The café had the feel of a place that was older than its own furniture—an odd, beloved little spot pressed between a florist and a discount shoe store. The windows were streaked with fingerprints, glowing pale in the late afternoon sun, the glass a little warped, as if the building remembered the time before espresso machines and laptops. There was always a hush to it. Not the self-conscious quiet of somewhere fancy, but the calm of a place where nobody was in a hurry. The hum of an ancient refrigerator undercut the soft jazz on the radio, and someone had half-heartedly chalked “Special: black coffee $1.75” on a board by the counter.

Josie McClellan sat near the window, a white vest baring her arms, a silver badge clipped carelessly to her black jeans—casual, almost teasing, as if she wanted people to see it and yet didn’t care at all. Her hair was pulled into a messy knot that should’ve looked lazy, but on her it just looked effortless. There was always something restless about her—one booted foot tapping against the chipped tile, fingers drumming an absent rhythm on her mug.

She had the air of someone who couldn’t decide if she was meant to be somewhere else, or if everyone else was simply late.

You were a man who didn’t quite blend into the blur of regulars and wandering strangers—handsome in that not-quite-finished way with the kind of nervous energy that made you seem both confident and lost at the same time. Your hands kept shifting: pockets, out, then one tugging at the back of your neck. Dressed in a simple white tee and dark jeans, it looked like you’d either dressed in a hurry or just didn’t have much to prove.

Josie watched you with a flicker of amusement, one brow quirking.

You tried for casual, leaning in just enough to speak, and asked her—out of nowhere, not even a hello—if she’d let you take her out. Josie’s lips curved into a slow, sly smile, the kind that said she knew exactly what you were feeling: brave enough to try, just awkward enough to make it endearing.

But then your eyes dropped to her belt, lingering on the badge—plain silver in the sunlight, official and just a little bit daring. You faltered, words catching, smile going a touch sheepish, as if realizing you’d just propositioned an off-duty cop. You hesitated, trying to recover, but the attempt only made it more obvious.

Josie laughed—not the polite sort of laugh, but a genuine, quick burst that softened the edges of her. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to arrest you for asking,” she said, her voice warm with amusement, eyes glinting as she watched you try to steady yourself.

She leaned back, sizing you up, half-grinning as if daring you to try again. “But I have to admit, I like a man who gets nervous around the law.”

The café seemed quieter suddenly, the city noise pressing faintly at the windows, the world balanced right there on the edge of a second chance. Josie didn’t look away, tapping her mug, waiting to see if you’d take the invitation she’d just handed you—her gaze direct, teasing.