The little corner café was already alive when they stepped inside.
Sunlight spilled through wide windows, catching on glass jars and polished counters, turning everything warm and soft.
Ethan slowed instinctively, taking it in.
The space smelled like fresh bread and coffee grounds, cinnamon dusting the air from somewhere in the kitchen.
Small tables dotted the floor, most already occupied by people bent over laptops or newspapers, steam rising from their cups in lazy spirals.
Gabriel guided him toward an empty booth near the window, his hand settling briefly at the small of Ethan's back. "This place makes decent coffee," he said. "And surprisingly good pancakes."
"High praise coming from you," Ethan teased, sliding in across from him.
Gabriel rolled his eyes, shrugging out of his jacket. "My standards are reasonable."
"Your standards are impossible."
"That too."
A server approached with menus and water, setting them down with a practiced smile.
