The world was preparing for winter. Dead, shriveled leaves drifted across the sidewalk, and the rising sun still hadn’t chased away the cold of night. The market square was empty save for a few empty crates and rolled-up awnings. Patches of frost obscured windows and dusted the grass.

Olivia pulled her scarf over her mouth and nose, preferring the scratch of the wool to the bite of the wind. The walk from her house a ways outside of town to the cafe was far, and walking any distance was walking too far in this weather.
The silver bell above the entrance rang out through the empty building as she shut the door behind her. She rubbed her hands together and stomped her feet to reclaim feeling from the numbness. Orange light filtered in through the window, casting the empty tables and pristine counter in a warm glow.

Behind the counter, there was a small door that led into the back storeroom and break area. Olivia hung her coat and scarf on the misshapen coat rack in the corner and pulled a brown apron out of the cabinet labeled “Olivia Rivers”. Next to that was a cabinet labeled “Lark Evans”, the only other labeled cabinet in the cafe. Olivia stretched out her hand, but quietly withdrew before touching the handle. She couldn’t open it; maybe Lark would want her stuff when she came back. If she came back.

Even after a week apart, the counter still seemed too big for just one person. While Olivia could easily heat water, grind coffee beans, and set out pastries like she needed to, it all felt wrong. She could move the appliances and display cases closer together, but then half the counter would be empty.

She didn’t want anything to be more empty than it had to be.

Just days before, the shop wouldn’t have felt empty. It would have felt alive with energy. She would have heard the clinking of glass or the running of water. Lark would have asked how the walk was, or Olivia would have joked around and pretended to forget what keys were, or...

Olivia frowned and flicked a clump of dust onto the floor.

It was 6:10. The cafe was supposed to open at 6:00. Olivia wiped down a few tables and swept the floor. It was 6:20. She counted the money in the register. 6:25. Finally, she walked to the front door and flipped over the small wooden sign.

The Song and Stream Cafe was open for business.

Not a minute later, there was a loud knock at the door. Olivia looked over, puzzled. Most people just walked in. Another knock, even louder. Olivia got out from behind the counter and opened the door to see a tired man in a plain suit holding a plain envelope. He looked like he “didn’t sleep well last night” for the past ten years. He adjusted a pin on his collar that designated a city official.

He held out his hand for a handshake. “Miss Rivers?”

“Yes.” Olivia gave his hand a small shake. “Who are you?”

“My name is Carl Jacobson. I’m here to inform you that your cafe’s operating permits have expired and must be renewed.”

“Well,” Olivia said, “all that administrative stuff is really Lark’s job.”

“Very well,” Mr. Jacobson said. “May I speak with her?”

Olivia could have kicked herself. Of course he couldn’t speak with her. Olivia couldn’t speak with her. No. Lark had left. Left Olivia, left the town, left everything she had.

“Miss Rivers?” Mr. Jacobson wore an expression of concern. Rather, Olivia assumed it would have been concern if he could muster more than a twitch of his muscles.

“No, you can’t speak with her.”

“May I ask why not?”

“She’s gone.”

“I see.” Mr. Jacobson handed Olivia the envelope. “Give this to her when she gets back.”

Olivia watched him leave before walking back inside. She turned the envelope over in her hands, then stuffed it into a desk next to the cabinets in the back. She probably wouldn’t know how to do whatever paperwork anyway, and maybe Lark could do it when she came back.

About a minute after Olivia returned to the counter, Molly walked in. She always seemed to have a knack for knowing what time she should show up to places. She tugged her fingers through her long, wind-blown hair as she hurried to the counter.

“Good morning, Molly! What can I get for you today?” Olivia said.

Molly gave Olivia a concerned look. “Are you okay?” she said. “It’s okay if you need to talk.”

Olivia shrugged. “It’s whatever,” she lied. “I’m getting over it.”

“It’s not ‘whatever,’” Molly said. “I can tell it’s not ‘whatever.’ You can talk to me, you know. I’ve always been here for you. I’m sure Nathaniel would love to talk to you, too. We’ve both—”

“Molly.” Olivia tapped her finger on the counter to prevent another one of Molly’s long rambling sessions.

“Yeah?”

“Can we just talk about something else?”

