Page 9 of Unlucky in Love
Her favorite corner seat, tucked near the window, was not empty.
On the chair, folded neatly, was a piece of paper.
Taylor frowned. She was meticulous about clearing the café at night. No trash left behind, no crumbs, no mugs unwashed. She crossed the room, picked up the paper, and unfolded it.
Her heart stuttered.
It wasn’t trash. It was a note.
The handwriting was neat and looping, not rushed like a scribble. The words were simple, but they curled through her like a spark.
For the girl who thinks no one notices. Start here. Tomorrow will bring your first clue.
Taylor blinked at the page, her breath catching. She read it again, and then again, as if the words might rearrange themselves into something ordinary.
But they did not.
Someone had written this for…who?
It couldn’t be for her.
Could it?
A shiver skated down her spine. She glanced around the empty café, her pulse quickening even though she knew she was alone.
It was probably a joke. A silly prank. That had to be it.
But the handwriting was steady, almost elegant. The words weren’t mocking. They were gentle. Playful. Romantic, even.
Her heart thudded as she folded the note carefully and slipped it into her pocket.
Tomorrow. A clue.
For the first time in a long while, Taylor walked home with something bubbling under her ribs that felt dangerously close to hope.
* * *
The next morning felt ordinary in all the ways Taylor had grown used to. The alarm buzzed at six, her apartment was cold because the radiator had given up the ghost sometime around Christmas, and her first thought was that she should have gone to bed earlier. Same routine, same fatigue. She brushed her teeth, threw her hair into a messy bun, and pulled on her work sweater that smelled faintly of roasted beans no matter how many times she washed it.
By the time she trudged through the icy streets to the café, Main Street was stirring. Cars idled in driveways, exhaust puffing into the pale morning light. A dog barked from somewhere down the block. Taylor breathed into her scarf and tried not to notice the shop windows still plastered with Valentine’s decorations. She had noticed them yesterday, and the day before that, and every pink balloon seemed to mock her.
She unlocked the café, flicked on the lights, and let the familiar smell of coffee grounds, syrup, and pastry dough seep into her bones. It should have comforted her. It usually did. But today there was something else. A tension buzzing beneath her skin, like anticipation or maybe dread.
Jenna arrived a few minutes later, earbuds in, hair sticking out from under her knit cap. She gave Taylor a distracted smile before ducking into the back. Kyle wandered in fifteen minutes after that, yawning so wide Taylor worried his jaw might pop out of place.
Everything was ordinary. Except it wasn’t.
Because her eyes kept flicking to the corner seat by the window.
It was her seat, though she would never admit it aloud. She always sat there after closing, notebook in her lap, pretending she was writing café schedules while secretly scribbling stories she would never show anyone. It had been her spot since she was seventeen.
The morning rush picked up, and she hardly had another moment to think about it.
Until lunch time hit.
She glanced at the seat again and decided to take a closer look. Just in case it hadn’t been a joke or a fluke.
Taylor’s chest tightened. She walked slowly, pretending to check the chairs, pretending she wasn’t already certain of what she would find.
