Late at night, the wind was blowing like witches whispering in the atmosphere. Things one can't quite make out. Maybe I was being influenced by my friends. I'd stayed over with Colette and Julia for a while, helping at their counter and greeting their customers. I knew some of them, but they really had a friend group that was separate from most of us. A lot of them were artists, too, and I enjoyed chatting with them. In particular, one of them liked to paint, as I found out during our chat, and I offered him space on our wall to rent so he could try to sell. He jumped at the chance, and I got his phone number. 

On my way back home now, the moon was waning, following me. Up ahead, a familiar figure was surely on top of a ladder, carefully placing letters in a marquee. As I got near her, I stopped and gazed up at her work. White letters were spelling out the name of a movie that I loved, and my excitement couldn't be contained. 

"Funeral Parade of Roses?!" I shouted up at her. "You're showing it again?!" I started doing a dance, and she laughed as she looked down at me, pausing in her work. Up above me was my friend Charlotte, the madame of the art house movie theater. Her red librarian glasses were slipping down her nose, her bleach blonde hair waving in the wind. Her long body, like a model, was still stretching toward the sky holding a number in her hand, ready to tell the world what day the movie would be available to see. Her grungy clothes adorned her, keeping her warm in the December wind. 

"I might show it once per month," she called back to me. "You're not the only one who loves it. I always get a full house with it, and I love seeing everyone."

I pointed up at her accusingly. "When are you going to show a John Waters movie next?"

"Stop pressuring me!" She sang, placing the number on the marquee, fully ignoring me now. 

Charlotte's movie theater was a one screen establishment, and she showed whatever she wanted with no regard to what anyone else thought. We always packed the house, no matter what it was, to support her. In showing art house, indie horror, and films that might be porn if they weren't high art, she was an artist. Curating movies to show the public, letting us into her surrealist world, one by one. 

As I walked a little more, I saw there was a new poster next to the entrance and I stopped to look at it. She liked to collect vintage movie memorabilia, too, and this poster spot was a way to peer into her world. It was for a slasher movie, someone holding bloody intestines in their hand, squeezing with all the gore imaginable. Not something that one would expect to see on a public street. It was the perfect thing to make people stop, to make them consider her theater when they might have passed it by. In that way, it was art, and I loved every inch of it.

Feeling comfortable in the darkness, I drew my coat around me more, and continued on walking. Leaves from the trees that lined the streets shuffled ahead of me as the breeze spiraled them up into the air, playing with them like an unknown specter in the night. 

The smells of the coffee shop were full of cinnamon and nutmeg, chocolate and strawberries. The treats I'd made today weren't so out of the ordinary, but I liked having a normal day sometimes. Nothing too fancy. It was comforting in a way. There were coffee cakes with a streusel crumble, little Victorian sandwich cakes, and chocolate cakes with banana and strawberries in the middle. Small coconut pies were also up for grabs, as well as a mini bananas foster with way too much cinnamon. You could have the mini bananas foster with vanilla ice cream, too, if you were adventurous. 

Nikki was standing at the showcase, eating one such bananas foster as our usual customers drank their morning coffee and read their newspapers. A new edition of the neighborhood magazine, the Rainbow Edition, was waiting for people to pick up a free copy in a wired stand near our door. It was called that, because you never knew what kind of paper it was going to be printed on. One week it could be pink and blue, the next it could be a highlighter yellow monstrosity. It was based on whatever the creator, a nice hipster kind of guy named Minoru, could get his hands on for cheap. One time, it was printed on horrendous notebook paper and everyone looked like they were carrying around a secret notebook from high school. 

Once per week, Minoru would come around our shop. He'd ask us what was happening on our event calendar, interview us about our new ideas for our menu, interview us in general about our thoughts about the neighborhood. Sometimes Nikki would contribute a column about the paintings he was working on and when he'd have his next showing. The Rainbow Edition was at its heart a record of everything that was going on in the neighborhood, from an announcement of new wares from Salem's Sister, to whatever Charlotte was going to show in her theater, to community plays, swap meets, and a list of contact info for restaurants if you wanted to order delivery. There was an event calendar at the back, too, to show what was happening that week so you could plan accordingly. I cherished these magazines, because it was like a book all about my friends every week. 

