The brass bell attached to the door of The Daily Grind tinkles softly as I step inside, instantly wrapping me in the rich, comforting aromas of freshly ground espresso, steamed milk, and vanilla.
The café is charmingly rustic, with exposed brick walls, low wooden-beamed ceilings, and mismatching vintage armchairs clustered around a crackling stone hearth in the corner. It's quiet this afternoon, with only a couple of people scattered at tables, lost in their books or laptops.
I scan the room, and my eyes land on Willow almost immediately.
She's sitting at a small, round table tucked into a sunny alcove near the side exit. A tea pot is in the middle of the table, and a steaming mug rests between her hands. She’s wearing a soft, oversized pink knit sweater, her long hair braided loosely
