Brewtiful Moments

“A tall blond for Lily!”

“Coming!”

I was just putting down my bag when I heard Jamie call me. As I walk back to the counter, I see a woman getting my order. I guess she did not realize it was for me.

“Excuse me—" I say to her. “This one is mine.”

“Oh, I am sorry. I thought this was my order. I did not hear him call anyone.”

“No, I am pretty sure he called Lily. Me!” I say pointing to my chest.

“Err, the tall blond is for her,” Jamie says from distance, while processing a customer’s payment.

“Thanks, Jamie! Aww, I love the tulip on top!”

“Enjoy, Lily!” he responds with a smile.

I always thought Jamie had a crush on me. Every morning, he would go the extra mile to create some art on top of my order. He was careful not to use a heart though. This really made me feel special as a customer because I rarely took time to create one for any other client.  

Every day, it was the same story. A customer would mistakenly take someone else’s order and there would be some confusion in the front.

People liked coming in here. Yes, it was dark in here, but it was so cozy that you would not want to leave.

Jamie. the owner, made sure everyone felt welcome. He had a bit of everything: drinks, cakes, the daily paper, and music. It was a neighborhood gem that welcomed everyone. He would be the one preparing all the concoctions for his customers—which meant that the lines were at times very long—but people did not mind.

When asked how he managed to get people to come in and stay until closing, he would simply reply, “They are here for the ambiance, aroma, and the multi-sensory experience.”

I would come in, place my order for a tasty brew, find a seat in the back, put my backpack on the table to claim that spot and make myself comfortable for the next few hours.

When I walk back to my table, I realize that the woman who had inadvertently picked up my drink was following me. She was looking for a seat by the window—this was my spot.  

“Lily right?” she calls. “Do you mind if I seat with you? It’s packed in here today. It’s not even nine o’clock.”

“Sure,” I reply to her while moving my stuff to make some room for her. Without wasting any time, she grabs a chair nearby and makes herself comfortable.

Thank you so much! I am sorry about earlier.”

“No worries! It happens all the time.”

“Oh, that’s awfully nice of you. My name is Maya by the way.”

She kept staring at me as if we had met previously. I certainly had never seen her before. Before taking her seat in front of me, she takes off her gloves to shake my hands.

“It’s nice to meet you, Maya.”

I did not expect that. Her hands were so dry and cold! I thought they were about to crack when I shook them.   

As she kept talking, she looked over my head to see if her order was ready. There was a long line, and I was lucky to have mine in my hand.

“I see that you’re regular here and always seating at this table.”

“…you come here often too?” I respond.

Without answering my question, she adds, “I noticed that sit, same corner, same time, same drink—I think—and you never look up, always focused on writing something.”

“Hum, I come here for distraction but also for some inspiration. I am working on a script.”

“Are you a writer?”

“Well, let me say ‘aspiring novelist.’”

“How funny! I am painter. I also come here for inspiration.”

I wanted to stir the conversation away from focusing on my work. I didn’t like having too much attention one me, so I looked at the line and said, “There are all kinds of people walking in here, especially at this hour of the morning.”

“Right?!!” she says. Then, she excused herself to pick her order. As she walks past the entrance to reach the counter, I notice her greeting a couple. The woman had smoke coming out of their mouth while the man she was with was rubbing his hands together.

She gives both a hug and pets their dog and walks away saying, “We need to catch up soon!”

When Maya returns to our table, she has a large smile on her face.

“Well, it’s nice to meet someone who is also an artist. So, Lily, what are writing about? It is romance, drama or a plot that needs to be solved?”

As we pick up from where we stopped, I find myself moving to the beat of the music playing. It was one my favorite songs by Bob Marley. The tune was the best to put you on a good mood.

“Sun is shining, the weather is sweet.”

While the weather was not that sweet, it sure was bright out, in contrast to the shop. But this did not matter. It felt good to be in there.  

Maya was chatty and wanted to know more about everything.  She was genuinely curious about people, what they liked, what they didn’t like, and what drove them nuts and to this shop. Whenever she met someone, she would be staring at them as if wanting to penetrate my soul.

Me, on the other hand, was the reserved kind. I preferred to keep my thoughts and feelings to myself but write them down. We were total opposites.

I had bought some of the gluten-free pastries and hoped that if she had seen me eating, she would get a clue of, “Doughnut disturb me while I’m eating.”

But no. She was waiting for a response. So, I devoured the pastry quickly and wiped my mouth.

“I’m writing a play. It’s my first one. I am still working on the characters. What about you? what type of painting do you do?”

“I am a watercolor artist. I paint strangers I observe in little shops like this one. They are like vignettes of life.”

“I like that! This place is ideal for that too!”

