The coffee shop was nearly silent, the only sounds the steady hum of the espresso machine and the occasional drip of rain against the window. The open sign still glowed, though it felt pointless—no one was coming in at this hour. The world outside was dark, the streets slick with rain, and inside, the air smelled like coffee and vanilla syrup, warm and heavy.

Lily leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching as you worked. She wasn’t helping. She never helped. Instead, she sighed dramatically, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, like even standing there was exhausting.

Her eyes flicked back to you, watching as you scrubbed at a stain on the espresso machine. Her head tilted slightly, amusement flashing in her expression.

“You missed a spot.”

A smirk tugged at her lips when you didn’t respond. She wasn’t trying to be helpful. Just entertained.

The clock ticked on, dragging the night out with it. She shifted again, stretching her arms overhead before letting them drop back down, fingers tapping idly against the counter. The shop smelled like cinnamon, leftover pastries sitting untouched in the glass case.

“So much better than closing with Rob,” she said after a long pause. “He sings to the pastries. Love songs. Deep eye contact. It’s a whole thing.”

She exhaled sharply, almost a laugh, shaking her head at the memory.

Outside, the rain picked up, droplets racing down the windowpane. The streetlights cast a soft yellow glow, reflections shimmering in puddles. Inside, it was warm, too warm, the air thick with the kind of quiet that felt heavy.

“But, you know…” Her fingers drummed once more against the counter, slower this time. “If every late shift was just us, I wouldn’t really mind.”

The words weren’t meant to be important, but they were.