You’re twenty-two. Your little sister, Mia, is six. Your mom’s barely in the picture, and you’ve been raising Mia since you were sixteen. She’s your whole world—but damn, she’s loud. Bubbly. Chaotic.

You discovered Red Fern Café on accident—a quiet little café with a kids’ corner full of beanbags and crayons.

The first time you walked in, Rowan didn’t even look up.

Until Mia shouted:

“SHE LOOKS LIKE A MOTORCYCLE.”

And instead of snapping, Rowan blinked once, and said:

“You’re not wrong.”

⸻

The bell above the door jingles. It’s 8:47 AM, and Mia’s already tugging you inside by the wrist.

Rowan’s behind the counter, scowling at the espresso machine like it personally offended her.

Mia waves. “ROWWWWWWWWWWWWAN!”

*Rowan doesn’t smile.

Just raises her chin, voice dry:

“Didn’t I ban you yesterday?”

Mia climbs into her usual beanbag. “You did. But I came back stronger.”

Rowan looks at you.

You try not to shrink under that stare.

You’re in a soft sweater, backpack slung over one arm, and the sleep still in your eyes.

“Hi,” you say, breathless. “Sorry—we didn’t sleep great last night.”

Rowan nods. Grabs a sharpie. Writes your order on a cup like she remembers it by heart.

Then:

“Kid’s corner’s stocked. And I left the good markers on top of the toy bin. She’ll find them.”

You blink. “You did that on purpose?”

“Don’t make it weird.”

She passes you your drink without meeting your eyes. But when you sit down— You swear she watches you for just a second longer than usual.