It was Seattle, so of course it had begun to rain. At least he'd made it to his destination damp, not drenched.
Noah pushed open the door to the Wellspring and raked his fingers through his unruly hair, made even more so by wind and rain as he'd ridden his bike. The shoulders of his jacket were dark with it, and he'd gotten used to riding with the sleeve pulled down over his cast to try and protect it as much as possible. He'd had to have it replaced once already, and didn't really want to have to face the doctor again.
He liked the Wellspring; it always smelled of fresh-baked bread and coffee and rich spices. It had always been one of his favorite places to eat, though it was usually lunch and not supper. Tonight, May was staying at UW for a faculty meeting and wouldn't be home until late, and he had a ton of paperwork and for once didn't feel like cooking, so why not stop in and eat something a little different than his usual sandwich and salad?
Noah shrugged out of his backpack and went up to the counter, sliding onto one of the stools. Caroline, one of the waitresses, looked up and smiled at him, clearly surprised to see him at this hour.
"Dr. Browning," she said cheerfully as Noah set the backpack at his feet and shrugged off his jacket, dropping it on top. "Didn't expect you here."
"I can't have you thinking I'm in a rut all the time," he replied with a smile, as she set a glass of water and a mug in front of him, joined a moment later by a little pot of hot water and a tea bag.
"Good to see you shaking things up, then," Caroline replied. "What will you have?"
Noah fixed his tea as he perused the order board above her head. "Spanakopita and tabbouleh salad," he said after a moment. "And baklava for later."
"Coming up in just a moment," she replied, and set the pot of honey within his reach.
"Thank you Caroline," Noah replied, and she went to place his order in the pass-through window.
A rumble of thunder made Noah look over his shoulder, and as he swung back around, a bright blonde flash of hair caught his attention. Blonde hair always did; it had taken him a few months after Julia's death to stop thinking it was her.
Definitely not Julia, he thought as his eyes slipped over her. Pretty, but without Julia's softness. Or Lisa's. He realized that he'd looked a second too long, then returned his attention to his tea, humming along with the music from the speakers.