We sat for a moment and looked at the line forming once again by the door. Without saying a word, I pulled out my laptop while she took out her sketching book.

A few minutes after we both started working, out of curiosity, I glanced at her work.  

“Do you like it?” she asks, wondering if this is something I would relate to.

“Wow, you ‘re talented. You have amazing eyes. So many details in that tiny drawing!” I reply. Then, I look up and recognize the figure, that of Jamie.

As she keeps drawing, she takes a quick look at the owner before saying, “You would not believe what I once overheard him say.”

“What did he say?”

For a second, I thought she was about to reveal what I had always suspected about him: that he had a secret crush on me but was too shy to tell me.

“The craziest of thing!”

“Tell me! What did he say?” My heart was now racing, wanting to know the truth.  

“I was putting my cup away when I overheard him tell two customers about a hidden room in his shop. ”

“What hidden room? Where?” I was disappointed but did not want to show it. Instead, I started looking around.

“Somewhere. Here. He said the room grants extraordinary creativity to those who discover it.”  

“No way!!!”

“Yup,”

“Huh. Interesting!”

“I know, right?! I’ve been coming in every morning, hoping to get more details out of him. But look at him! He never has a minute to talk. The place is always so busy.”

“Did you try coming in later in the day?”

“I can’t. I teach,  so I can only stay a couple of hours, only in the mornings. Then, I need to head to class to see my students.”

“Oh, so you teach as well! Same? watercolors?” I ask her, pointing at her sketch book.

“No, pottery. I work with clay. We have been exploring the shapes of vases made in India. Anyways, going back to what I was saying—”

We suddenly get interrupted by a man who walks by wanting to grab the chair nearby. He wanted to make sure we were not expecting anyone.

“You know what? You’re a creative too. How about we make it our secret plan to find this secret room?”

“Honestly, I doubt such a place exists here.”

“We can search for clues. Imagine, what if under the counter over there, Jamie was hiding some stairs leading to the room?”

“Maya, I think you have too much imagination. Have more to drink!”

We sat there laughing while looking at the customers.

This was the most unexpected morning encounter. A few hours before, I did not know about a person called Maya. Now she was trying to lure me into a hunt for a mysterious room.

As days went by, we kept meeting each other at the shop: same time, same spot. She would claim the table if she arrived before me, and I would reciprocate if I was earlier.  

We had a plan, but no clue it was working yet.

Every day, we looked around to see if any furniture had been moved. We would also observe who came in. We listened in to know what they ordered, and checked if they were staying in or leaving. Whenever a customer took off, we would conclude they would not know about the room. But when they wandered a bit longer, we would observe all their moves inside the shop.

Through our secret operation, we learned about the customers. I eavesdropped often on random conversations to enrich my script. Maya was constantly drawing figures. She had to buy extra sketchbooks because she was running out of paper.

We were in for small conversations and body language that would give us hints.

One morning, Maya finally had a breakthrough. She had walked in with a bad cold. I had asked her not to come in because I did not want to catch whatever she had. She insisted and did not want to miss out.

After placing her order, she needed to use the restrooms. It is on her way out that she accidently stumbled on a hidden door that disguised as a bookshelf. It was behind a stack of bean bags in a corner of the shop.

Being inquisitive, she decides to inspect the bookshelf when it suddenly opens in front of her. A second door was hidden just behind it. With anticipation and a heart skipping, Maya opens the door and steps into a whimsical and vibrant room filled with art supplies, books, and cozy nooks for creativity. She is in awe. The room looked like everything she had imagined, and more.

Excited about this discovery, I saw her racing to me. From the look in her eyes, I knew she had found it. Not wanting to draw anyone’s attention on us, we decide to walk back together so I could see it too. I was equally amazed.

From that day on, we start spending all our morning hours discovering the room, experimenting with different art forms, writing stories, and immersing ourselves in this imaginary world.

By going there regularly, we also meet other creative people. We realize that some of them were the same people we had originally discarded from our list as suspects. We share ideas, collaborate, and inspire each other.

I am granted the biggest wish: my writing flourishes. My little script turns out to be so good that my editor encourages me to start looking for an agent.

As for Maya, the room brings her more commissioned work—something she had always wanted as a watercolor artist.

A few months after discovering the room, we asked Jamie if we could organize a monthly “Creativity Night” in the small shop, where artists of all kinds could gather, share their work, and inspire each other. He was trilled! On the first night, Maya brought her entire class to showcase their artwork.

I also realize that, after all, Jamie did not have a crush on me—well, I still not sure about that. He valued my work and hoped I would read and review his work. The reason why Jamie was keeping this secret from most of his customers was simply because he only wanted it as a creative space for like-minded people.

In the end, the real magic was not about finding the hidden room. It was the people and the community of creatives around us and how it brought us together.