"What time is it?"

I sent a pillow flying into my brother’s face. “Oi. Wake up.”

From the tangle of limbs and bedsheets in front of me came a low moan. “Leave me alone.”

I tossed his sheets to the side. “No can do. Shop opens in five.”

Slowly, Noah inched his eyelids open, squinting up at my fully dressed figure. “Can you handle on your own today? I’m not feeling so good.”

My first instinct was to scoff in his face and throw him his apron, but on second glance he did look pretty miserable. His eyes were red and watery, nose rubbed raw. His dark, curly hair which so closely resembled mine stuck to his forehead in matted clumps.

He looked up at me with those brown puppy-dog eyes until I finally relented, chucking him back his blanket. “As soon as you stop snivelling, get your apron on and come help.”

Grinning with victory, Noah turned on his side, furrowing back into his bed. “Thanks Nick.”

I headed out the door into the cafe, flicking a switch and flooding the room with light as I went. After flipping the sign on the door so it read OPEN, I made a beeline for the barista counter- my home for the past two years.

Despite my attempt to guilt-trip Noah, I didn’t mind running the shop alone. We never had that many customers anyway. As far as coffee shops go, Coffee Cove was nothing special. There were only twelve tables, surrounded by bare, peeling walls and not a window in sight. The place had a permanent smell of roast coffee beans. The only decoration was a large pot plant in the corner-Noah’s valiant attempt at brightening up the place. All the light came from flickering LED panels overhead.

It was unremarkable to say the least-but it was ours. I loved the place, and I knew Noah, despite all his complaining, did too. Maybe that’s why neither of us had moved on in our lives yet. It’d just been us running the place for years. After the first couple of months, Noah and I had decided that we spent so much time in Coffee Cove that there was little point going home to our apartment every night. Now we only went back on the weekends. The rest of the time we slept in our cosy little room at the back.

I wondered if the owner knew this. I hadn’t seen him since we first got our jobs, and yet every week, without fail our salary landed in our bank accounts. That was enough to keep me happy, but Noah found great pleasure in hatching far-fetched theories to explain the owner’s absence.

A sharp jingle of the door signalled the arrival of our first customer. A plastered a fake smile on my face as a small olive-skinned boy came into view, holding his mother’s hand.

My fake smile immediately melted into a genuine one. I couldn’t help remembering my own mum.

The was arguably the most gratifying part of being a barista. Everywhere you looked there was love.

The mother returned my smile, ordering a flat white under the name Bianca. I got to work, as the pair chose one of the centre seats and the boy started playing with the salt and pepper shakers.

Just minutes after I gave Bianca her coffee, in walked a teenage couple who looked about college age, also holding hands. The girl gave their order seemingly oblivious to the guy, who couldn’t quite seem to take his eyes off her. I smirked knowingly at him and he gave me a sheepish grin, rubbing the back of his neck.

I lost track of time, wiping down the tables and clearing empty coffee cups, weaving back and forth between my machine and the tables. The chatter around the room faded to background noise, until it was just me, and my thoughts.

Then, the third customer of the day walked in. She looked about my age- 25 at most. She was shockingly pretty, with auburn hair tied up loosely and a slightly nervous expression on her face.

She strode up to me, leaning over the counter. “One double shot espresso please.”

I raised my eyebrows slightly amused. “Feeling sleepy are we?”

She shook her head, piercing me with bright green eyes. “Not at all.”

I waited for her to elaborate, but she seemed too distracted, glancing around the shop as if looking for something.

“Can I have a name for your coffee please?” I asked patiently.

“Oh!” She started breathlessly. “Harper.”

Pretty name, I thought, surveying her out of the corner of my eyes as I wrote her name on the coffee cup. “Alright Harper, coming right up.”

She nodded and turned to sit down, before hesitating and twirling back to face me. “Excuse me, what time is it? I left my phone at home.”

I grabbed my phone and flipped it over. “9:28 am,” I told her.

Relief flushed her cheeks. “Good. I have a interview at ten, and I was scared I might miss it.”

“Ah,” I laughed. “That explains a lot. What’s the interview for?”

“Receptionist. At a law firm,” she smiled proudly, standing up slightly straighter.

“Nice.” I smiled at her. In the time she’d been talking, I’d finished brewing her coffee. I poured it into a takeaway cup and handed it to her across the counter. “I’m sure you’ll be great. If you get the job, come back for a celebratory coffee.”

