Can I Stay?

It was a crisp morning, and though the sun was sitting high above the eastern horizon, Sandra could still feel the cold wind brushing her cheeks as it whispered the last days of the season and the beginning of a new one. All the leaves had fallen from their branches and covered the path that she was taking with a mat of red, yellow, and orange. The songbirds had left and all that she could hear was the sound of brittle leaves breaking into smaller pieces as she walked through the park, with of course the occasional honking of cars passing by. The daffodils and lilies that used to paint the park with bright colors of the rainbow had disappeared under the warmth of the soil, prepared to be covered with the blanket of the first snow.

She cupped her hands in front of her mouth and slowly breathed into them. She could smell the peppermint spray that she used that morning and cursed herself for forgetting her gloves at her friend's house. She thought she did not need them, but as she closed in on her destination, her hands felt colder and colder. She slid her hands into her coat's side pockets. She did this not just to keep them warm but also to make sure they were still there: two things that her friend gave her that morning— her guardians.

After turning one street corner, she stopped and looked at the signage across the street. Chanterelle, it read. Painted in golden yellow Monotype Corsiva set against a plain forest green background, the signage was a little worn out and needed repainting. How long had it been standing there, she asked herself. Seven years? Sandra breathed in as if it were her last before she crossed the street towards the café.

A bell chimed as Sandra opened the door as if inviting her to take another step inside. Unlike the cold of the autumn, the inside of the café was warm and cozy. She took off her coat and folded it in half, taking care not to spill the contents of the pockets. She glanced around the shop. Much had changed since the last time she was here. The cheap steel chairs were now replaced with sturdy black mahogany. The tables were now covered with fine linen with exquisite patterns, and two bookshelves now towered on one side of the shop, stacked full with classic and modern literary works. The counter was refurbished and manned by three people in uniform instead of one.

"Sandra, over here," a man's voice called her.

Sandra turned towards the speaker and found him standing in one corner of the shop. She meandered through the tables and chairs, keeping her eyes on him the whole time. Her heart picked up its pace with every step closer to him. He still looked as good as before, she thought.

"Am I late?" she finally managed to say when she reached him. She checked her watch. "Or you're just early?"

"I'm just early," he said with a smile. "And so are you."

They stood there for a moment longer as if trying to decide whether they should hug, shake hands or kiss. He finally broke the awkward air between them with a hug, which she admittedly wanted to last a few seconds longer. Her nose caught his scent; he still smelled the same, a scent she really liked.

"Please." He motioned for her to take a seat.

"Thank you."

"Should we order first?" he asked.

"I think so," she replied.

Sandra took the menu propped open to her right and leafed through its pages.

"Oh, so they are serving lunch and dinner now," she said, trying to start a conversation.

"Yes. They finally decided to expand the selection."

"Let me see..." Sandra ran her slender finger across the menu. "I'll have cream and mushroom soup, grilled chicken breast with rosemary, strawberry sweet tea, and cream puffs."