Okay, so here's the scene: it's stupid early—like, who even decided 8 a.m. is a real time?—but the Maple Bean Café is already buzzing. You've got the clink of mugs, a hum of random conversations (half of which sound like conspiracy theories or the usual weather rants, honestly). Sage is flipping that "Open" sign with this look, like, bring it on, weirdos—I'm ready.
She drags out this beat-up chalkboard and plops it next to the tip jar. It's not even Pinterest-cute, just her scribbly handwriting:
Tip Question of the Day:
"Where's your favorite spot to catch a sunset?"
Sun's barely peeking in, but somehow the regulars are already rolling through. Like clockwork. There's Mr. Jensen, probably older than the coffee beans, face buried in his newspaper like it's the 1950s. That couple who orders in perfect sync (disgustingly adorable, honestly, they should teach a class), and the usual gang of students pretending to study when they're just swapping drama in the corner.
Sage is halfway through a death match with the milk steamer when the bell over the door goes off.
Cue: Elliot. Dude looks like he just crawled out of a library collapse—backpack hanging on for dear life, book hugged to his chest like it owes him money.
"Morning, Sage," he mumbles, all shy and awkward, barely making eye contact.
She already has his hot chocolate ready. Psychic? Nah, just knows her people.
He flashes this tiny, embarrassed grin and claims the window seat, already zoning out and probably plotting his next D&D campaign or whatever.
Sage, being nosy, pokes through the tip jar and pulls out this crumpled note.
It reads:
"The old oak tree by the riverbank. It's peaceful there."
—E
Of course it's Elliot. Could've bet money on that one. Sage grins, grabs a pen, and scrawls back:
"I love that spot too! Best place to stare at clouds and forget you exist for a bit.
What's the coolest thing that's happened to you there?"
She sneaks it back in, hoping he finds it before some random TikTok kid does.
And the café? Still doing its chaotic ballet—coffee, stories, tiny dramas nobody else will ever know. Sage is smack in the middle of it, loving every second, soaking up the little weirdnesses that make mornings almost tolerable.
Chapter 2: New Questions and Quiet Conversations (Part 2)
Door jingles. Again. Sage glances up—oh, look who's back: Elliot, doing his thing, sliding a note into the tip jar. He catches her eye, tosses her that sly little grin, then heads straight for his usual window spot. Honestly, best seat in the place if you're into people-watching (and let's be real, who isn't?).
Sage, because she's nosy (come on, like you wouldn't be), fishes out the paper.
"Best memory? The time my little sister and I built a treehouse under that oak tree. We decorated it with fairy lights and spent entire afternoons reading books inside.
—E"
Okay, cue the mushy feels. She can practically picture it—two kids, a ramshackle fort, fairy lights doing their best in broad daylight, paperbacks everywhere. Kinda makes you want to time travel.
She grabs a blank slip, scrawls:
"That's honestly the dream. Do you ever go back there? Just to remember, or maybe for a little escape?"
Folds it up, tucks it back in the jar. This note swap thing is turning into their own secret handshake or something.
Right then—bam! Door flies open, gust of cold air, napkins go airborne like startled geese. The whole vibe goes from "snug little coffee shop" to "mild natural disaster" for about three seconds.
Enter: one middle-aged lady, scarf so blindingly bright it should come with a warning label, clutching a handful of wildflowers like she just stepped out of a cottagecore fever dream.
"Hello!" she beams, and I swear, you could defrost a windshield with that smile. "I'm new here. Is this the Maple Bean Café?"
Sage flips into hostess mode, all warmth and sparkle. "Yes! Welcome! Can I get you something to warm up?"
She's pouring coffee, chitchatting, but honestly, her brain keeps ping-ponging back to Elliot by the window. Wonder if he's ever gone back to that old treehouse? Maybe just to remember, or maybe just because sometimes you need to hide out from the world for a bit.
Chapter 2: New Questions and Quiet Conversations (Part 3)
The new girl slumped into this tiny window table, wildflowers wobbling dangerously close to her mug—honestly, she looked like she might sneeze and knock the whole thing over. Sage shot her a grin, then wandered off behind the counter, heart doing that goofy flutter thing it always did when a stranger showed up (why, no clue).
Meanwhile, Elliot, nose deep in some battered paperback (classic Elliot, honestly), glanced up. He gave her one of those nods—barely a movement, like a VIP signal only people who basically live here would get. Welcome to the jungle, kid.
Of course, Sage can't help herself—she grabs a crumpled note out of the tip jar. Elliot's handwriting again. Guy's basically running a secret poetry club in there.
"Sometimes I go to the treehouse just to watch the sunset. It helps me think about what comes next.
—E"
Sage just kind of rolls her eyes, smirks, and scribbles back on a napkin:
"That's definitely a spot where wild ideas are born. Hope those sunsets keep the stories coming, man."
She stuffs it back in the jar, just as New Girl wanders over. Timing: chef's kiss.
"I'm Lily," she says, voice quiet but not timid. "Just moved here. People said this place was magic or something. Looks like they weren't lying."
