In the bleak midwinter, frothy milk made foam (Sean)

[Marnie Sullivan]

The weather outside was frightful. The sun had long since set, and the plate glass windows at the storefront of Lighthouse Roasters had been dark for most of Marnie's evening shift. Fat snowflakes, tinted orange by the streetlamps outside, were buffeted by harsh winds as they fell. She knew from salting and periodically shoveling the sidewalk outside that it was bitterly cold past the front door. Each time she'd come back in from the task, Marnie would fill a ceramic mug with hot water from the espresso machine and hold it in both hands, letting the steam warm her red nose and cheeks. 

By comparison, the inside of the coffee shop felt like sanctuary. Each time she opened the bake case to straighten the plates inside, Marnie got whiffs of butter and vanilla and cinnamon. Lazy guitar strains floated from the speaker system on a relaxed beat, loud enough to hum along to while she went down her closing duty checklist. In the corner opposite the front entrance, an electric fireplace with fake logs radiated warmth to the easy chairs posted close by. There were other chairs and tables arranged throughout the shop, of course, but the few people who had braved the weather to sip espresso while they studied or wrote their screenplays were all congregated there despite having arrived separately. On nights like tonight, fewer people seemed to want to brave the trip getting to the shop, but the ones that did stayed put for hours. Marnie wasn't looking forward to travelling home in this mess, but the quiet was a blessing; for the second night in a row her backup had called out, and she was closing alone. 

Marnie was behind the counter, counting the syrup bottles and scribbling which needed refills onto a torn slip of receipt paper when the bell above the front door probably chimed but was drowned out by a gust of frigid air.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

The weather outside was frightful, and yet the mere thought of a fire would raise Sean’s hackles rather than soothe his spirit, warm his fingertips, or melt the frost that nipped at the tip of his nose. Winter break at Hammel was fast approaching, but while this entailed a slowing for the students and teachers, focused on winding down their lessons for the term, perhaps with final projects or exams to complete and grade, for the telepath, the end of the term brought a deluge of paperwork and responsibility.

Grades for the quarter. Supply inventory. Training updates. End of the year incident reports. And unfortunately, fires and electrical surges featured prominently. It was enough to turn a man from candles and a roaring fireplace to battery-operated lights.

City Hall was equally busy. In between the more joyous duties of lighting the tree and erecting the menorah for upcoming Hanukkah, planning the Holiday Bash, and sending cards to his constituents he had payroll to approve, bills to push for, and innumerable meetings as everyone pushed for their special interest before the calendar turned over and 2020 was upon them.

As a result, the mayor had many late nights, this one among them, and Sean was in no rush home to their empty house where Mopsy and the porch lights were his only company.

While sitting fireside held little appeal, the thought of hot coffee or cocoa, seasonal flavors or adorned with whipped cream and cinnamon, enticed him enough to pull into the nearest parking space and trek down the block until he reached the café. His first efforts to pull open the door failed; the wind, howling behind him pushed more strongly than he could tug, leaving them at an impasse. His third attempt brought victory, and he hurried inside, door slamming at his heels and narrowly avoiding the hem of his winter coat.

He stood in the center of the café, a few steps away from the door for several seconds; hands rubbing together to banish the chill and the tingle in his fingertips. Only when he felt his circulation return did he stride the rest of the way to the counter, eyes trained on the menu to peruse the seasonal offerings.

[Marnie Sullivan]

Even out of her line of sight, the new arrival didn’t slip past Marnie. Being tucked behind the counter protected her from the blast of wind, but it caused a brief racket and the creeping cold hit her after a moment’s delay.

“I’ll be right there!” she called out as she scribbled the last of her notes on the receipt paper. She didn’t want to lose her train of thought and have to start over, but neither did Marnie want a new arrival to think she was ignoring them. She pressed an empty palm to the countertop and rose to her feet, stuffing the syrup list in her back pocket with her other hand.

Marnie didn’t picture herself all that different from when she’d left the Hammel Institute. There were differences, of course, like the freshman fifteen - she’d held it off during actual freshman year but it had caught her eventually - and the new but unobtrusive piercings in her ears. The flannel shirt she wore under her apron, sleeves rolled up around her elbows, was a departure from her usual style. But altogether it was not enough to make her unrecognizable.

Doctor Sean Neville, similarly, did not appear to have changed much during her time in Burlington.

“Dr. Neville!” Marnie’s blue eyes lit up; she dusted her hands off on her apron and hurried over to the register. “Come on in, it’s brutal out there.”

