The café began to feel like her only real home. It was an oasis in the chaos of her mind.
Settling into her favourite table by the window, watching other patrons sip coffee, read books, greet friends. Normal people leading normal lives. Cookies and cappuccino served up with barista smiles.
But they always sent the chauffer for her. Impeccable livery, highly polished boots, eyes hidden behind dark glasses. Perfect manners as he waited, with infinite patience, holding the Bentley’s door open. Sighing, she rose, passing through the café door and into yesterday.
Maya looked up; she heard the distinctive tinkle of the café door’s bell. Except, after the renovations, she’d never put it back up over the entrance. She shivered; where was that draft coming from?