![]() If she escaped the day without a coffee stain on it, she’d be lucky. As she put her apron on-a black bar apron that only covered her below the waist-she looked down and silently scolded herself for wearing a white shirt. She moved her backpack onto a hook in the back-of-house area, and started through the usual processes of opening the cafe. Was he famous? She felt a familiarity for him just beyond her recognition. She didn’t recognize the handwriting, and felt no urgency to obey its orders, but the author’s name was familiar. “This is for you,” it read, “check out the Chemex recipe on page 11.” ![]() Under the title, and obscuring the artistically arranged coffee brewing paraphernalia depicted on the cover, was a yellow sticky note. The title was clearly printed in a large bright white sans-serif font: A book lay on the counter, placed in such a way that she was sure to see it when she entered the building. She made her way to the bar area and set her backpack on the ground. The darkness of the early morning was now driven out by the incandescence of a dozen bulbs. A sensor detected her movement and triggered the recessed lights in the ceiling to turn on. ![]() She opened the door to the coffee shop and walked inside.
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