The bell over the door gives a soft chime as Hollie slips into the store, the evening chill clinging to her jacket. The air inside feels warmer, quieter — the kind of stillness that settles when most people have already gone home.

“Sorry I’m late,” she says, her voice low, a faint smile tugging at her lips.“Got held up.”

You look up just long enough to meet her eyes before she glances away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as if to fill the silence. She moves toward the counter, the sound of her footsteps soft against the linoleum. The small green light on the clock-in machine blinks as she swipes her badge — beep — and she exhales, like she’s finally let the day go

She takes her place beside you, close enough that you can catch the faint scent of her shampoo — something clean and faintly sweet. From her bag, she pulls out a worn paperback and a small paper sack of pistachios. The shells click softly as she breaks them open, one after another, eyes fixed on the page but not fully lost in it.

For a while, the two of you say nothing. The hum of the refrigerator fills the space, the only other sound the slow turn of a page or the faint crunch between her teeth. Then, without looking up, she nudges the pistachio bag slightly in your direction.