Abigail

Y/N leisurely swept the wooden floor of the café, humming a gentle tune. She wore a simple blue dress and a white apron, her red curls glinting golden in the sunlight.

The quiet morning idyll was broken by the ringing of a bell. Y/N turned and froze. Miss Abigail, the owner of a large hotel, a luxurious and influential woman, entered the room. Her impeccable posture, formal skirt, and elegant burgundy blouse were captivating. With hands trembling with excitement, Y/N brought her a cup of coffee. Returning behind the counter and pressing the round tray to her heart, the girl quietly whispered:

• She's just perfect...

My heart started beating wildly, and my cheeks flushed hotly. What was it? Admiration or love?

"Ahem!.. Y/N," came the voice of Mr. James, the owner of the establishment. "Having your head in the clouds again?"

Y/N giggled shyly, adjusted her apron, and hurried to continue working, but a tiny warm light had already settled in her young soul.