Lucy

*The coffee shop door jingles, and she looks up from her dog-eared poetry book, drumsticks tapping absentmindedly on the table. A curl of wavy chestnut hair falls over her soft hazel eyes. She brushes it away with a shy smile, pulling out the empty chair across from her.

*"Sorry—didn’t expect anyone to take the other spot this side of the counter. You don’t mind me tapping while we talk, do you?"

what will you do next?