“Are you sure? I mean, I know you’ve been taking this hard, and I just want you to know that you’re an amazing person. If Lark didn’t see that, it’s her loss.”

Olivia forced a smile. “I’m sure. Was there anything you wanted me to get?”

“Yeah!”

Molly looked up and stared intently at the menu. Olivia waited patiently as Molly read every word and mused to herself. She did this every time, and she got the same thing every time. After several minutes of Molly’s reading and humming, Olivia decided to step in.

“Might I suggest a black coffee with a dash of milk and five sugars?”

Molly looked at Olivia as though she had never considered it in her life. “That sounds wonderful!”

Considering it was how Molly had taken her coffee since before Olivia even opened The Song and Stream Cafe, Olivia wasn’t surprised. She quickly prepared it and handed it to Molly with a smile.

“It smells great,” Molly said. “And are you sure you don’t want to talk?”

“I do want to talk,” Olivia said, “just not about, you know, that.”

As Molly opened her mouth to answer, a tall, thin woman walked in. Beatrice was the town’s biggest gossip—except perhaps Olivia herself.
“Customer,” Olivia said. “Sorry, Mols. I’ll talk to you later.”

Molly nodded and went directly to her usual seat by the window and the unlit fireplace.

Beatrice asked for a coffee and a bagel. According to her, James and Roland had moved in together the week prior, and everyone seemed to want to talk about it. She wondered if they were having financial trouble, but Olivia thought that those two had always seemed closer than just friends. Olivia declined to comment on Lark. Beatrice left, and in walked Ferdinand Keye. He ranted for a while about some kind of difficulty with the machine he was building in his workshop but managed to avoid all of Olivia’s questions about what exactly he was working on. She would have to ask Beatrice about it. He waved to Molly on his way out, but she didn’t seem to notice. In the early afternoon, James and Roland came in and ordered eclairs. They ate their food together, and Olivia told herself she wasn’t eavesdropping. She wasn’t eavesdropping, but she could easily remember everything they said. A few others had come through over the day, but Olivia couldn’t bother to remember the ones who weren’t very interesting.

Everyone left, and Olivia waited a bit before tidying up. The late afternoons and evenings were usually completely devoid of customers, but it never hurt to be sure before leaving the register. She swept up the few tables that still needed to be wiped and cleaned off the food displays, but she preferred to leave the full cleaning to when the cafe officially closed. She moved some dirty dishes into the back, then returned and walked over to Molly, unsurprised to see that their friend Nathaniel had managed to slip in when she wasn’t looking. The two of them sat in silence, Nathaniel penciling in the day’s crossword and Molly engrossed in a dime-novel romance.

Nathaniel “he with two first names” Alexander worked as a secretary at the town hall, so he always came over later in the day. Given visible light through the window, it seemed that he was actually let out on time for once. He was very tall and very thin, and Olivia had laughed at him and Molly a few times in high school when he hit his growth spurt. The height difference between those two was still comical, even when they were sitting down.

“Hey, guys,” Olivia said with a smile and a wave. Nathaniel immediately closed his paper and gestured towards the chair opposite him, which Olivia collapsed into. She leaned back, looked up at the ceiling, and took a long, slow breath in and out.

Molly neatly dog-eared and closed her book. “How was the day?” she asked.

“Not too busy, but I’m still exhausted. Boring conversation, to boot,” Olivia said. “What about you?”

“I’ve been transcribing a few interviews,” Molly said. “Long ones, at that.”

“What are they about?”

“Honestly? I don’t know. They’ve been all over the place, and the client didn’t say what they were for when she emailed me.”

“I see,” Olivia said.

The group sat in their little corner and chatted for a while. At one point, Nathaniel challenged Olivia to a game of California Jack, ready to show off his strategic prowess. He lost, but just narrowly. Olivia and Molly cheered, and Nathaniel sat quietly with a small smile before Olivia pulled him into a hug. Molly then struck up a conversation with Nathaniel, purposely providing an inaccurate story about Ancient Carthage, then resting her head in her palm as she watched him passionately correct her. Olivia managed to get Molly talking, and she ended up complaining about someone on the internet who gave an overly simple explanation of Victor Frankenstein without any understanding of nuance.

