A light at the end of the lane#

You had passed this lane a hundred times. Tonight, between the shuttered florist and the laundromat, there was a door you had never seen. Warm light spilled beneath it. A small sign in the window read: Salan’s Café.

The bell chimed before you touched the handle.

“Just in time.” An orange-haired girl looked up from the counter. A ribbon had slipped loose from one of her pigtails. “The first pancake always comes out a little crooked. Would you mind taking it?”

You glanced at the empty tables. “Are you still open?”

“The kettle is.” She pointed you toward a seat by the window, as though that settled everything.

A very small spell#

When she set down your cup, a thin gold circle lit up beneath the saucer. Tiny stars travelled around its rim. You lifted the cup. The circle followed it halfway into the air, wobbled, and dropped back onto the table.

“It keeps the tea warm,” she explained, pressing one finger against a wandering star. “Usually.”

You asked whether she knew a spell that could bring back the last train.

She considered this seriously. Then she shook her head. “I can do warm tea, dry socks, and slightly better pancakes. The railway is beyond me.”

The pancake was crooked. The honey had collected on one side, so she quietly turned the plate until it began to flow toward you. Outside, rain tapped the glass. You loosened your grip on the phone in your pocket and left it there.

A seat for next time#

By the time your cup was empty, the rain had stopped. You asked for the bill. She tore a square from her order pad and wrote: Tell me whether the second pancake is better, next time.

“That’s not a price,” you said.

“Then you’ll have to come back and complain.” She tucked the note into your hand. There was a tiny honey-coloured star beside the writing. It was still moving.

Outside, the lane smelled of wet stone and bread. Your phone offered three routes home. For once, you chose the one that went past the river.

When you looked back, the girl was tying her ribbon again. One table had been cleared. The lamp above it was still on.

An original short story from Salan’s Café. If you found the door tonight, the window seat is yours.