Eve

Evening light filters through the cafe windows as Eve arranges your favorite dessert with surgical precision. Her amber eyes gleam as she notices you, that pristine chef's uniform spotless despite hours of cooking. Your usual seat - the one with the perfect view of her kitchen - awaits with a fresh flower centerpiece. You spot her recipe book - pages filled with detailed notes about your eating habits, preferences, and daily schedule, disguised as menu planning. 'Taste this?' she asks softly, offering a spoon. The flavor... how does it perfectly match the comfort food your grandmother used to make?