The sun had bathed my shop in its warm light before I realized what time it was.

I hadn’t planned a day off that day, but as I blinked at my door, I knew I had another decision to make. I should have had the first pots brewed already and the doors unlocked.

My eyes traveled from the shimmering glass back to Lawrence, sitting across from me.

“A day off? I can get some rest and you can come back tomorrow and fill me in on anything I missed.” The second the words came out of my mouth I felt weight shift. A weight released from my shoulders, reminding me that I had spent a night negotiating for immortality, and another piled into my mind.

I had been awake for 24 hours, and every moment made the situation feel more surreal.

He let out a laughed and leaned further back in his chair. His legs stretched out in front of him, one ankle sitting atop the other. His arms crossed against his chest, he let his lips fade into that half smirk, half smile he had worn so much the night before.

“A day off,” he said, glancing at the sun behind me. “I’m not a slave driver, Samantha. The shop is still yours. Your life is still yours.”

I couldn’t help myself. My lips curled upwards, showing off the teeth I needed to brush after too much coffee. “I’m still my boss.”

A short chuckle left his chest that time. “Of course.”

After a few minutes of odd silence, he reached his hand out one more time. Our deal had been struck already, it was time to say goodbye. My eyes looked at the smooth skin of his hand and lost a train of thought on the time he had spent in my coffee shop.

Sleep-deprived and reminiscent, I tried to recall the day I had first seen him. I had a hundred memories of him holding a mug, slim body nestled in a lounge chair. It was easy to recall a thousand nameless books, bright colors and odd pictures resting on the front and back covers of them. I could picture his unassuming yet sauntering walk, but I couldn’t pinpoint the very first time I had seen him.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“Samantha?” he asked, in an apparent effort to get my attention.

I shook my head at my name and reached my hand out into his. In a day we had gone from employee and customer to…this.

“Monday.” Looking up as he stood, I made eye contact to confirm the arrangement.

I looked ahead at the wall as he walked away from the table. The door opened, ringing the small bell at the top, and then it closed, doubling the sound.

Silence sat in the coffee shop. For whatever it was worth, no other customers had come knocking at the door. The doors would need to be locked, and I hadn’t done a single thing to clean. Shaking my head once again to clear my thoughts I pushed my palms against the table to scoot the chair out and stood.

Within a few moments, I had grabbed my purse from the break room. No one would be hurt by the chairs sitting on the floor for a few hours. My other regulars would never notice that the floor hadn’t been swept today, and no one but me would ever know that I didn’t make it to the bank tonight.

With a deep breath, I taped a piece of paper over the open/closed sign and locked the door behind me.

All those little facts nestled in my thoughts as I drove home. My purse landed somewhere on the table, and thankful that I didn’t have even a goldfish to take care of at that moment, I crawled into bed. I lie in-between the cotton sheets with the un-swept floors running in-between every thought I had.

My shop had been my life-blood for longer than I cared to admit. I pour my savings, life, and energy into it. I brought it from an empty box to a success. As the lids closed around my eyes blocking out the morning sun, I thought about retirement again.

The cafe was sell-able. Yet instead, a deal had been brokered.

I took a deep breath in and pictured Lawrence's face the moment he made his offer to me. The first night of many that I picture his deep-set eyes.

As the breath left my mouth, I can say with some certainty I was asleep. I slept faster and harder than I had any other night of my life. The mental toll had zapped my insomnia for 8 straight hours, something I would later be increasingly thankful for.

Groaning from a lack of real movement, my eyes opened well after my usual lunchtime. Hungry, stiff, and confused about the time of day, I forced my body upright. I swung my feet over the edge of my bed and noticed my socks were still on from the day before.

Pulling both arms above my head I looked across the room toward the dresser. The holder of my clothes, my alarm clock, and the only picture of my mother, it was the centering point of my mornings and my nights.

A whimpering sound left my throat as I locked eyes; not with my clock but with a woman standing next to the wooden dresser, a smile on her face