Since starting at the Lighthouse Roasters late that summer, familiar faces had - most of the time - been a welcome sight. It was a big reason Marnie had returned to Pilot Ridge instead of striking out to seek her fortune elsewhere. The psychiatrist was no exception, having been a supportive presence during her school years at Hammel. Lucky the wind had blown him in during a quiet evening, rather than a morning rush when there was no time to talk.

“Have you tried the peppermint hot chocolate here?” she asked him, rushing through her sales pitch which was only half a sales pitch; it was actually her favorite thing on the menu that month. “I know everyone’s doing it right now but ours is really good, it comes with marshmallows from the candy shop downtown and everything. How are you? How’s Mr. Bernstein?”

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Of course, Sean sensed Marnie’s presence, recognized the familiar sound and texture of her mind. Between her years at Hammel and then renting Josh’s house for a time during college, he had seen her frequently, considered her one of his proteges, and remained inordinately fond of her now that she had reached adulthood. Yet, as she appeared absorbed in her task, and he had no desire to interrupt while she remained on the clock, he instead busied himself with reading the specials listed on the board. Gaze then dropped to the pastry case beside the counter, eyes pausing over each muffin and slice of seasonal loaf cake, while his stomach rumbled, reminding him that far too long had passed since lunch, and he could use the pick-me-up.

A warm smile settled on his lips with the greeting, sharing all of the affection he felt at finding her here. “It’ll be more brutal next month when January sets in, I fear, but I’ll take the warmth all the same.” He turned, attention focused on her as he craned his neck downward. “I have, but it was so good I think I’ll order it again. May I have one in the largest size?”

Sean lit up like the Christmas tree displayed in front of City Hall at the opportunity to rhapsodize about his favorite person. Over this past year, with his ordinances and dedication, Josh’s performance had been impressive, and the telepath found himself bursting with pride. His husband, the mayor.

“I’ve never seen him happier.”

Only a slight exaggeration, given Josh’s infectious moods and utter inability to conceal his emotions - joyous, frightened, saddened, anger, jealousy, or otherwise. He wore his passion on his sleeve, a trait that Sean had always found intriguing and of which he had become all the more enamored through the decades. Between the political position where, rather than plead in front of indifferent judges for mercy on behalf of his clients, he could work in tandem with the Town Council to help directly, and their marital bliss and stable home life, he knew that his husband wanted for very little outside of broader justice and an abrupt change of federal administration, and that was outside of their power for another year at least.

He raised his hands, spreading black, leather-clad fingers in a contended gesture. “Hammel keeps me busy, but I’m about as well as I can be too. And how are you?”

[Marnie Sullivan]

One large peppermint hot chocolate. Nice and simple; all the easier to punch into the register while she listened. A couple of extra buttons and the total on the display screen ticked down. Marnie’s history of working corporate retail jobs during her college years meant she was quite scrupulous about it, but Lighthouse was more lenient with the friends-and-family discount than those places had been. She still liked to be careful, but she was not unbending.

“I’ve never seen him happier.”

When Marnie was a teenager and a student at Hammel, her interactions with Dr. Neville were colored by the professional boundaries that his position required. It would be a while before his roles as mentor and as authority figure were totally divorced in Marnie’s mind; since her graduation, much of the progress on that front had come from getting to know Mr. Bernstein and being able to witness the doctor as half of a pair. Each glimpse of his life outside of Hammel made Dr. Neville more of a person and less of a figurehead. Although it felt too personal to say out loud, Marnie considered the two of them role models in a way that her straight parents couldn’t be.

So she was in no hurry, now, to cut the doctor off by asking for his money. 

“And how are you?”

Left alone to her work, Marnie’s thoughts resembled the snow outside - mainly, the tires of cars driving through the same ruts as the cars before them. Christmas was a week away, and with it driving several hours to Maine to spend the holiday with her parents and grandfather, weather permitting. Her evening shift so far had been a cycle of thinking about the trip - mapping out the drive and the visit itself, what to talk about, the gifts she was bringing - following by distracting herself with thoughts of the upcoming bash that weekend and the outfit she was assembling at home, back and forth, while she cleaned and received customers. The appearance of a familiar face was more effective at pulling her out of it. So her smile was genuine as she listened, and then as she answered.

"Oh, can't complain," Marnie replied with an easy shrug. "I'm pretty stoked about the bash this weekend. If this keeps up- " she gestured simply to the snowflakes buffeting past the glass windows - "it'll be perfect, 'winter wonderland' indoors and out, right?"