Olivia could see that Nathaniel was thinking, and he was looking directly at her. At first she thought that he was still pondering over Molly’s rant, but he was looking at her with the piercing eyes of someone examining something, not the vacant eyes of someone thinking inside their own head.

“What’s up?” Olivia asked.

Nathaniel shook his head. “Everything you’re saying and doing is like everything’s normal, but your words and actions conflict with your demeanor. Do you want to talk about something?”

Olivia regretted asking. “I’m fine,” she said.

“You clearly aren’t,” Nathaniel said. “That’s why I said something.”

Molly gave him a sharp glare. “Dude. She said she’s fine. Cut it out.”

Visibly unsatisfied, Nathaniel sat quietly, passively watching Olivia. The conversation died down after that; it was reduced to a few quieter exchanges between the girls. As night fell and the sky darkened, Nathaniel and Molly both left. They said their goodbyes, promised to drop by the next day, and went on their ways.

Olivia began her evening cleaning, stopping at the desk in the back. She looked at the wrinkled envelope, considering. Maybe she should do something about it. But the administration was Lark’s job; she was the one who always did it. But Lark… Lark wasn’t…

She slammed the cabinet shut and fumbled with her phone for music.

The pounding noise drowned out any unwanted thoughts as she kept cleaning. When she was finished, she stopped at the door and looked back across the empty tables, across the long counter. She frowned before shutting off the light and leaving.

It was late; the town was mostly quiet. Olivia knew she should go home and rest, but she couldn’t bear to be alone with her thoughts. Instead, she turned her attention The Enigma Project, the town’s only nightclub and the only activity to be seen this late. Even from outside, Olivia could hear its loud, pounding music and see its bright, flashing lights creeping around the blackout curtains. She nodded at the bouncer and walked in.

Energy coursed through the air, drawing Olivia inward. The lights shifted between red and blue in time with the synth-heavy music. There were a few people at the bar and even more dancing. Olivia usually forgot just how many people lived in this town until she saw a crowded place like this. Or maybe The Enigma Project just always seemed crowded. Through the lights, music, and talking, Olivia couldn’t focus to get an accurate headcount.

The bartender, Dalton, was flirting with a few of the women at the bar. He smiled, laughed, and winked as he poured their drinks and made conversation. He ran his fingers through his perfectly combed hair. Every once in a while, he’d adjust the cuffs on his dress shirt or fidget with a button on his vest. He spent far too much time making himself seem effortless, and it worked like a charm.

Dalton had always been popular with the girls. Back in high school, he had a fan club of sorts, where the girls seemed to bond over being infatuated with him, but also seemed to hate each other for the competition. And Dalton was one of those people who wasn’t really cool because of what they did, but because they were cool, end of sentence. He joined the chess club in his sophomore year, and he was good, good enough to be captain. But instead of him becoming a loser, chess became cool. A lot of students started learning, but Dalton would easily beat any of them. And some of them thanked him for it.

“Olivia!”

Dalton was waving at her. She walked over to the bar, and he slid over. The women glared at her.

“Hey,” Olivia said.

“What’s up?”

“Not much.” Olivia looked over at the women. “I think they’re mad at me.”

“They can wait,” Dalton said, waving his hand dismissively. Typical. “Besides, you don’t even like men.”

She shrugged. “So?”

“So,” Dalton said, “it’s not like I’m going to make a move on you.”

“You might.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dalton muttered, rolling his eyes. “Olivia, if some girl I’m not dating gets jealous and possessive of me for talking to my friend who, again, doesn’t like guys, she can fuck right off. Now, I’ll ask again. No deflections. What is up?”

Olivia cast her glance over Dalton’s shoulder and at the racks of bottles behind him. “I want a drink.”

“You drink?”

“I’m a customer,” Olivia said. “I want a drink.”

Dalton raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you work tomorrow?”

It was Olivia’s turn to wave a dismissive hand. “Whatever.”

“You open early, I thought.”

“I said whatever.”

“Okay.” Dalton shrugged. “What do you want?”

“What do you have?”

Dalton stepped back and threw his arms out in a wide gesture. “Baby, I’ve got it all.”

“Just give me something sweet.”

He rummaged with something, poured something, then came back with a brilliant pink drink in a tall-stemmed glass. Olivia took a sip and considered the flavor. It was either lime or cranberry. She took another sip.