In particular, this Wednesday there was going to be Drag Bingo at our shop again. Nikki and I would get dressed up in our drag best and call out the numbers, joking at each other and calling out people in our audience, giving out prizes that were donated, and serving a special meal that had been cooked by someone else in the community. It was a free event, but people could tip the shop if they wanted. Usually, they tipped generously and we were forever grateful. I couldn't wait to see what kinds of prizes we'd get this week. They were usually weird and wonderful, showing the personalities of our friends, and I always wanted to keep them all. 

"This cinnamon is burning my mouth," Nikki commented, taking a long and loud sip of his latte. 

"That's why you need to eat it with ice cream. It lengthens it out, and makes the cinnamon die down."

"Noted. Have you ever thought about making a cinnamon and brown sugar ice cream?"

I paused, staring at him. I flicked the back of his head, and he gave a small chuckle. "Who's the baker in this place, you or me?" I asked, sighing. "That's too genius for you to come up with."

"Hmm. Maybe we can make it a new syrup add in for coffees. I bet people would like it." He went back to his bananas foster, not able to get enough even though he'd just complained. 

"I'll see what I can come up with." I gazed out at our front of house, the white and blue painted tables, the blonde wood chairs and the mint green painted curly cue cast iron chairs, seemingly random in placement, but strategic. The chairs would move around the room as the day went on, as friends met friends and needed an extra chair, or gave up a chair to someone else. It was always a story of the day, seeing the new arrangement at the end of every working day. It made me feel romantic, thinking of all those stories, those interactions. 

In particular, I was waiting for our part timer, Yash, to come in so I could go out and do deliveries. Yash was a student at the university a ways away, and wasn't supposed to be working due to the restrictions on his student visa. But, we paid him under the table for his "volunteer" work. We liked helping him out, and he absolutely loved us and the shop. He was just the person we needed during the day for a few hours so that I could go shop for rare ingredients or pop into other stores to give whatever people needed to them. Today, the plan was to give Ayane a banana, chocolate, and strawberry flavored frozen coffee and visit Hiran and see if he needed any help, plus give him a Victorian sandwich cake since he liked them so much. Both of them were tied up today, so it was only fair. I'd also be visiting the little grocery store nearby, seeing if they needed a volunteer for the cashiering position. If so, I'd send over Yash. He was only too happy to help, because the old couple who ran it, the Nguyens, were always so kind to him, as they were to everybody. They were starting to get up there in age, and weren't always able to run their shop. That's when us who were younger stepped up.

"Well, I'm going in the back to crunch some numbers. Looks like the front is running itself," Nikki said, his mouth full of banana. "Those receipts aren't going to count themselves."

I nodded without words, still staring at the beauty that was our shop. The front window showed the small park across the street. One could not ask for a better view than that. Sometimes, people would come and walk their dogs, and I enjoying seeing them play out there. It was only a small strip of land, and sometimes Salem's Sister would hold events out there late at night and into the early morning. I'd be the only one awake to see it, and it was an honor. Surely the fires they started out there weren't up to any fire code, but that was our little secret.

The kitchen door swung closed behind Nikki and I sighed. There were four people among the tables, sitting. They'd been here since opening, lounging in the atmosphere. Above us and all around us, a French singer called Rachel was singing the song "Le Chant de Mallory", creating such a romance in here that I was antsy. Maybe since it was always so romantic in here, it made me yearn. I took this energy and grabbed a dish cloth and filled it with light cleaner and water, and started to clean, wiping down surfaces behind the counter. 

Vicky Leandros was singing "L'amour est Bleu" when he came in again. I was squatted behind our showcase, cleaning the baseboard, when I saw him between Victorian sponges and strawberries perched on shiny chocolate. My eyes widened between the strawberries and cream. 

The handsome stranger wandered around, looking at various things. He stopped at the Rainbow Edition display and took one, its ridiculously pink pages in contrast to his smart navy blue suit. He moved on, peering at our display of shiny chocolates in tiny plastic cases, their cheerful gold ribbons making them perfect for gift giving. I made them myself, chocolate enrobed coffee beans and almonds, peanuts and raisins. I slowly rose up from my position, seeing him now from a proper place, staring at him curiously. 

