Between the interview and her first day, I will admit that I had reservations about my decision to hire Morgan. There were several conversations with my small pool of current employees- all of which expressed frustration at the outside hire. I had one drunken night with my best friend, during which she sided with those disgruntled voices.

I understood them all. I also had information that they didn’t. Information that those around me didn’t seem keen on sharing openly, and I followed suit.

When weeks flew by without incident, my reservations about Morgan had vanished. Once those around me had gotten a chance to work with her and see her diffuse an irritated customer, or brew a mean cup of coffee- they admitted to feeling the same way. Even if her personality didn’t suit you, it was hard not to admit that she handled the shop well.

Handling the shop, and herself, well was exactly why I had hired her on the spot. She became a fixture, working almost as many hours as I was to learn the ropes and be available. It hadn’t crossed my mind that she wasn’t actually my shadow until she opened without me one morning.

I gave her an hour to get everything running before I finally let myself arrive. It was a difficult transition; believing in someone else to do my job.

Waltzing in, apron already tied across my clothes, I heard a chuckle from the counter. “You almost relax, Sam.”

My eyes widened, and I felt my cheeks warm up a few degrees as I made my way to the back. Ready as I was, I had to drop off my stuff and double-check…well. I planned on double-checking everything.

As my purse made its way off my shoulder, I heard her footsteps behind me. “I relaxed as much as one ever does at 5 in the morning.”

“Thank you very much,” I finished and turned in her direction.

She snorted in my direction. “Someday I will figure out why I’m here when you never want to leave.”

The bells on the door mixed with a muffled shout drew our attention back to the front counter and into the cafe proper.

An eyebrow raised, as if of its own free will as I eyed the scene around the room. There were two customers at the counter, one of them that would normally be on his way out at this time of day.

“Need one for the road?” Morgan asked, stealing the words right out of my mouth.

“You know it,” Lawrence said. His mouth pulled up one on the side, revealing a playful grin on his otherwise serious face. Both of his ocean blue eyes moved in my direction long enough to make eye contact. “Gotta leave with something.”

Morgan slapped one hand against the counter just hard enough to make a tapping noise. “Coming right up!” Without another word, she moved to grab a paper cup.

“Hey,” I started. The words left my mouth in the same instance I remembered what had brought me out of the backroom, to begin with. “Did you shout something?” I asked, keeping my eyes on Lawrence.

He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders just enough for it to be noticeable. A non-committal reply, but his smile faded. Both of the corners of his mouth pulled down slightly as he turned slightly to the man who stood behind him in line. “He’s been waiting though.”

My mouth opened and then paused as I shifted my gaze to the men he was talking about. I hadn’t given the other customer much time since we had walked out of the back rooms. Nothing had stood out to me during the interactions so far, but when I turned the hair on my neck stood on end.

The man stood several feet behind Lawrence. He wore tight black jeans and a heavy hoody. Unseasonably heavy by the looks of it. He leaned at a steep angle, weight on one leg, and his arms sat tightly across his chest. Dark colored hair was buzz cut down to an inch or two, and his eyebrows were furrowed before he even spoke.

“What can I get you?” I asked.

Any other employee would have been told that this was not a proper greeting. It's not rude, but it's not welcoming either. Lucky for me I wasn’t any other employee, and I didn’t really feel the need to extend the extra warmth toward his pale scowling face.

“Coffee. Black.” Only the two words left his mouth before he pressed his lips together.

“Sure,” I said and nodded my head.

A familiar dance behind the counter of the coffee shop took place for a moment or two. Morgan handed Lawrence his cup after skirting past me, and I poured the sour man his after moving into the free space. Once the coffee was poured and extra precautionary parts were on the cup, I handed it over for Morgan to give.

I pulled myself further into the corner as she rang him for the buck fifty, and watched as he glanced my way and left. Certainly, it had only been 5 minutes since I had walked through the door, but the exchanged felt like it had strung on for much longer than that.

I shook my head as the bells on the door rang again. “I got it.”

The rest of the day moved slow and uneventful. No strange brooding men walked in, and no more disappearing shouts. It was far more normal than I thought the day had a right to be, and when I left a bit of Déja Vu swept over me.

Driving home felt like muscle memory and it was with an uneasy acknowledgment that I got home by autopilot. The car locked, the mail checked, and the door behind me dead bolted- I sat at my little kitchen table. I always figured it was about the size of a table for two at the coffee shop. By the time my purse, a drink, and the mail were set down it was almost full.

Kicking my work shoes off I half-ass sorted the mail. At the bottom of the pile was the only one that made me pause. The envelope was all black, with one only a few lines of red writing on the front. My address.

There was no postage and no evidence that it had gone through the postal service. The envelope felt more rigid than anything I was used to handling. No return address made me both hesitant to open it up and curious to do so. It was a strange thing I held in my hands. Before I could even reason out what was stopping me, my fingers were pulling along the seems to see what was inside.

Inside the sturdy envelope was a piece of silky card-stock, the red color matching the ink from the outer layer. There were no clues as to who it came from or how it had arrived in my mailbox. There was written a date and a location.

At the bottom of the card were the words “Formal attire.”

Some kind of invitation had made its way into my mailbox, for a mysterious event exactly 2 months away.

I looked over at my front door to make sure it was locked. The deadbolt was turned, but it didn’t ease the voice in my head. I thought about the hairs on my neck, which seemed to be standing up again.

I wanted the normal day to come back again.