Sage's grin cranks up to eleven. "You landed in the right weird corner, Lily. We basically collect new friends here like it's a hobby."
Next thing you know, they're trading Maplewood dirt and arguing about the best scones. Elliot's just sitting there, watching like he's seeing a movie play out, eyes all dreamy and distant.
And, honestly? The whole place is buzzing with this chill sort of magic—secret scribbles, droopy wildflowers, and the start of something that feels suspiciously like home. Maybe more, if you let it.
Chapter 2: New Questions and Quiet Conversations (Part 4)
golden hour just busted through the windows like it owned the place—seriously, light everywhere, ricocheting off every table, glass, you name it. The whole café looked like Instagram exploded, all that glowy nonsense making even the chipped mugs look artsy. I swear, if you pointed your phone at it, you'd probably get a warning for "excessive vibes."
Inside? Jam-packed. Like, sardines-who-can't-breathe level packed. Chairs scraping, people yelling over each other, everyone caffeinated and vibrating. If you wanted coffee, you pretty much had to fight for it—may the odds be ever in your favor.
And Sage? She was a tornado in sneakers. Didn't matter if her name wasn't on the lease—she was basically the boss. Dodging elbows, flinging mugs, wrestling with that espresso machine like it owed her money. Honestly, she could've juggled chainsaws and nobody would've blinked.
Elliot, meanwhile, was over in the corner pretending to read, which fooled exactly zero people. Eventually, he gave up the charade, slammed his book with maximum drama, and shuffled over. Tried to act chill, but he just looked like he'd chugged three Red Bulls and forgot how legs work. Did that classic "let me whisper a secret" lean and goes, "Hey, Sage," with this wannabe-cool voice, except you could tell he'd rehearsed it like, a hundred times. "So, uh, wanna go down by the river? Hang by that old oak tree or something?"
Sage's insides basically did cartwheels. She tried for casual, but her face totally betrayed her. "Yeah, uh, sure," she squeaked—like if she sounded too excited the universe would change its mind.
Then, because the universe has jokes, Lily pops up outta nowhere, hugging her notebook like it's classified. "Oops, totally just heard that," she grinned, not even pretending to be sorry. "Wait, the oak tree? What is this, Narnia? Can I come?"
Sage hit Elliot with the "seriously?" look. Elliot just shrugged, all "whatever, man, bring on the chaos."
"Fine, whatever," Sage laughed, rolling her eyes, but you could see she was kind of into it. "Guess it's a group adventure now."
So out they went, air thick with grass and that weird not-quite-summer stickiness. Sage's stomach was all electric, like she swallowed a swarm of bees. Maybe it'd turn out to be one of those days you remember forever—or just another random mess. Either way, it felt kinda magic, you know?
Chapter 2: New Questions and Quiet Conversations (Part 5)
they basically just drifted, No real plan, just shuffling their sneakers from the café all the way down to the river, everything soaked in this ridiculous golden light. Like, seriously, it looked like the sun just lost its mind and dumped a vat of honey on the whole dang place. Sage couldn't stop fussing with those wildflowers Lily grabbed—petals bending all flimsy and delicate, kind of like a secret you're scared to say even in your own head. And Elliot—oh, classic Elliot—just zoning out at the river, like he was waiting for a pirate ship to materialize or maybe, I dunno, the most legendary skipping stone ever.
And that oak tree? it was comically enormous. Straight out of Narnia or some old fantasy flick, the kind of tree where you expect to see wizards squatting in the branches or, maybe it hugs the whole town when nobody's looking. Honestly, I half-expected it to blink open a couple big cartoon eyes and start dishing out unsolicited wisdom.
Sage just went limp and flopped on the grass under that monster, squinting up through all the leaves like she was on UFO patrol. She let out this soft little sigh you'd save for, like, a cathedral or that first sip of coffee after pulling an all-nighter—real hush-hush. Then she whispered, "It's way more beautiful than I imagined." Like she was afraid the universe might overhear and just snatch it all back outta spite.
Elliot, of course, plopped down right next to her, clutching that sketchbook that looked like it'd survived a tornado and maybe a bear attack for good measure. He was grinning like he'd pulled a rabbit out of a hat. "I come here to draw sometimes," he muttered, all sheepish. "Kinda clears out the junk in my brain, you feel me?"
Lily's over there—total gremlin energy—ripping open her notebook, pages exploding everywhere, crammed with doodles, messy poems spilling out like they're trying to escape. She just flashes this grin, all teeth and sunlight. "Guess this place puts a spell on us, huh?" she said.
They just melted into the grass together after that. Not really talking, but it wasn't awkward. It was that rare, golden silence you get with your real friends—the ones who don't freak out when nobody's talking. Sun kept sliding down, painting the sky all fizzy pink and orange like some kind of sherbet explosion. Sage felt it, that sneaky joy that slips in when you're exactly where you're meant to be. Like the universe was nudging them, all sly, like, "Hey, relax—good things are waiting just around the bend."