A Quiet Morning at Bean & Hearth
There was always a quiet loveliness about Maple and 3rd on weekday mornings around ten. The morning rush had worn away, the lunch crowd hadn’t yet landed and the small coffee shop on the corner — Bean & Hearth — seemed like a tiny break in the steady rhythm of town life. It was that kind of place, where the windows always fogged a bit, where the same soft jazz played every day and where the scent of warm cinnamon felt as if it lived in the air.
The door swung open and Nora Bennett tripped into the room, swatting aside the chilly late-fall gust that had followed her in. The public library, where she worked a few blocks away, was a quick walk and her morning coffee break had become something she looked forward to. It was her time of calm before the day filled in. She had her favorites at the shop: a cinnamon latte and a corner, window seat.
Her regular chair was occupied today.
There was a man, slightly bent over a notebook. He had dark hair, a simple gray sweater and such a quiet demeanor that you wanted to whisper even when the shop wasn’t crowded. Nora stopped for an instant, settling her scarf. She didn’t want to bother him so she just sat at another table closer to the middle of the room.
The barista, Mia, saw her and smiled. “Cinnamon latte? Your usual?”
“You know me too well,” Nora replied.
As she waited, Nora fished a small paperback out of her bag. But she found herself reading the same sentence again and again. Her gaze kept straying to the man at the window. He didn’t look familiar. Maplewood wasn’t a big town. New faces stood out.
Nora murmured her thanks when Mia set the warm cup in front of her. The steam rose in gentle spirals, and she inhaled the scent deeply, allowing her shoulders to drop with relief.
A chair across from her shifted a moment later. Nora looked up to see the silent man standing in front of her.
“Excuse me,” he said softly. “But I think this is yours.”
He held out a small bookmark. Contained within it was a pressed leaf of the thinnest and most tender texture. Nora recognized it immediately. She had shoved it into her book months earlier.
“Oh,” she said, accepting it from him. “Thank you. I didn’t even feel it fall down.
He nodded once, then hesitated. “I hope you don’t mind. I saw it on the floor and thought I didn’t want anyone to step on it.”
“That’s really kind,” she said. “Do you want to sit? Assuming you were done writing that is.”
Following her gaze, his eyes went to the corner table and the negro he had left. For a moment, he appeared uncertain, then dragged the chair in front of her.
“My name is Elias,” he said, dragging a seat.
“Nora.”
They traded faint smiles, the type that would have felt little more than polite on first glance but had calcified into something warmer as seconds ticked by.
Their conversation began lightly. He told her he had moved to Maplewood just two weeks earlier. He was a copywriter who worked from home and had been trying various coffee shops around town in an effort to find the right morning work spot.
“And so far?” Nora asked.
“This one,” he read, looking around. “It feels warm. Familiar, even though it isn’t.”
Nora found herself nodding. “I’m here almost every day. It’s quiet enough to think, but not so quiet that it’s lonely.”
He smiled at that. He had an unobtrusive capacity for listening, a lack of compulsion to fill silences. It made Nora feel like there was room for every word.
They chatted about books, coffee, the peculiar allure of small towns and how Maplewood felt like it held on to autumn longer than anywhere else. Outside, leaves were blowing across the street and piling up in little piles against the curb. The world felt slow and calm.
Nora looked up at the wall clock, at one point. I ought to be going back,” she lamented. “Break time is over.”
Elias nodded. “I need to get back to writing also.”
She took the last sip of her latte, then stood to put on her coat. Then he escorted her to the door.
“Will you be here again?” he asked, almost shyly.
Nora glanced at him and felt her chest start to heat up. “Most likely tomorrow. Same time.”
He gave a small smile. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The bell on the door tinkled as she walked off into the cool air. She went back toward the library with a lighter step than she had come. Bean & Hearth’s windows glowed warmly with morning light behind her.
On Maple and 3rd, the day felt different. Not louder. Not brighter. But a little more open, as if something quiet and new had just started, without either of them having planned it.
And tomorrow, at ten in the morning, the corner coffee shop wouldn’t seem such a place to slack. It would be the beginning of something you’d want to come back to.
