In a quiet little town tucked between soft hills and sleepy trees,
There lived a woman named Diane.
But no one called her that,
At least not if they knew her well,
And most people knew her well.
To her friends,
And there were many,
She was simply Dee Dee.
Dee Dee ran a small cafe on the corner of Maple Street,
Just past the bookstore and across from the park where old men played chess and toddlers chased pigeons.
Her cafe was painted a gentle yellow,
The kind of color that looked like morning sunshine,
And its windows always smelled faintly of cinnamon and warm bread.
Every day,
Dee Dee woke up just before the sky turned pink.
She didn't need an alarm,
Her body just knew.
She'd stretch,
Yawn a quiet little yawn,
And shuffle into the kitchen in her slippers to put the kettle on.
While the water boiled,
She watered the potted plants on her windowsill,
Basil,
Thyme,
And a slightly grumpy mint plant that never quite knew what it wanted.
By six a.
M.
,
The cafe lights were on,
Glowing softly like lanterns.
She'd unlock the door and slip inside.
The smell of yesterday's coffee still lingered,
Mixed with the cozy scent of vanilla and old books.
Dee Dee liked that smell.
It reminded her that life didn't have to be exciting to be good.
She always started with the muffins,
Blueberry,
Banana walnut,
And sometimes lemon poppy seed if she was feeling a little adventurous.
The batter came together like an old rhythm,
Stir,
Scoop,
And bake.
While the muffins rose in the oven,
She'd prepare the first pot of coffee,
Not too strong,
Not too light,
But just right.
At seven a.
M.
Sharp,
The first regulars would stroll in.
Mr.
Parsons with his newspaper,
Nora with her sketchbook,
And little Max and his mom,
Always looking a bit more awake after their cocoa and scone.
Dee Dee didn't rush.
She moved slowly,
Gently,
Like a cat in the sun.
She knew the cafe wasn't just a place to eat.
It was a place to be.
People talked softly.
The radio played mellow tunes.
And sometimes,
If it rained,
She'd light a candle on every table and pretend the cafe was a tiny ship floating in a sea of mist.
Around noon,
When the cafe was calm but still warm with chatter,
The little bell on the In a way that made Dee Dee smile before she even looked up,
It was James.
James was Dee Dee's boyfriend.
They'd been together for just about a year now,
And everything about it felt right.
Not in a grand,
Sweeping,
Movie-scene sort of way,
But in the way a soft blanket feels on a cool evening.
James was gentle and kind,
With a laugh that made other people laugh too,
Even if they hadn't heard the joke.
He often brought her flowers,
But not the big,
Showy kind.
Just a small bunch of daisies or lavender wrapped in brown paper,
Like something picked from the edge of a field.
Sometimes,
He'd sit at the counter and read while she worked,
Or help her carry chairs in when it rained.
She'd make him a sandwich without asking what he wanted,
And somehow,
It was always the one he was hoping for.
They didn't make big plans.
They went for walks.
They shared books.
They talked about nothing important and everything that mattered.
When he held her hand,
It felt like the world was exactly the size it needed to be.
At closing time,
Dee Dee would wipe the counters,
Stack the chairs,
And hum to herself old lullabies and melodies she didn't quite remember learning.
Then she'd lock the door,
Step outside,
And breathe in the evening air,
Which always smelled like trees and time slowing down.
Sometimes,
James would be waiting,
And they'd walk home together.
Other times,
She'd go home alone,
But find a little note tucked into her bag.
Something that said,
See you tomorrow.
Sleep well.
Back at home,
Dee Dee would change into her coziest pajamas,
Make a cup of chamomile tea,
And curl up with a book she'd already read twice.
She didn't need twists or cliffhangers.
She liked knowing how the story ended.
And as the stars blinked awake,
One by one,
Dee Dee would close her eyes and think,
Today was nothing special.
And that's what made it perfect.
Good night,
Dee Dee.
Good night,
You.
Sweet dreams.
