Under_The_Whispering_Door_by_TJ_Klune

“You do,” Hugo agreed. “Sit a spell, you say. Have a cup of tea with me.”
“Will you?”
“Yes. I sit in the chair opposite you. Everything else fades away until it’s
only you and me.”
“I’m Wallace.”
“I’m Hugo. It’s nice to meet you, Wallace.”
“You pour the tea.”
“I hand you the cup.”
“I wait for you to pour your own.”
“We drink at the same time,” Hugo said. “And I see the moment the flavor
hits your tongue, the way your eyes widen. You didn’t expect it to taste like it
does.”
“It reminds me of when I was younger. When things made sense.”
“It’s good, right?”
Wallace nodded, eyes burning. “It’s very good. Hugo, I—”
Hugo said, “And maybe we just sit there, wasting away the afternoon. We
talk. You tell me about the city, the people who hurry everywhere they go. I
tell you about the way the trees look in the winter, snow piling on the
branches until they hang low to the ground. You tell me about all the things
you’ve seen, all the places you’ve visited. I listen, because I want to see
them too.”
“You can.”
“I can?”
“Yes,” Wallace said. “I can show you.”
“Will you?”
“Maybe I decide to stay,” Wallace said, and he’d never meant it more. “In
this town. In this place.”
“You’d come in every day, trying different kinds of tea.”
“I don’t like a lot of them.”
Hugo laughed. “No, because you’re very particular. But I find the ones
you do like, and make sure I always have them on hand.”
“The first cup I’m a stranger.”
“The second you’re an honored guest.”
And Wallace said, “And then I have one more. And then another. And then
another. What does that make me?”
“Family,” Hugo said. “It makes you family.”