herself, but she forced the smirk back. “I’m fine, thanks. Coffee helps.”
“Good choice,” he said, nodding toward her mug. “Though if you’re planning to stick around, I’d recommend the croissants.”
“I’m not,” she said quickly, taking another sip of coffee.
“Ah. In a hurry to get somewhere?”
The casual question hit a nerve. Her smirk faltered, and she focused on the steam rising from her mug. “Not really,” she said after a pause, then added, with a trace of self-deprecating humor, “Just trying to pretend I have a schedule worth sticking to.”
Max’s expression softened, but he didn’t push. Silence fell between them, not awkward but tenuous, like an unspoken agreement to keep things light. Lily let her gaze wander, catching sight of the faint words etched into the counter: “Every journey begins with a single step.” She felt a pang of something—melancholy, maybe—as the motto echoed faintly in her mind.
“You come here often?” she asked, the question slipping out before she could stop herself.
Max’s brow lifted, surprised by her curiosity. “Every now and then. It’s one of the quieter spots. Good place to think.”
Lily let out a soft snort. “Didn’t peg you for the reflective type.”
“What type did you peg me for?” he asked, amusement lighting his blue eyes.
“Corporate robot,” she said without hesitation, then immediately winced. “Sorry. That was—”
“Accurate?” he interjected, smirking faintly.
“Not what I was going to say,” she said, a reluctant laugh slipping out.
“Well, I’ve been called worse.”
She studied him for a moment before her tone softened. “Seems like a lot of responsibility.”
“It is,” he admitted. “But it comes with good moments. Sometimes you just have to look for them.”
His words lingered, threading through her thoughts like a quiet refrain. Before she could decide how to respond, a sudden clatter startled her. Max’s hand had bumped his coffee mug, sending it skidding across the table. Dark liquid spread rapidly, pooling around the edge of her napkin.
“Great,” he muttered, grabbing a handful of napkins.
Lily couldn’t help herself. It started as a chuckle, but it grew into full-blown laughter, sharp and uncontained. She hadn’t realized how tense she’d been until it all broke free. “So much for composed,” she teased, smirking as she handed him her napkin.
Max looked up, his expression sheepish but endearing. “Guess I’m not as smooth as I thought.”
“That’s reassuring,” she quipped. “I was starting to think you were some kind of airport superhero.”
“Far from it,” he said with a wry smile. “I’m just a guy trying to keep things running. Sometimes, I even succeed.”
“Well, thanks for the entertainment,” she said, her grin lingering. “I needed the laugh.”
“Glad I could help,” he replied, his smile faint but genuine.
As he stood to leave, adjusting the badge clipped to his belt, his eyes flickered briefly to her necklace. The small, unconscious gesture startled her, but he didn’t comment on it.
“I should get back,” he said, nodding toward the terminal. “Your flight’s at Gate 42. You might also want to check out the rooftop deck before you go. It’s... different. Quieter.”
“Oh?” she asked, tipping her head slightly.
He shrugged. “You might like it. Or not. Either way, it’s worth seeing.”
“Thanks,” she said, her voice quieter than she’d intended.
He lingered for a moment longer, as though considering saying more, but then gave her a small nod and walked away. The café door swung shut behind him, and Lily was left staring at the empty space he’d occupied.
Her hand drifted to her compass again, her fingers brushing over its scratched surface. For the first time in a long while, the knot in her chest loosened, just slightly. She wasn’t sure what to make of it—Max, the café, or the fleeting sense of relief that lingered like the scent of coffee—but she let herself sit with it.
Forward, she thought, her sister’s words echoing in her mind. Maybe it wasn’t a straight line, but it was a direction. For now, that would have to be enough.
