Chapter Text
The bell above the café door chimed, the sound already familiar in Lena’s morning routine. But something was different, there was an amazing smell permeating from the kitchen.
She walked to the counter, keeping her head high and her posture just as her mother had told her to do. The blonde was behind the counter again. She hadn’t expected her. She’d chosen the Moonbeam Café because the online reviews all mentioned June, some “free spirit” who undercharged her friends and brewed coffee by instinct. Lena had pictured an aging hippy with bangles on her wrist and incense in the corners…
Someone who didn’t read the newspapers or watch TV, and a place where Lena could just be Lena. Not “Lena Luthor”.
Instead –
She’d walked into bright blue eyes, messy hair tied back, and the brightest smile she’d ever seen. One that made even a cold Luthor heart jump.
“Flat white” she ordered, her eyes catching the sight of the blueberry muffins which were casting that delicious aroma. “And… a muffin.”
The blonde’s eyebrow raised, slightly.
“Sure” she said, that ray of sunshine smile breaking out. Lena let out a small one, but managed to reign it back in.
She glanced around the café as the barista prepared the order. Same as yesterday, but today she noticed that book again, the one the barista had been reading. She’d read it herself.
The blonde slid her coffee across the counter — mostly smooth, a hint of tremor in her fingers, catching the light just so. Even a small flaw couldn’t make her any less… compelling. She then put down the muffin, on a plate, with a napkin underneath.
Lena paid and carried them to her usual seat, beside the window. Empty as always. She tried not to look at the café, but at the same time, she observed as much as she could. It was a puzzle that had nagged at her. The décor was clearly lived in, but the girl wasn’t June.
Her answer came when a lady tottered in, scarf trailing, calling across the café:
“Kara, my sunshine! How’s our June? Still in that clinic, is she? Eating the jelly they call food?”
Lena let out a quiet breath through her nose, a laugh that didn’t quite form. Kara? Even her name suited her personality.
Kara had smiled, polite but a little tight around the edges. “She’s… comfortable. Thanks for asking, Ruth.”
So. Not the eccentric owner. A relative. And, if the lines in her face when the subject of June came up meant anything, a caretaker of sorts.
Lena felt something twist in her chest. She knew that kind of weight. Responsibility shoved into your arms whether you asked for it or not.
She unwrapped the muffin, picking a small bit off and tasting it. God, that’s good. Who can make a muffin that good, is this girl even human?
She lifted the napkin and unfolded it, her eyes catching on a loop of blue ink.
Happy Wednesday!
Kara had written her a note? Was this normal? Did everyone get one?
She glanced around the café, scanning other tables. No other napkins, no hidden messages.
Ridiculous. Childish, even.
And yet—impossible to ignore.
It chipped at the armour she tried so carefully to keep intact. She’d come to the L-Corp Redwood Bay satellite office for a little breathing space, a break from headlines and the weight of her surname. Here, she could be anonymous. Human. Just another woman ordering coffee.
Apparently, she’d been wrong.
She hesitated, then fished a pen from her bag — the Montblanc she carried into every meeting. Her own kind of armour. Beneath Kara’s looping script, she wrote in neat, restrained letters:
Noted – L
She paused over the signature. Just the initial. Safer. A shield.
Folding the napkin again, she set it down beside her cup.
Paper thin, impermanent — and somehow heavier than anything she’d signed in years.
While she was debating if she should tear it up right there and then, a motion caught her eye through the window. That cat again. She felt a smile tug at her lips.
She had wanted a break from the norm, and she’d got a girl and a cat. She hadn’t planned to notice the details of the café, or the hands that delivered her coffee so carefully, or the way a note could make her feel more warmth than any contract ever did.
She finished her muffin, taking the last bite slowly and spent a few more moments in the still of the cafe. The cat was watching her, steady and curious. As she stood, so did the cat, before padding off down the street.
She straightened her posture, arranged her chair, and allowed herself a quiet breath. This small exchange – ink on paper, made her feel something she’d not felt in a while: anticipation. Not for work, or obligations, but for the unknown, for tomorrow, for whatever this was.
She left the café, the faint aroma of coffee and muffins following her down the street. As the city hummed around her, she for once didn’t feel entirely alone.
Tomorrow, she’d be back.