The Stranger In Town

The bell above Rose’s Corner Café chimed with its familiar, welcoming sound as Autumn Hayes pushed through the door, the October wind following her inside with a flurry of amber leaves. She tucked a strand of chestnut hair behind her ear, balancing her worn laptop bag and a stack of notebooks that threatened to slip from her arms at any moment.

“Morning, sweetheart!” Grandma Rose called from behind the counter, her silver hair catching the warm light filtering through the café’s large windows. The scent of freshly ground coffee beans and cinnamon filled the air, wrapping around Autumn like a familiar hug.

“Morning, Grandma,” Autumn replied, finally making it to her usual corner table without dropping anything. Small victories. She set her things down and took a moment to appreciate the café—the mismatched vintage chairs, the walls lined with old books and local art, the soft jazz playing from the ancient radio behind the counter. This place was her sanctuary.

“Your usual?” Rose asked, already reaching for a mug.

“You know me too well.” Autumn smiled, pulling out her laptop. The blank document on her screen mocked her, the cursor blinking with patient insistence. Chapter Twelve. She’d been staring at those two words for three days now.

The café was quiet this Tuesday morning. Mrs. Chen sat by the window doing a crossword puzzle. Old Hank from the bookshop next door nursed his black coffee while reading the newspaper. The autumn sunlight painted everything in shades of gold and amber, making the small town of Maplewood feel like something out of a storybook.

Autumn had lived here her whole life. Twenty-six years in the same town, watching the seasons change from her favorite corner of her grandmother’s café. Some people might find it suffocating, but she found it comforting. Here, she knew everyone. Here, she was safe from the expectations that followed her everywhere else.

Well, almost everywhere.

Her phone buzzed. A text from her mother: Family dinner Sunday. 6 PM. Don’t be late. Brandon has news.

Of course Brandon had news. Brandon always had news. Brandon had graduated top of his class from law school. Brandon had made partner at thirty. Brandon was getting married to his perfect girlfriend. Brandon, Brandon, Brandon.

Autumn sighed and set her phone face-down on the table.

“Here you go, darling. Caramel latte with extra foam, and I added a cinnamon scone. You barely ate yesterday.” Rose set the cup and plate down with a knowing look. “You’ve got that face again.”

“What face?”

“The one that says Patricia Hayes has been Patricia Hayes-ing again.”

Despite herself, Autumn laughed. “Is that a verb now?”

“In this café, it is.” Rose patted her shoulder. “Don’t let her get in your head. You’re working on your book, and that’s wonderful.”

“I’m trying to work on my book,” Autumn corrected, staring at the blank screen. “The words aren’t exactly flowing.”

“They will. They always do.” Rose started to head back to the counter, then paused. “Oh, I almost forgot. We have a new regular. Started coming in last week. Very handsome, very quiet, very generous tipper. Daisy nearly fainted when he left twenty dollars for a coffee.”

Autumn smiled at the mention of Daisy Porter, the café’s part-timer who was perpetually dramatic about everything. “Anyone we know?”

“Nope. City boy, I think. Wearing fancy clothes, typing on an expensive laptop. But he’s polite, and he doesn’t talk on his phone loudly, so he can stay.” Rose winked and headed back to the counter just as the bell chimed again.

Autumn didn’t look up. She was determined to write at least one sentence today. Just one. She flexed her fingers over the keyboard.

Elena walked into the room, her heart pounding—

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?”

The voice was deep, smooth, and unfamiliar. Autumn looked up, and her breath caught.

The man standing beside her table was… well, Grandma Rose hadn’t been exaggerating about the handsome part. Tall—definitely over six feet—with dark hair that looked artfully tousled, strong jawline, and the most striking gray eyes she’d ever seen. He wore a black sweater that probably cost more than her rent and jeans that somehow looked both casual and expensive.

He was also looking directly at her, waiting for an answer.

“Oh! Um, no. I mean, yes. I mean—” Autumn felt her cheeks warm. “It’s not taken. The seat. You can… sit. If you want. Not that you need my permission for the other tables, obviously, since they’re also not taken, but this one, specifically, is not taken, so…”

She was rambling. She was definitely rambling. Stop talking, Autumn.

The corner of his mouth twitched. Was that almost a smile? “Thank you.”

He sat down at the table next to hers, setting down his own laptop—sleek, silver, definitely expensive—and a leather notebook. He moved with careful precision, like every action was deliberate.

Autumn tried to return her attention to her own screen, but she found herself hyperaware of his presence. He was close enough that she could smell his cologne—something woody and sophisticated that probably came in a bottle shaped like a geometric sculpture.

Focus. Write. Pretend the attractive stranger isn’t right there.

Elena walked into the room, her heart pounding with—

“The caramel latte. Is it good here?”

Autumn looked up again. He was looking at the menu, not at her, but he was clearly addressing her.

“It’s the best in town,” she said, then mentally kicked herself. “Not that there are many options. Rose’s is pretty much it for coffee here. But yes, it’s good. Really good. I mean, I’m drinking one right now, so I might be biased, but—”

“I’ll trust your judgment.” This time, there was definitely a hint of a smile. He stood and walked to the counter, and Autumn couldn’t help but notice how he carried himself—confident, controlled, like someone used to being in charge.

Rose lit up when he approached. Autumn couldn’t hear their conversation, but she saw her grandmother’s delighted expression, saw her gesture animatedly while preparing his drink. The man nodded, said something that made Rose laugh, and returned to his table with a caramel latte and what looked like one of Rose’s famous apple turnovers.

He caught Autumn looking and raised his cup slightly in acknowledgment. She quickly looked back at her laptop, mortified.

Elena walked into the room, her heart pounding with anticipation and—

Her phone buzzed again. Owen.

Owen: Morning, sunshine! Lunch today? Hank got a new shipment of books in, thought we could check them out after.

Autumn smiled. Owen Matthews had been her best friend since they were kids, back when he used to pull her pigtails in elementary school and she used to put frogs in his backpack in revenge. Now he was the town’s veterinarian, and she was his excuse to take long lunch breaks.

Autumn: Sounds perfect. Noon at the usual spot?

Owen: You know it. Don’t work too hard on that novel. Your characters need you alive and caffeinated.

She was still smiling when she set her phone down and finally—finally—managed to write a full paragraph. The words came slowly at first, then faster, until she lost herself in the story, in Elena’s world where everything made sense and problems were solved by the final chapter.

She didn’t notice when the stranger glanced over at her, watching the way her face lit up as she typed, the way she absently tucked her hair behind her ear, the way she smiled at something only she could see on her screen.

And she definitely didn’t notice the way his expression softened, just slightly, before he returned to his own work.

Outside, the October wind scattered more leaves across Main Street, and Maplewood continued its quiet existence, unaware that everything was about to change.

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