She laughed and thanked me. “Absolutely.”

There was another jingle and then she was gone, in her place, a fresh insurge of customers walking in.

I busied myself once more, bustling through the cafe balancing cups and plates in my hand. This must have been the busiest day in months. The one day Noah had decided to be sick. I rolled my eyes inwardly.

Finally, around noon, the trickle of people slowed, the cafe emptying out until it was just me, and Noah’s impossibly loud snores resounding from the back. I was just dreaming about a lunch break-maybe heating up one of our buttery banana breads for myself when the bell jingled again.

I exhaled, trying to mask my disappointment as a old lady walked in. She looked about 60, her thin grey hair with red streaks in it tied up in an impressively high bun. She was dressed smartly for an older person, with pressed back pants and a blue blouse.

Her electric green eyes met mine, and a flicker of shock seemed to pass over her features. Then it was gone, and she was smiling politely at me. “Long time no see!”

This happened very often. I don’t know why most people expected me to remember customers who I’d only glimpsed for seconds, but I took it in stride, giving her a smile as if I knew exactly who she was. “And yourself! What can I get you today?”

“A double shot espresso please.”

I nodded, barely registering her words. My stomach was starting to cramp with hunger, and my mind kept drifting back to the warm, sugary banana bread…

“Do you know what time it is?”

I blinked, snapping back into the present. The lady was looking at me expectantly.

“Erm …” I glanced at my phone. “12:45.” The perfect time for lunch…

I forced myself to stop thinking about food. “Could I get a name for your coffee please?”

“Harper,” the old woman told him conversationally, glancing around the room. “You know, you really should get a wall clock in here, young man.”

But my pen had frozen in mid-air.

I glanced up at her. A thick layer of powder covered her face, but her eyes … I could have sworn they were the same shape and colour of the pretty girl I’d talked to this morning. Her hair, though grey, had strands of the same burnt red.

Harper was not an uncommon name-but it wasn’t like Emma or Olivia. Having two green-eyed Harpers who drank double shot espressos in one day was unheard of.

I hadn’t realised how shamelessly I’d been gawking up at her until Harper squirmed slightly. “Anything wrong dear?”

I shook my head slowly, eyes still fixed on her. “Nothing. You just … remind me of someone.”

I cleared my throat and started making her espresso, sneaking small glances at an increasingly uncomfortable Harper as I worked. My mind was whirring trying to form an logical explanation for the sight in front of me. This lady couldn’t be that Harper. She looked old enough to be her mother.

That gave me an idea. “Do you … have a daughter by any chance?”

Harper’s eyes widened. “Yes I do! But how do you know?”

The tension rising inside of me visibly deflated. “I think I saw her, earlier today,” I admitted, relieved beyond doubt. “She has the same order as you.”

I handed the older Harper her coffee. “There you are!”

But instead of smiling, Harper looked perplexed. “You couldn’t have,” she frowned. “Bella’s been at school all day. She has an art exhibition at 1. That’s why I asked you for the time.”

Now it was my turn to frown. “Then it couldn’t have been her. The lady I saw was in her twenties, about to go for a job interview. And her name was Harper.”

Harper’s grip on her coffee visibly tightened, her lips pursed with shock. She opened her mouth to say something, but another jingle cut her off, as more customers came spilling into the cafe.

Harper scrutinised me from head to toe, as if trying to figure out if I was messing with her. Then apparently she came to a conclusion, gave me a curt nod, and marched out of Coffee Clove.

I stared at her wake, thoughts swirling through my brain. I knew I was being stupid, but their eyes kept floating through my mind. The more I thought about it, the more I could swear they were the same.

Forget it, I told myself harshly. They must have been related somehow.

Chasing all thoughts of Harper and lunch out of my head, I focused on my newest customers. A middle aged man, was pushing a kindly old lady in her wheelchair. I helped them find a seat.

“A large mocha for me please,” the man said. “And a flat white for mama.”

“Of course,” I said good-naturedly. “Just a couple of minutes.”

I came back holding steaming mugs to the sight of the man fiddling with the salt and pepper shakers, to the amusement of his mother. I watched as the wheelchair ridden lady tilted her head back and laughed.

The man noticed me and accepted the mugs with gratitude. "Been coming here with mama since I was a kid," he explained.

I chuckled. "Say no more."

By the time I'd finished serving them, Noah emerged from the back, freshly showered and looking much better than he had this morning. “I’ll take over,” he reassured me. “Go eat lunch.”