His fingers went toward a line of the boxes, absorbed in his task, and with a long clattering, the boxes fell down like dominoes. 

"Oops," he gasped, and immediately tried to right them. His hand knocked into the boxes next to the ones he was trying to fix, and they fell down, too. How he managed this, I had no idea, but I was laughing before I could stop myself. He looked around desperately, embarrassment on that gorgeous face.

At the sound of me, his face went like a flash toward mine, and I covered my mouth with my hands. He went back to his task, messing it up even worse. Some even fell down onto the floor.

Could it be? As I watched him, it dawned on me what might have happened yesterday. Instead of him being rude and cold, bumping into me in the night...

I wandered over there, trying not to look too obvious. My hands joined his, and he retracted his own as I took over. Something about this was making me much more comfortable, all that worry evaporating. 

"You're clumsy, aren't you?" I asked. "I've got this. Don't worry about it."

"I, um... Wanted to buy one," he said, a distinct nervousness there. I didn't dare look at his handsome face. I might lose my nerve.

"It's six hundred yen," I said automatically.

"Oh. Oh... That's fine. I wanted to try one. They look delicious."

That accented voice. It made me even more curious.

"What country are you from?" I asked, gathering the tiny boxes in my hands and showing him how to arrange them properly. He saw what I was doing and joined in, so seemingly kind now. 

"Korea. I just moved here. I don't know the area very well yet..."

So cute. "Well, you're in the right place. French Cup is like a community center for the neighborhood. You'll get to know it really fast if you hang around." Was that an invitation? Where this confidence was coming from I didn't know, but something about knowing he was clumsy was making me comfortable. I was a bit clumsy myself, at times. Nikki always pointed it out. 

"Really? That's good to hear. I like it here. The music is nice."

"Oh, do you like French music?" I asked, finishing up my task by placing the chocolate raisins toward the front, needing to arrange them a certain way so they all fit on the shelf and stood up correctly. It really was kind of fussy. No wonder he'd knocked them down. 

"I do. Especially the old stuff. It's not like modern music today. Especially from my country, music can be so commercialized, you know?"

I did. I nodded at this, finally finishing up. Seeing that, he took one of the chocolate coffee bean ones. I decided to be nice. He was a new customer after all, and his knocking over of my display had charmed me. 

"You can have that for free."

He let out a gasp, and I chanced to look at his face. It brightened up, and the enchantment running through my body... It made me sigh inside. How much he was excited like a child about the candy, just like how I feel whenever I see Yuko's creations. 

"Thank you," he said, giving me a little bow. I waved my hand at this, trying to make his respectful gesture go away. Thinking on the spot, I gave him a smile. 

"You should come to Drag Bingo on Wednesday," I offered. "It's in there, in that magazine you have, all the details. You'll meet everyone if you come. Everyone always shows up. You'll find a menu of the feast we're having, too."

He hugged the magazine to his chest, way too cute. Suddenly, all the confidence I had evaporated in that cuteness. My eyes went huge at what I was doing. 

"Uh, uh, so I have to go clean now," I said, my hand going to adjust the sleeve of my purple button up, not looking at him anymore. 

"Is that right? I guess I should go, too. I wanted to stop in, though. I liked it here yesterday."

"Oh?" I asked, smoothing down my shirt.

"Yes. I like the ambiance. Well, I won't keep you."

"Uh... Thank you." 

"Thank you, too. See you around." 

With that, I walked away, dashing to the safety of the space behind the showcase. He left, the bell chiming above him to indicate this. I breathed a sigh of relief, wondering about my momentary lapse in judgment, being caught off guard by his adorable display of human sincerity, his clumsiness. 

Still wondering about it, Yash turned up. He waved to me with one hand making a salute, and I waved back. I could finally go on my deliveries, all of my nervous energy put to good use instead of standing here and daydreaming about that perfect stranger, who was no doubt now walking away with one of my chocolates in his dreamy, clumsy mouth.