The rain stopped sometime before dawn, but the air still carried its memory—a damp hush that made even the street seem thoughtful. Daphne unlocked the door of the restaurant and paused before turning on the lights. The room looked different in early light: quiet, humbled, as if the walls had exhaled overnight.
She set her bag on the counter and checked the schedule taped beside the register. The ink had bled slightly from humidity, smearing “Dance Night” into “Chance Night.” She stared at the blur and half-smiled. “Accurate.”
Mira arrived first, punctual as sunrise, holding two coffees and the kind of energy that demanded structure. “Morning. I’ve rewritten the booking system.”
“Again?” Daphne asked.
“Optimized,” Mira corrected. “We had six separate requests for dance reservations. Apparently people think they need tickets.”
“Tickets to happiness,” Daphne said. “Could be profitable.”
“Could be illegal,” Mira replied, setting the coffee down. “You’d have to declare it as an experience tax.”
Finn entered mid-yawn, hair fighting gravity. “I dreamed I was trapped in a never-ending line of people asking for decaf.”
“That’s just the morning rush,” Mira said.
He blinked. “Oh. Then I haven’t woken up.”
Jamie followed, backpack half open, a crayon sticking out like a flag. “I made a new poster for the square!” He unrolled a piece of paper that read in bold, wobbly letters: *DANCE FREE, FEEL BRAVE.*
Daphne crouched to admire it. “That’s perfect.”
“It glows in the dark,” he added proudly. “I borrowed Mira’s highlighters.”
“You mean stole,” she corrected.
“Borrowed permanently.”
Caius arrived last, phone still in hand, face carrying the kind of tired that coffee only negotiates with, not cures. “Morning,” he said softly.
“Everything okay?” Daphne asked.
“Fine. Just… meetings. They want a follow-up segment on ‘how joy sustains small businesses.’”
Finn perked up. “Does that mean we’re educational now?”
“It means they want us to smile on cue,” Caius said.
“Smile naturally,” Daphne corrected.
“I can fake natural,” he said.
“That’s still artificial.”
“Exactly.”
Their eyes met—tired, amused, wary. Somewhere between laughter and defense.
By midmorning, customers began to trickle in. A woman asked for the “brave pancakes” as if it were an official item. Another customer requested a selfie “where the viral dancing happened.” Daphne obliged, even though the word *viral* still sounded like a warning.
Mira took inventory. “We’re low on flour, sugar, and patience.”
“Put them all on the list,” Daphne said.
Caius leaned on the counter. “You sure you’re okay with all this attention?”
“I’m… adapting,” she said. “I just didn’t think the dream would come with hashtags.”
He smiled faintly. “Every revolution gets one eventually.”
Jamie tugged at her sleeve. “Can we do another dance night?”
“Soon,” Daphne said. “But maybe smaller. I want it to feel like the first one did.”
“That’s impossible,” Mira said without looking up.
“Then we’ll aim for improbable,” Daphne replied.
Finn nodded. “My favorite category.”
The day pressed on, full of half-laughs and full trays. Between shifts, Daphne caught herself glancing at the square—still taped, still steady. She thought of how quickly magic becomes routine, and how routine can quietly eat magic if you don’t feed it.
By evening, the restaurant had the hum of a machine that worked too well. Everything functioned, nothing sparkled. When Caius returned from another call, Daphne was already wiping tables that didn’t need it.
“You’re cleaning ambition at this point,” Caius said.
“I’m keeping busy,” she replied.
He set his phone face down. “They asked if I’d film interviews here. I said maybe.”
“Maybe?” she echoed.
“I thought we could decide together.”
She appreciated that, though her smile was slow to arrive. “Depends who they send.”
“Producers,” he said. “The kind that use the word ‘authentic’ like seasoning.”
“Then we’ll hide the salt.”
He laughed softly, but his shoulders didn’t relax. “I don’t want them to turn this into content.”
“Then don’t let them,” she said. “You’re good at telling stories. Tell them no.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Neither is this place,” she said.
For a moment, they stood in the quiet buzz of the lights, each measuring words like ingredients. The distance between them wasn’t large, but it felt busy—filled with everything they hadn’t said.
Mira broke the pause by appearing with her clipboard like a referee. “Tomorrow’s orders are done. And we need to talk about staffing if dance nights continue. We’re reaching capacity.”
“Capacity?” Finn asked from behind the counter. “We can barely keep up with ordinary nights.”
“Exactly,” Mira said. “Joy is heavier than it looks.”
Jamie nodded solemnly. “Especially when people jump.”
That earned a small laugh, enough to ease the air.
Caius looked toward the square. “Maybe we skip one week. Let things breathe.”
Daphne hesitated. “Skipping feels like quitting.”
“Resting,” he corrected. “Different word. Same mercy.”
She sighed. “Fine. One week.”
But that night, long after the others had gone, she stayed. The neon sign was off, but moonlight found its way through the window, spilling pale light across the square. Daphne stood in the middle, barefoot again, and pressed her toes against the tape lines as if checking they were still real.
She imagined the laughter, the clapping, the rhythm that had filled this space. It wasn’t gone—it had just stepped outside for air. Still, she whispered into the quiet, “Don’t fade, okay?”
From the doorway, a low voice answered. “Not planning to.”
Caius had returned, camera bag over his shoulder. “Forgot my charger,” he said, though they both knew he hadn’t forgotten anything.
“You came to make sure I wasn’t dancing alone.”
“Caught me.”
He walked closer, the floor creaking a soft percussion. “You worry too much.”
“Someone has to,” she said.
“Then let it be me for a change.”
She looked up. “That’s new.”
“I’m evolving,” he said. “Slowly. Like yogurt.”
She laughed—the same sound that had started this entire dream.
He reached out, not to film, not to fix, but simply to hold her hand. “We’ll keep it alive,” he said.
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Outside, a single car passed, its headlights briefly turning the window into a mirror. In it, they looked like two people still learning the steps—but not giving up on the song.
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