“Okay, they’re really starting to get mad,” Olivia said. “You should get back to it.” She didn’t want him to.

Dalton looked over to the women. At this point, most customers would be talking and laughing among themselves, but they were still whispering and shooting glances at Olivia.

“Yeah, I should.” He paused before turning away, looking at her with...pity? “It’s on the house tonight,” he said, and then he was gone.

Olivia stayed and drank until well past midnight. When she was delirious from both alcohol and exhaustion, she went home. Dalton must have escorted her; she found a note in the morning explaining that she was in no state to walk home alone and telling her where to find her shoes and wallet.

Her fatigue meant she had trouble functioning at work the next day, but she kept the same routine over the next week. She meant to sleep in on Saturday, but a loud knock at her door woke her at nine o’clock. She groggily answered and saw Mr. Jacobson standing outside her door, clear annoyance mixed with his tired demeanor.

“Miss Rivers?” he said.

“Right. You,” Olivia said.

“I’m here to collect all the paperwork you owe me.”

Olivia rubbed the back of her neck. “Of course! It’s done, I just… I need to go pick it up. Forgot it at the cafe, ya know?”

Mr. Jacobson narrowed his eyes. “May I speak with Miss Evans?”

“No, you may not.”

“Why would that be?” Mr. Jacobson asked.

Olivia stiffened. “She’s—”

Gone. She’s gone. Really, truly gone.

“—out for a bit,” she finished.

The two of them stood silently for a moment, staring at each other. Olivia was sure that he was going to insist or that he would penalize her in some way. But he just continued standing there, not moving and not speaking. Olivia leaned against the door and put a strained smile on her face.

Jacobson sighed and shrugged. “Then I will see you later.”

The cafe was closed on Saturday, but Olivia went back anyway. She thought she might be planning to find that envelope, but she wasn’t sure. She didn’t think she wanted to. As she approached the desk, she paused by the cupboards in the back. She stared at Lark’s cabinet and reached her hand out. She grasped the handle and pulled it open.

The interior was the same as it ever was. There was a schedule of radio shows taped to the inside of the door, a brown apron was hung on the back wall, and a faded yellow sweater was carefully folded and placed in the center of the small space.

It was the same sweater Lark had been wearing when she and Olivia first met. It was much brighter all those years ago. Olivia could still remember seeing that sweater for the first time, flitting like a canary through the dark, drab night market. A bright splash of color against a world devoid of pigment. Now Lark was gone, but the sweater was here. Was it a parting gift, or did Lark just not want anything that reminded her of Olivia?

Olivia picked up the sweater and looked it over. The left cuff was beginning to fray, and the right cuff was just a tangled mess of cotton threads. The hem—where it wasn’t burnt and blackened—was faring only a little better. There was a small hole on the sleeve just above the left cuff where Lark would get her thumb caught while pulling on the sweater. Olivia once suggested she buy a new one, but Lark just laughed and said that she’d buy a new sweater when she needed to. Apparently, she never thought she needed to.

She could still see the faint spot where she had spilled coffee on it. It was the day of the grand opening of The Song and Stream Cafe, a name they created to forever connect their names. Olivia had brewed a mug for their third customer, but in her giddy excitement, she tripped over the coffee maker’s extension cord. She caught herself before she fell or spilled the entire mug, but not before a splash of coffee fell upon Lark. Lark got most of it off with a napkin, but she never decided to properly remove it with stain remover. I kind of like it, she would say. It’s a keepsake of sorts. Some people get a tattoo to remember an important day, and I got this.

And the burn. Another keepsake of another hectic day. It was a chilly evening, and Nathaniel and Molly were both sitting in their little corner next to the fireplace. Olivia had been in the back of the cafe at the time, but apparently, they had been arguing about how to light the fireplace, so Lark had gone over to help. The next thing Olivia knew, Molly was shouting about a fire, and so she rushed over to check on things. Lark’s sweater had caught, and Molly and Nathaniel were darting around, trying to figure out what to do. Nathaniel grabbed a tall glass of water and dumped it over Lark, getting her dripping wet. The three of them stood quiet and still for a moment, then broke out into bouts of laughter. Afterwards, Olivia had made sure to teach them all the proper ways to start a fire.

