Chapter 1
Larson’s Early Afternoon
Larson leaned back in his ergonomic chair, eyes fixed on the glowing screen of his high-end drawing tablet. The room smelled faintly of freshly brewed coffee and paper, remnants of his earlier brainstorming session. His design studio, perched high in the city center, it was a blend of industrial chic and personal flair. Exposed brick walls framed shelves filled with art books, design trophies, and collectibles from years of creative work.
The team meeting had gone smoother than expected. The department leads had presented their concepts for the upcoming campaign, and while Larson had refined their ideas with his sharp critiques, he couldn't deny their progress. The company—Inkspire Studios—thrived on collaboration, but Larson’s knack for merging artistry with practicality often made him the decisive force in the room.
“Alright,” Larson said, rolling his stylus between his fingers, “we’ve finalized the color palette, the typography’s locked in, and the wireframes for the website are on track. Unless there’s something critical…” He let the sentence hang in the air.
His team exchanged brief glances before Amy, his lead UX designer, spoke up. “That’s it for me. I think we’re in a good place for the client review next week.”
“Good,” Larson said, nodding as he shut off his tablet. “Let’s wrap this up. It’s Friday, you all deserve to clock off early. Go home, unwind, or do whatever it is creative people do when they’re not stressing over deadlines.” He says with a lopsided grin on his face.
A few chuckles filled the room, followed by the murmurs of thanks and good byes. The meeting had been scheduled to 3:30, but the clock on the corner of Larson’s tablet read 2:35 PM. He smirked slightly as the team trickled out, leaving him alone in the studio.
For a moment, he sat in the silence, tapping his stylus on the desk. Early afternoons like this were rare—too rare, really. He was used to marathon workdays, bouncing from project to project with barely a breath in between. Yet here he was, staring at an empty hour, unsure what to do with himself. Larson leaned back in his ergonomic chair, his fingers hovering over his drawing tablet before setting the stylus down. The hum of his design studio quiet now that his team had left for the day, leaving the room and its exposed brick walls and shelves of art books, unusually still.
He glanced toward the floor to ceiling windows. The city sprawled below, bustling with life. Cars honked in the distance, and people hurried along the sidewalks, bundled against the cool air. A low growl interrupts his daze, and he glances down at his stomach with a faint smirk. “Alright, alright, I get it” he mutters.
Lunch had completely slipped his mind, as it often did on busy days. But now that he was free, the idea of grabbing something to eat sounded strangely appealing, rubbing the back of his neck, thinking about how he hadn’t eaten since that morning, when he’d scarfed down a cold bagel and a double-shot espresso before diving into his work. The faint dizziness he’d been ignoring now made sense.
Larson rose from his desk, stretching his arms and back. His studio was stocked with snacks—protein bars, trail mix, and a drawer of questionable instant ramen—but none of it appealed to him. He needed real food, something that didn’t come in a wrapper or Styrofoam cup.
Grabbing his coat and scarf from the rack, he headed for the door. The thought of stepping away from the office was almost thrilling. He wasn’t the type to indulge in long breaks or spontaneous outings, his career as a graphic designer had been built on discipline and focus. But today felt different.
The elevator ride down gave him time to think. Where would he go? The trendy restaurants nearby would be packed, filled with noisy crowds and rushed waitstaff. No, he wanted somewhere quieter. Somewhere where he could sit, sketch, and let his mind wander. And then he remembered.
A few weeks ago, during a brainstorming session, some of his colleagues had been gushing about a little café downtown. They’d called it charming, a hidden gem with great coffee and even better vibes. One of his colleagues, Amy, had mentioned that the latte art alone was worth the visit.
“A five-star experience,” she’d said, waving her hands dramatically. “It’s where I go when I need to reset my creative mojo.”
Even a few of his clients had brought it up during their meetings. One had called it “the perfect escape” and joked that it was his secret weapon for surviving deadlines. Another client had practically written a novel-length review about the atmosphere, the friendly baristas, and the addictive pastries.
Larson had tuned out most of their chatter at the time, too buried in work to care about where everyone got their caffeine fix. But now, as he stood in the defending elevator with nothing pressing on his agenda, the idea of checking it out felt... right.
As the elevator doors opened to the bustling lobby, Larson’s lips curved into a small, determined smile. A café, it is then. Something cozy, tucked away from the noise. It was a simple plan, but somehow it felt exactly right.
He didn’t often indulge in unplanned detours, but today felt like the perfect opportunity to break routine.
When he reached the lobby, the cool afternoon air greeted him, sharp and refreshing. The streets were alive with the usual downtown chaos, honking cars, the chatter of pedestrians, and the rhythmic clatter of footsteps on the pavement.
Larson tucked his hands into his coat pockets, a faint smile pulling at his lips as he navigated the busy sidewalk. The café wasn’t far—he remembered hearing it was just a few blocks from his studio, nestled on a quieter side street.
“Five stars,” he murmured to himself, recalling the glowing reviews. “I guess I’ll see what all the hype is about.”
With each step, the excitement grew. It was rare for Larson to let himself indulge in something as simple as a mid-afternoon coffee break.
