Third Edition

BRIANNA LORISTEN
SHE WAS doing it again. People watching, that was. She liked to watch
people, to make up stories about their lives that could either be true or
entirely outlandish. Her mom always told her that it was a bad habit, that she
should cut it out before she seriously offended someone. But her mom wasn’t
here, so she could people watch to her heart’s content. The boy she was
watching now appeared to be about her age, and he had been fiddling with
the mug in his hands for the past five minutes. He was waiting for someone,
she supposed. Or maybe hiding from someone.
She raised her own hot chocolate-filled mug to her lips, and took a small sip.
The liquid was still hot, and it burned her tongue on impact. You’re too
impatient, she thought, then grimaced at the fact that she had thought it. She
sounded like her mother.
“You just finished college. Wait a few years before moving to the city,” she had said.
She scoffed at the memory. Yeah, right.
Her dainty brown fingers curled around the burning surface of the pastel blue
mug. It had a glossy finish, and the name of the coffee shop, Lovely Little
Lattes, had been printed on it in white script.
Lovely Little Lattes was a lovely little place. It was quaint and tranquil, more so
now because it was Christmas Eve, and people would rather be at home with
their families than here, watching strangers. She had no other family in this
town, though, and any place away from her mom was a place she’d prefer to
be. Lovely Little Lattes was festive enough. This wasn’t a bad way to spend
Christmas Eve.