Olivia shook her head and returned the sweater to the cabinet. She folded it, unfolded it, and then folded it again. It wasn’t nearly neat enough, so she tried again. And again. She set it down and sighed, looking at the now-messy mockery of Lark’s pristine personal space.

Those memories were nice, but there were bad moments, too. Like the day Lark ripped Olivia’s heart out.

It had been early in the morning, before opening. Olivia was laughing and talking, but Lark wasn’t. She wasn’t even giving Olivia a smile. This wasn’t unheard of behavior, but Olivia could tell something was different. So she tried even harder.

“Did you hear about Dalton?” Olivia said.

“We need to talk,” Lark said.

“Someone said he got a girlfriend.”

“Olivia—”

“I don’t believe it. He’d never tie himself down like that.”

Lark grabbed Olivia by the shoulders and looked her in the eyes. “Listen to me. You know, this is one of the problems.”

Olivia stopped, confused. “Problems?”

“You love to talk, but you hate to say anything. I try to bring up something serious, and you’re so conflict avoidant that you ignore it entirely.”

Olivia didn’t respond. Had Lark really tried to say something?

“I’m sorry.” Lark let go of Olivia’s shoulders. “It just seems like you want something I can’t be.”

Olivia leaned in to hug Lark, but Lark pulled away. “I love you,” Olivia said. “You’re everything to me.”

Determination won out against the conflict on Lark’s face. “I think it’s time we go our separate ways,” she said.

“You can’t mean that,” Olivia said. They were in love. Of course Lark didn’t mean it.

Lark shook her head. “I do.”

“Wh— What?”

“You’ll be fine; you have a life here. I was just...passing through when we met. I think it’s time I passed through for good.”

“We can make this work!” Olivia was desperate. “We can figure something out!”

“I’m leaving now,” Lark said. “Goodbye.”

“Lark, wait!”

But she was gone.

Now Olivia ran the cafe alone. The Song and Stream, the songbird and the river. But she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t even fill out some stupid forms.

She turned to the desk and threw open the door. She grabbed the creased envelope from inside it and tore out the papers inside. She didn’t understand any of the form numbers or terms, but she wouldn’t be dissuaded again. She clutched them in her fist and darted outside. She headed straight to the town hall and barged in.

“Olivia?” Nathaniel looked up from his desk in confusion. “Are you okay?”

“Not now,” Olivia said. “Where’s Jacobson’s office?”

Nathaniel pointed, and Olivia walked through the door without even knocking. Jacobson must have been asleep, because he sat up abruptly in his chair, clearly startled. He rubbed underneath his eyes and looked over at Olivia.

“I want help filling these out.” Olivia slammed the papers onto the desk. “And can I change my cafe’s name?”

“Yes, that is permissible.” Jacobson pulled a binder off of the shelf behind him and began flipping through it. “But in addition to form P7, which you already have, you will have to fill out forms R2 and T15.”

Nothing to encourage small business like bureaucracy, right? Olivia groaned to herself as she took a pen and started following Mr. Jacobson’s instructions. They both almost lost patience at various points of the hours spent in that small office, but somehow they managed—even if they finished after the town hall officially closed.

“So this is it?” Olivia asked. “Everything is set up?”

“Yes. You have nothing more to worry about. Now if you wouldn’t mind…” Mr. Jacobson lazily gestured at the door as he closed his eyes and laid his head on his desk. “Tell Mr. Alexander to lock up after you leave. He should still be here.”

Olivia walked back into the lobby to find Nathaniel filling out another crossword. “You’re supposed to lock up,” she said.

Nathaniel folded his paper and placed it in his bag. “You took a while. Did you do whatever you needed to?”

Olivia triumphantly held up her copies of the forms she submitted. “Yep yep!” Everything was going to be just fine.

Putting up the new sign was the hardest part of her cleaning the next day. It was the only “cleaning” that was actually better classified as renovation, but Olivia didn’t want to call it that. She created a new table layout, too. Just a few major changes to dispel the memories of the past. She briefly wiped down the tables, laid out pastries, and counted money in the register. At promptly 6:00, she walked to the front door and flipped over the small wooden sign.

Coffee by the River cafe was open for business.