He didn’t have to tell me twice. I crashed onto my bed and wolfed down a banana bread at our licking the hot butter off my fingers. Heaven.

At around half past two, I came back out and Noah and I worked together to serve the rest of the customers. He was the barista, and I was the waiter. We had worked together for so long, that we moved like a perfectly-oiled machine, quickly and effectively, without needing to talk much.

I served an old couple, who were so sweet that I felt my heart swell. Many people despised the drooping skin and liver spots that old age brought on, but these two both had a twinkle in their eye, which only came with a life well lived. As the gentleman gave me their order, his voice slow and cracked, the lady watched him with a smile on her face, intertwining their hands under the table.

The man didn't seem to notice until he finished, looking to the side to see his wife smiling at him. He squeezed her hand.

"It's our 56th anniversary today you know?" he rasped up at my grinning figure. "Been coming here since college."

The woman laughed, slapping her husband playfully on the arm. "We've come here once," she clarified. "The day he asked me out."

"Congratulations!" I smiled warmly at them. It was funny how a place as simple as a coffee shop could be so magical for some people.

I left their table with a smile on my face, so much so that I came back to the couple with a small cake and a candle, wishing them once more, at which point the man insisted on shaking my hand. He hobbled to his feet, his joints clicking so loud that I had to fight the urge to cringe.

By five, I was ready to crash. The cafe was empty once more, and Noah and I cleaned up, fully expecting no one else to come. Most people tried to avoid coffee after half-past four. Messes with your sleep.

The two of us went to the back, splitting a cinnamon donut. Noah convinced me to treat ourselves-watch some TV. I’d agreed grudgingly. After all, it had been a tiring day. We plonked down on the couch, each sprawled against half of it, Noah’s head drooping as if he hadn’t slept enough today already.

That’s why when the bell jingled at 6:30, half an hour before we officially closed, I jerked forwards, and Noah jumped so violently that he fell and smashed his head against the table.

I recovered first, pulling on my apron. Noah stuck his head up looking slightly dazed. “Who on Earth ...”

“Let’s see.” I walked out to the front, just as a young woman walked in. When I noticed she had blonde hair, I let out a breath that I hadn’t known I’d be holding. For some reason, my heart had been lodged in my throat, as if expecting another appearance of a red-haired woman.

This young lady was dressed in all black, and she looked even more miserable than Noah had this morning-which was saying something. In any other circumstances, she would have been quite pretty, with her straight blonde hair. But her eyes were puffy and swollen, and her cheeks were dotted with red blotches. She looked like she’d been balling her eyes out just before coming in.

Slowly she shuffled to the front, and without looking at me, asked for an espresso. At least it wasn’t double shot.

“Sure,” my tone softened. “Could I have your name?”

“Isabella,” she breathed, still not meeting my eyes.

“An espresso it is, Isabella.”

Thick silence churned between us, only broken by the groaning of the coffee machine which I had pushed to its limits today.

Isabella sniffled slightly. I felt obligated to ask her, “Is everything okay?”

Her eyes filled with tears, but she averted them, blinking rapidly. She nodded shakily.

“And now the truth?” I asked kindly.

Isabella opened her mouth to speak, but her voice seemed to die in her throat. All she could manage to do was shake her head weakly.

Her grief was so obviously written on her face, that I sobered up immediately. I realised it wasn’t my place to push. I left her to her thoughts, focusing on making the last coffee of the day.

Just as I was pouring Isabella’s espresso into her cup, she cleared her throat. “What time is it?” she asked, her voice gravelly.

I almost choked. “Sorry?”

“What time is it?” she repeated.

My heart sped up, pounding irrationally in my ears as I glanced at my phone. “6:45. Why?”

She didn’t respond for a good while, long enough for me to finish making her coffee and pass it over to her.

She mumbled a quick thanks, and then, as if against her better judgement, mumbled under her breath, “My mother’s funeral starts at 7.”

I promptly stopped breathing. Out of nowhere, her voice echoed in my head. "Bella's been at school all day."

Bella.

Isabella.

My heart switched into overdrive, thudding so loud that I swore Isabella heard it. "What ..." I croaked, my mouth dry. "What was your mother's name?"

For the first time, Isabella met my eyes in confusion. I inhaled sharply. Her eyes, terrifyingly familiar, had my breath catching in my throat. They shone vibrant green, moist with tears.

"Harper," she eyed me skeptically. "Why?"