The café bustling by the time Evie arrived, the air carried the scent of freshly brewed coffee alongside early morning chatter within the cafe. She quickly slipped behind the counter, tying her apron with practiced ease and offering a quick smile to her coworker, Mia, who was busy steaming milk for a cappuccino.
"You're late," Mia teased, though her tone was light. "Rough night?"
Evie shrugged, her fingers automatically reaching for the sketchpad she kept tucked under the counter. "Just the usual. Lily was practicing until midnight, and Mom had a rough evening."
Mia's expression softened. "How's she doing?"
"Hanging in there," Evie replied, her voice tight. She didn't like to dwell on her mother's illness, not when there was so much to do. "What's the special today?"
"Blueberry scones," Mia said, pointing to the display case.
Evie nodded, her thoughts already turning to the work at hand. She picked up a tray and started refilling the sugar jars, moving quickly and precisely. But even while she worked, her mind was drawn to the sketchpad lying under the counter, beckoning to her. She had been up late the previous night, working on a new piece—a charcoal sketch of her father's hands, weathered and calloused, cradling a paintbrush. It was a memory she held close, a reminder of the man who had taught her to look at the world through the eyes of an artist.
"Evie, order up!" Mia's voice broke through her reverie, and Evie quickly set down the sugar jar, grabbing the tray of drinks and heading for the table by the window.
The customer, a middle-aged man in a suit, barely glanced up as she set down his coffee. "Thanks," he muttered, already absorbed in his laptop.
Evie forced a polite smile and turned away, her gaze lingering on the sunlight streaming through the window. It cast a golden glow over the café, illuminating the dust motes that danced in the air. For a moment, she imagined capturing the scene on paper—the way the light played off the polished wood of the tables, the quiet intensity of the man's focus, the steam curling from his cup. But there was no time for daydreaming, not when the line at the counter was growing longer by the minute.
By mid-morning, the café buzzed with energy, and Evie was operating on autopilot. She took orders, wiped down tables, and refilled coffee cups, all while glancing at the clock. Her break was still an hour away, but she could already feel the urge to grab her sketchpad, to let her thoughts flow onto the page.
When the rush finally subsided, Evie slipped into the small storage room at the back of the café, her sketchpad held tightly in her hands. She leaned against the shelves, her fingers trembling as she turned to a blank page. The image in her mind was clear—a pair of hands, both delicate and strong, cradling a violin. Lily's hands.
She began to sketch, her movements quick and confident. The lines flowed effortlessly from her pencil, and soon the page was filled with the graceful curve of fingers, the tension of strings, and the quiet determination in every stroke. It was a portrait of her sister, but also a symbol of hope, of dreams that refused to fade even in the darkest of times.
"Evie?" Mia's voice startled her, and she looked up to see her coworker standing in the doorway, a concerned expression on her face. "You okay?"
Evie nodded, quickly closing her sketchpad. "Yeah, just… needed a minute."
Mia hesitated, then stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. "You know, you're really talented. Have you ever thought about showing your work somewhere? Like, a gallery or something?"
Evie laughed, though there was no humor in it. "Who's going to look at my stuff? I'm just a café girl with a sketchpad."
"You're more than that," Mia said firmly. "And you know it. Don't sell yourself short."
Evie's throat tightened, and she looked away, her fingers tracing the edge of the sketchpad. "It's not that simple, Mia. I've got bills to pay, a family to take care of. Art doesn't exactly pay the rent."
Mia sighed, her expression softening. "I get it. But don't give up on your dreams, okay? You've got something special."
Before Evie could respond, the bell above the café door jingled, signaling the arrival of more customers. Mia gave her a quick smile and slipped out of the room, leaving Evie alone with her thoughts.
She stared down at the sketchpad, her heart heavy. Mia's words echoed in her mind, but they felt like a distant dream, something she couldn't afford to reach for. Not now. Maybe not ever.
With a sigh, Evie tucked the sketchpad back under her arm and returned to the counter, her mask of cheerful efficiency firmly in place. But as she took orders and poured coffee, her mind kept drifting back to the drawing, to the hands that held so much promise, so much potential.
And for the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to wonder what it would feel like to hold a paintbrush again, to lose herself in the colors and shapes that had once brought her so much joy.
But the moment passed as quickly as it had come, and Evie pushed the thought aside. There was work to be done, and dreams would have to wait.