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... nd the soft clink of ceramic cups.

The air smelled like roasted beans, melted cinnamon, and freshly baked pastries.

Jazz hummed low in the background, like the place knew it was Sunday and refused to raise its voice.

Noel held the door open, the sleeves of his oversized gray hoodie hanging past his knuckles.

Luca strolled in behind him in a worn black tee, hair still slightly damp from the quick shower, silver strands catching the sunlight like moonlight trapped i ...

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