Page 71 of This Life of Mine

A beat.

“Just don’t convince yourself cautious isn’t closed,” she adds.

I lift my gaze to Alex, and he smiles at me. I can’t help the smile that forms on my face in return.

Val grins again, “Wow, you two are making the room noticeably warmer.”

I huff a laugh despite myself. “You’re impossible.”

She winks. “I’m observant.”

About an hour before closing, the noise ebbs, and the shop exhales.

The rush has thinned into a manageable hum, long enough for the space to breathe, to wipe counters slowly, to restock without someone instantly undoing it.

I begin my closing ritual. Counting the till, checking the ovens, flipping signs, small rituals that remind me this place is still mine.

I catch glimpses of Alex from behind the counter. His laptop is closed now, his second coffee long finished, but I don’t get the chance to talk to him. Not really. Customers linger long enough to keep us moving, and by the time there’s a break, he’s already shifted seats or stepped outside.

I noticed how uncomfortable he was when people recognized him this morning. The way his posture changed. The way his eyes tracked exits. He accepted the gratitude but didn’t absorb it. Like praise slid right off him instead of sinking in.

By evening, something changed. No one noticed him anymore.

It was subtle, but unmistakable. The crowds of people that clocked him instantly earlier this morning now walk right past his table without a second glance.

No whispers or stares. It’s odd.

I chalk it up to fatigue at first. People lose focus after a long day. Their attention drifts.

But this feels too deliberate. Like someone flipped a switch.

One moment Alex is the center of every conversation. The next, he disappears into the background with unsettling ease.

I finish wiping the counter and glance his way again. He looks relaxed, almost ordinary.

The bell chimes one last time as the final customer heads out. Val flips the lock behind them, and the familiar click signals the end of another day.

I brace my hands against the counter for a moment, every muscle protesting. The aches settle deep into my shoulders, my feet, my back.

When I look up again, Alex is watching me.

Our eyes meet.

There’s a question in his expression, one he never voices. I lift my eyebrows, silently inviting him to ask, but after a beat, he looks away and slips his laptop into his bag instead.

So I let it go.

I turn back to the kitchen, finishing the last of the closing tasks while trying not to wonder what he almost said.

A few minutes later, the deadbolt clicks into place, echoing through the now-empty shop.

Val tests the handle once before resting her forehead against the glass. “We’re going to need a real alarm system.”

I glance at the Ring sticker in the corner of the door. “I know.”

“Cameras are great after something happens,” she says. “I’d rather stop it before it starts.”

I nod. “We’ll start getting quotes this week.”