The city didn’t sleep that week, and neither did they. The studio crew returned each morning with new plans, new angles, new ways to film what they called “everyday magic.” Daphne tried to smile through it, but the word “magic” had started to sound like “ownership.”
Cables ran under the tables. The restaurant smelled like coffee and electricity. Mira managed schedules, Finn guarded the pastry trays from curious assistants, and Jamie followed the cameramen like an unofficial mascot.
“Smile, kid,” one of the producers said. “You’re natural on camera.”
Jamie frowned. “I’m expensive.”
Daphne nearly laughed. Nearly.
By noon, the crew asked if they could “recreate the first dance night.” She froze. Caius saw it and immediately stepped in. “No reenactments,” he said. “If it’s not happening naturally, it’s not happening.”
The director looked unimpressed. “Authenticity doesn’t mean we wait for miracles.”
“Then maybe you’re filming the wrong story,” Caius replied.
The tension hummed like static. Daphne turned away, focusing on the counter, hands steady only by practice. Mira caught her eye and mouthed: *Breathe.*
That night, after everyone left, the restaurant felt heavier than it ever had. The lights hummed. The air smelled faintly of metal and rain. Caius sat at a corner table, elbows on knees, face in his hands.
“You did good today,” Daphne said softly.
“Did I?” He looked up. “I fought with three producers and insulted one sponsor.”
“Sounds productive.”
He smiled tiredly. “They don’t get it. They want joy that performs on cue.”
“And we’re building joy that misbehaves.”
He exhaled. “Maybe that’s why I like it here.”
She leaned on the counter. “Because it’s messy?”
“Because it’s real.”
Their silence was full—not empty this time, but charged, like a pause before a note lands.
Mira reappeared with her laptop bag. “You two done saving art for the night?”
“Temporarily,” Daphne said.
“Good. Because we’re low on rent, sugar, and patience.”
Finn called from the back, “And flour!”
Jamie added, “And joy!”
Mira sighed. “Add that to the list.”
The next morning, the studio arrived earlier than usual, their energy caffeinated and contagious. They brought pastries this time—a peace offering. Mira confiscated two boxes before anyone could argue.
Daphne greeted them with polite professionalism. “We open at ten. You film after twelve.”
The director smiled too widely. “We’re flexible.”
“Not today.”
He hesitated, then nodded. Caius appeared from behind the counter, wearing an apron instead of his usual jacket. “House rules,” he said. “No cameras during prep.”
The crew retreated, surprised but compliant. For the first time in days, the restaurant sounded like itself again—pans, chatter, clinks, rhythm.
Mira whispered to Daphne, “That was leadership.”
“It was survival.”
At noon, customers filled every table. Some came for food, some for the story. The crew waited patiently outside, pretending not to film through the window. Jamie made a sign that read *HAPPINESS UNDER CONSTRUCTION* and taped it to the glass.
“Think that’ll stop them?” Finn asked.
“No,” Jamie said, “but it’ll confuse them.”
Daphne laughed, small but real. It felt like breathing after holding it too long.
Caius moved between tables, helping where he could. Their eyes met, and for a moment, the noise faded. He mouthed, *We’re okay.*
She nodded. They weren’t—but they could be.
When evening fell, the crew finally packed up, promising to “respect the space.” The restaurant looked half-empty, half-free. Daphne stood at the door, watching the trucks leave. The city outside buzzed, bright and restless.
Caius joined her. “They’ll finish editing in a week. Then it’s out of our hands.”
“Maybe it never was in our hands.”
He turned to her. “You regret saying yes?”
She thought about it. “No. I just wish saying yes didn’t come with subtitles.”
“Subtitles?”
“Everyone thinks they know what we mean.”
He smiled faintly. “Then we’ll make another scene.”
She looked up at the streetlights flickering like applause. “Without cameras.”
He nodded. “Especially without cameras.”
They stood in that soft gold light, two figures framed by a doorway that had seen everything—noise, light, laughter, mistakes. The sign above them glowed faintly: *A House Made of Joy.*
For the first time in weeks, it felt true again.
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