It was after closing hours. The last employee, Francis for whatever reason, had finally left after constant ushering out the door. Ivy sighed heavily as she took down her hair, sighing in relief as her migraine faded if only a little. She shook out her black curls and prepared for the next few hours. Ivy took out the bags of chocolate cookies she had made that morning, small cups of coffee, and slices of bread and cheese. She left the lights on and opened her door to the cool night air. Slowly, they started to trickle in. One by one, with eyes cast down but smiles on their faces they took their seats. Gratefully, they accepted everything Ivy gave them casting her thankful smiles and hopeful eyes. The last one, and old man, barely able to walk, slowly stumbled in and took his seat by the window. Solemn eyes looked out and trembling hands grasped the coffee mug in front of him. Ivy looked at him with a mothering instinct, never having seen him before. The usual patrons chatted amongst themselves as Ivy took her seat next to the old man, coffee spilling everywhere because he could not grip the cup well enough.
"I'm sorry miss, I promise to clean it up" he said quietly, not able to look her in the eye.
"Look at me please" Ivy responded.
He looked at her guiltily.
"There is nothing to be sorry for" said Ivy as she poured another cup of coffee. She raised the warm liquid to his parched lips. "You take your time, let me help you."
The old man grabbed her hand, "thank you miss." His soulful brown eyes welled up with tears threatening to spill.
"Call me Ivy, everyone does."
Meanwhile all this was happening; Francis smirked as he skillfully "forgot" his wallet inside the café. He whistled merrily down the street knowing that Ivy would still be there cleaning up and preparing the small restaurant for the next day. What he didn't expect was to see the café full of people chatting quietly and lightly sipping on their drinks. This was nothing like the café was in the morning for two reasons.
In the mornings, the café was bustling and loud. Long lines crowded the store and high pitched feminine giggles could cut straight to the core. Ivy always had a smile on her face, but she would constantly rub at her temples warding off a headache. She was polite to everyone, but no one seemed to really be polite back. They took her for granted.
Francis gaped in secretly through the window as he saw the second and most important detail of this setting. The people, they wore raggedy clothing, stocking caps with holes, oversized jackets, and worn out shoes with no socks. Some had the luck to be wearing gloves and scarves for the fast approaching winter but others still had only clothes suited for the summer. A small cluster of children littered the tables munching contentedly on chocolate cookies that Francis had never seen served in the café.
But most of all, these people appreciated Ivy. They smiled at her and thanked her profusely for every little thing she did whether it was pouring a cup of coffee or giving them a new napkin. Francis saw as Ivy bustled to and fro, genuinely smiling at the people before her. He watched as she sat down next to an old man on the far side of the store next to the adjacent window and wiped his mouth gently, almost like a mother taking care of her child.
Francis couldn't help but smile until he saw one of the men. He had found Francis's wallet and was looking through it. Francis was about to storm in when he saw the man gently call for Ivy. He approached the open door and heard snippets of the conversation.
"A Monsieur Francis Bonnefoy? He seems to have forgotten his wallet, do you know him?"
"Yes, he's just one of my employees, never pegged him as the forgetful type though" Ivy mused.
The man's eyes shone, "well Miss Ivy, sometimes a man's forgetfulness serves a purpose" he chuckled and went back to his table.
"I'll leave it on his station" she said to no one in particular.
She placed it on the counter and turned away; she hesitated, stopped, and turned around again.
"Actually, I'll just give it him tomorrow. No sense in leaving it here, it's safer that way" again she said to no one in particular. It was more as a reassurance to herself. It didn't matter that the wallet had his smell of Old Spice and red roses, really it didn't.