When the doors of the train creak open, a frantic college student is the first to jump out.  She tears through the turnstiles, following the rich scent of freshly ground coffee beans up from the subway and through the snowy streets, brown hair billowing behind her. 

    Outside the swinging glass doors of the little coffee shop, Amber hesitates, breath clouding in the frosty air.  What are you doing? Lora doesn’t want to see you. She already told you as much.

    Shaking the snowflakes out of her auburn bangs, Amber casts the doubt from her mind. It's now or never. 

    Ivy climbs the building’s exterior, hanging loose in front of the windows, drifting in the breeze and dappling the shop in soft green light.  Brushing the vines aside, she peers through the window, mentally rehearsing the speech scrawled in pen across her palms. 

    Inside, potted orchids make their home on the window sills, standing tall on their stems as if to better view the goings on.  To their credit, on this particular February day, the shop is certainly a sight to behold.  Throughout the room, lovers exchange fuzzy teddy bears, heart shaped chocolate boxes wrapped in pink bows, bouquets of scarlet roses and bunches of white carnations.  On wooden tables and stone counters, couples set down their lattes, freeing their hands to hold each other close in warm embraces. 

    Amidst the busy scene, Amber has yet to spot Lora, the blond haired barista who broke her heart.  Tears clouding her vision, she turns away from the window, never having felt so alone.

    Behind the counter, coffee brews, milk is foamed and poured into cappuccinos.  In the back room a barista brushes her golden curls out of her eyes as she slowly refills each flavoring bottle. She takes her time, counting down the minutes until the end of her shift.  She reluctantly returns the newly filled containers to their places behind the counter, stiffening at the romantic scene which she had been happily avoiding in the back room for the past 10 minutes.

    At last, Lora clocks out, feeling a great deal lonelier than she had when she clocked in. She weaves through the line of buzzing customers, shoving her way to a little table in the corner, at which she plunks herself down with enough force to nearly spill her espresso.  Outside the window, snow blankets the sidewalk, glittering like a field of diamonds, the kind of diamonds Lora might be touting had she not let her fear get the best of her. Feeling sick with regret, she fixes her gaze on her drink, watching the waning sunlight refract through the dark coffee, turning it a lovely shade of amber.  Amber.  If Amber were here right now, her espresso wouldn't taste so bitter.

    As Lora takes a sip, she feels a tap on her shoulder and nearly spits out her drink in shock.  Amber is standing right behind her.  Shoving her chair back, Lora jumps into Amber’s arms.  I missed you.