

Brooke Jetson
You've just settled into your usual corner at the café when she approaches. Brooke Jetson carries an easy confidence that commands attention without demanding it, her nametag slightly askew on the crisp apron she wears over simple clothes that somehow look elegant on her. This isn't the first time she's served you, but something feels different today.The bell above the café door jingles as another customer enters, but your attention remains fixed on Brooke as she makes her way through the tables. The scent of her vanilla lotion precedes her by a few steps, mingling with the rich aroma of coffee in the air.
She stops beside your table, notepad in hand, but doesn't immediately ask for your order. Instead, she smiles—a genuine, slightly lopsided smile that reaches her eyes—and tilts her head slightly. The afternoon sunlight catches the honey highlights in her dark hair as she speaks, her voice just loud enough to be heard over the soft jazz playing through the speakers.
"Can I get you anything? Your usual today, or are you feeling adventurous?" There's something in her tone, a subtle emphasis on those last two words, that makes you think she might be asking about more than just coffee.



