He strolled down the street, hands in the pockets of his glistening lavender suit. There was a usual skip in his step per this time of day. The warm breeze ruffled his hair, and he combed his recently groomed fingers through as a means to fix his hard work. Today, like everyday, he would walk down the uneven streets, past the young vender on the corner, wave to the grocer in the building next to him, and the butcher- whose shop shared a wall with the grocer-to catch a glimpse of the girl in the cafe. No, she did not work there. Instead, she stopped there every morning, chatting with bakers or baristas. She always wore the same navy suit, fitted to her thin small body, and her black satin hair sat in a neat bun in the center of her head. Her makeup was not ever caked, like the frosting in the cases next to her, but always heavy enough to be able to tell she was wearing it.

Today, he felt himself drawn quicker towards the cafe, as the sun was just rising over the peaks of the pastel city. Today, instead of walking, he, too, would sit in and chat. Have a coffee maybe, and order a slice of the chocolatey cake the woman ordered once a week. He thought he might beat her there on this day. But, as he strolled up to the pristine ivory building, tinted a pale pink from the sun rising over the river no more than thirty feet away, he saw her. At first, he did not recognize it was her. He almost strolled right past. Her hair was down. It was much shorter than she had imagined and the ends were colored in a silvery purple. Almost the same color as his suit. Her face was bare of any makeup, yet it looked as if nature had decided to paint her itself. She had smooth plump skin splattered with opaque freckles over the bridge of her nose. Her eyebrows were less harsh than he had seem. Less fierce. Yet they were still full. She looked softer. And she was not in her suit. Instead, she was in a loose dress. All white and flowy. The straps tied just under her ears and the shapeless fabric was embroidered with a small silver sheen of different kinds of weather.

She looked up at him, and smiled. He felt his face grow warm under her gaze, and he smiled back.

“That,” he gulped, trying to sound less like a child caught eating sweets and more like a friendly stranger, as he pointed to a yellow gooey loaf on an electric blue marbled plate, “that looks good.”

In her hand she held the gold fork, and when she spoke she pointed it at him with a bright smile. “Its new. Lemon- something or another,” she swiped whatever frosting gooed up the prongs off with a quick bite, and smiled. “And it's my new favorite. I definitely recommend it.”

He smiled, “I’ll order it, then, I guess.” And as he began walking into the cafe, she called out to him.

“Hey,” he heard the sound of shoes patting against the wooden patio of the cafe, “hey, purple suit!” He turned around, knowing for sure he was blushing this time, “You dropped this.” She held out a small pin. A small gold bird. His father had gifted it to him.

“Thank you.” He said, taking it.

“So, what's your name? I see you walking around here every morning on my way to work and I feel like I know everyone on my route but you.”

“Pink.” He responds.

She giggles, “is that your last name?” Her feet move towards the door, and as she reaches for the handle, he stops her, grabbing it and motioning for her to walk in.

“No,” he smiles.

“Well, I like it. I might just have to use that in my writing.” she responds with a nonchalance that eases him. For a second, they meet eyes, holding a gaze between their deep brown eyes.

“Can I help you, Miss Byrd?” She pulls away from his eyes, but he doesn’t keep his off of her bare face.

“My friend, Pink here,” She pats him on the chest as if they have been buddies for ages, “will have that lemon cake that I had.”

The baker watches the two of them, a smile growing on her face. “Coming up for you. Mr. Pink.” He snaps out of his gaze at Miss Byrd, and smiles at the baker.

“How much?” He asks.

She shakes her head and smiles, “It's on us. Miss Byrd is a close friend of everyone here.” She sets a gold marbled plate on the counter and slides it towards him.

He feels Miss Byrd move away from his side, and he watches as she saunters out the door into the pink sunrise, before taking a lump of money out of his pocket and jamming it best he can in the large jar that reads “tips”.

“Thank you.” He smiles, but doesn’t look back at the baker.

“Hard worker, she is. Kind too. And very much a free spirit.” The baker tells Mr. Pink. “I’m glad you’ve worked up the courage to talk to her.”

Embarrassed that his not-so-secret crush on Miss Byrd is the talk of the cafe, Mr. Pink repeats himself. “Thank you.” and follows Miss Byrd into the dawn.

There is a second chair across from hers, and he realizes it was not there before. Mr. Pink sits in it, but she does not look up from her paper covered in scribbles.

“One second, Mr. Pink,” she forces out slowly, biting the entirety of her already chewed and raw lower lip. “Alllll…… riiiighttt…” she draws out the word, scribbling faster at the end of her page, before slamming her pen down with force, shaking the table.

Miss Byrd smiles at him.

“What are you writing?”

She purses her lips, looking off to the side, before meeting his brown eyes once more. “About a girl who falls in love with a man and he doesn’t even know it. And then one day, fate brings them together, and they enjoy a treat at a cafe by the river. But,” she sits back in her chair, straightening her legs off to the side in what most would consider a very unladylike fashion, crossing her arms over a freckled chest, “... fate also had her lose her job. The best source of income anyone in the town could get. And she has to find out if it will work out. Happiness at the expense of comfort.”

Pink leans in towards her. “Well what if she could have both?”

“Then that would make this unrealistic.”

“Nothing is unrealistic.” He responds. She smiles. “So what's your first name, Miss Byrd?”

She sits back up, crossing her ankles and rests her chin in her hand, beaming a smile at him.