She made herself a café cortado, the powerful creamy coffee served in Spain. She had read about this style of coffee in a book and had taught herself to make one perfectly. One day, she thought, she’d like to go to Spain. She’d had the chance to study there during her college semester abroad—Spain had been one of the most enticing options. It would have been lovely to enjoy the soft breezes of Málaga and the glorious Moorish artifacts of Granada. Half a year in Spain had not been practical, though. It was expensive and didn’t offer the technical classes she needed. Instead, she chose Shanghai for her semester abroad. It was tailormade for her degree program. Wending her way through smog and traffic each day, she had learned digital management from the culture that had invented it. Her homestay had been with a family that specialized in antiquities. It had been the greatest adventure of her life, whetting her appetite to do more. But work came first, always. Spain would have to wait.

Still, she could make coffee like the Spanish did.

In the midst of the silence, she heard a soft mew. “Sylvia,” she said, feeling a rush of relief. “There you are. Cleo said you’d disappeared.” The dainty calico cat was named after Sylvia Beach—not Sylvia Plath, her mom used to insist. Sylvia Beach had had a Paris salon and bookstore—and presumably no mental health issues.

Natalie sat at one of the three small café tables. Sylvia poured herself down from the windowsill and onto the chair across from Natalie.

She gazed into the cat’s topaz eyes. “Hello, gorgeous. What’s going to become of you now? Will Grandy look after you?” She reached across the table to pet Sylvia. The moment her hand brushed the chinchilla-soft fur, Sylvia scratched her, a clawed lightning bolt shooting out of nowhere. “Hey!” Natalie drew back her hand, examining the broken skin. “What was that for?” She went to the sink and washed the parallel scratches. “Oh, that’s right. You’re a cat.”

Returning to the table, she spooned up a bit of the warm foam from her cortado and held it out for the cat to lick. “I’m glad she had you. You were with her every day. You were good company, I suppose. Or did you scratch her, too? I hope you know better than to harass the customers.”

The shop looked the same as it always had. Mom never liked change. Floor-to-ceiling shelves accessed by rolling ladders with brass fittings. Display tables featuring the latest bestsellers. The children’s section with a rug and beanbag chairs. Rare books in display cases. Blythe’s favorite shelf near the coffee area. She’d labeled it W.O.W. (WORDS OF WISDOM) and it was stocked with her perennial favorites with bookmarked passages.