First Chapter Coffee House Novels & Stories

Lila adjusted the cold cloth on her forehead. Her slender body lay stretched out on the oversized sofa that dominated the better part of Freya’s living room. “I think what I want should be taken into consideration,” she pouted. “What do you want?” Freya asked as she poured tea into two mugs. Holding one out for the younger woman to take, she said with a demanding tone, “Sit up and drink this.” “I’m not thirsty,” Lila complained as she sat up and removed the cloth from her forehead. Accepting the mug, she added, “I’m so upset that I’m nauseous.”

I said with a laughter. She sat up on the bed and gave me an interested glance, which had that tell me more gesture. I also sat up and folded my legs. “So next to the book store there’s a coffee shop right” I started, as Charlotte stared at me with a face which was ready to laugh “I walked into that coffee shop thinking that it was a coffee shop, guess what I found” my words were followed by a laughter. “What?” Charlotte giggled. “The coffee shop is actually a whorehouse” I said with a gentle tone.

Ethan I got to the coffee shop far earlier than was necessary—close to an hour before Vanessa and I had decided to meet—and proceeded to sulk in the corner like a loser, downing coffee. I’d long since stopped smelling the fresh-baked goods layered behind the glass counter, and I was far too nervous to stomach the thought of a pastry anyway. The coffee was making my hands shake. The bustling cafe at least set a cozy, pleasant scene for a first date. The hum of conversation and jazzy background music soothed my frayed nerves a bit. It all felt worlds away from the chaos of the Mafia world I’d been lurking around in for far too long.

I don't know my destination yet, I'll know along the way. --- I order a coffee and take a seat at the farthest corner in the cafe. I got a book from the café library, it's a book about wellness. I try reading it, but I can't focus. I could have just stayed in the library, but I didn't. Nevertheless, I stared at the first page without reading anything, and soon conversations caught my attention, and I fell back into my pattern. A woman is being discriminated against because she isn't fit to be in the café. Another who believes she's entitled to determine class keeps saying she'll call the cops.

A delivery truck rumbled by, its engine a distant, comforting sound. I had survived the night. I was still here. The thought was not a triumphant one, but a simple statement of fact. I was a survivor of a shipwreck, washed ashore in a strange new land. And now, I had to figure out how to live in it. The first step, I decided, was coffee. I picked up my bag, dug out my wallet, and headed for the door. The ginger cat was sitting on the counter, washing its face with a delicate paw. The woman with the grey hair was behind the counter, reading her book again.

Albert's POV --- I arrive at 1:55. Earlier than necessary. The café sits on a quiet Brooklyn corner, tucked between a laundromat and a bookstore with faded paperbacks crowded into the window. Inside, the tables bear years of scratched initials and coffee rings polished smooth by time. Every time the front door opens, a ribbon of cold air slips across the floor before disappearing beneath the smell of roasted beans. I order coffee and take the table nearest the window. The cup arrives almost immediately. I wrap both hands around it without drinking.

Around us, the house was quiet. "Stay for coffee," he said. Not a professional invitation. Not a logistical one. Simply the request of someone who wanted more of a person's time and had decided to ask for it without dressing the request in anything else. "Alright," I said. We went inside, and the morning continued, and it felt, from that point forward, like the beginning of something rather than the continuation of something else. A new chapter, I thought, in the specific and literal sense: the page had turned, and what was written on the other side was not yet fixed, and that was not frightening but simply the condition of any story that was still being written.

May as well live through the characters in the books. After a couple hours of reading. I get up throw on a simple matching brown sweat set. Grab my bag, hitting the kitchen up for a plain muffin and apple for breakfast. Setting off, for my first day. I hit up the local Coffeehouse ‘Glazes Coffee Co’. Out of the 17 coffee shops on campus this one was hands down my favourite. Tucked behind the Psychology building. It’s perfect, playing the same music I have coursing through my AirPods with the best atmosphere for studying and catching up and don’t get my started on their ham and cheese croissant it’s heaven in a box, literally. I would marry it, if I could.

The interview, the money I desperately needed, that was the real reason I was here. Coffee was the first order of business. In the kitchen, I found the familiar comfort of toast and brewing coffee. Time stretched before me. I wandered, taking in the uninspiring view from each window, before settling on the bookshelves. They held the secrets of a person's soul, or so I liked to think.

People at the Rue City were Strawberry's Coffee Shop is located turns into a sad community every time summer hits the year because Grandma closes the shop to held a general cleaning and annual renovation. To get to the Rue City, one must pass through four high ways, two forests, three long creepy road and three slope roads. So, me the adventurer Dora with a white long hair is starting to feel goosebumps for being alone driving through the adventurous trip at 12 am. So I took the challenge and trying to drove confidently although seeing the highway lights turn on and off, blinking horrorly is making me very scared like a five year old little girl scared of the darkness. My confidence faded mi