Cafe Sospreso

The winter had been brutal. The cobbled streets seemed to absorb the cold—the ice embedding into the crevices between each worn stone, leaving a disconcerting sheen. Gabriella huddled into the doorway of the old church, wrapping her flimsy coat tighter around her body as she tried to escape the morning wind, propelled by the sea.

She sighed—her breath leaving her anxiety in a suspended white cloud around her. Ten years ago, she could never have predicted her current predicament. After Matteo had passed, the bank had taken ownership of the house—the home they had built together. She hadn’t known about the gambling debts; how could she? He was careful not to let the façade of security slip. In the confusion of grief, she had found herself on the streets of Naples, her worldly possessions crumpled into a small hold-all. A few clothes, sanitary products, a hairbrush, a framed photo of them on their wedding day all those years ago. Everything that she could salvage as the debtors ransacked her life in hope of a return.

Unable to find comfort in her position, Gabriella picked up her bag and began to walk downwards towards La Gaiola. She found solace in the early morning swell of the sea—the waves thrashing against the rocks. The starkness of it against the quiet of the town gave her hope. A reminder of the enduring spirit of nature. As she neared the shoreline, the early morning light cast a golden shadow over the undulating sea. It was a sight she had seen many times in her life, but still, the beauty of it never failed to evoke a sense of awe.

Approaching the water’s edge, she cut a solitary figure against the vastness. She stood momentarily, pausing in silent reverence. The salty air and the untamed thrashing brought with it a moment of respite. Her mind turned to Matteo, to the dreams they had shared, and how swiftly they had been extinguished. She had barely noticed the small café carved into the cliffside until the aroma of coffee infiltrated her thoughts. Caffè della Speranza, the sign above the door read—the letters curled and expressive. “Hope,” she muttered to the wind. “Well, I certainly could do with a little more of that.” Led by instinct and the memory of warmth, she pushed open the solid oak door.

Inside, the cozy interior felt welcoming, a brief sanctuary from the outside. She was surprised to see so many patrons at such an early hour. They were mostly fishermen clad in thick rubber boots, hoping for a fresh catch. They talked animatedly amongst themselves, barely noticing her presence. She shifted awkwardly as the realization that she had no money to purchase anything washed over her. She considered asking for a glass of water but thought better of it. Hoping for just a little more time in the warmth before anyone noticed her, she headed toward the bulletin board. She stared at it intently, feeling the heat of her blood pulsing into her fingers. It was littered with notes of thanks and photographs—some of the faces she recognized, singers and starlets—though she could not remember their names. Matteo would have known them all. At the center, a hand-crafted sign wielded the words: Caffè Sospeso – A suspended coffee for anyone in need of warmth.

“Go on, signora—it is yours.”

The voice made her jump.

Beside her stood a burly fisherman, his beard wild like the sea and his eyes twinkling like the pearls of an oyster. He reached across and picked off a ticket, passing it to her.

“Thank you,” she muttered, casting her eyes downwards.

Not wanting to prolong her shame, he smiled gently and walked slowly back to his table. She felt tears prick her eyelids and fought to hold them back. It was no use. The small act of kindness was too much to bear.

Gathering herself, she walked tentatively to the counter.

An elderly man with soft eyes greeted her. “Can I help you, signora?”

Swallowing her pride, she handed him her ticket, “Is it possible—would it…be OK…for me…?” she trailed off, the crack in her voice betraying her heart.

The man’s smile broadened. “Caffè sospeso, of course, signora,” he said, turning to prepare a cup of coffee with practiced ease. “My pleasure. Take a seat.” He nodded toward an empty table next to the open fireplace.

As she took her place, she felt the crackling of the flames next to her legs. Each gentle lick soothed the cold that had settled into her bones.

The server brought her coffee, removing it from the tray with a practiced flourish.

She held the coffee tightly in her hands. Each sip restored a part of her she had thought was buried with Matteo. As she settled into the feeling of warmth and gratitude, she watched as patrons came and went—some even stopping to place an extra ticket on the noticeboard. She wondered about their stories. Had they ever found solace in a suspended coffee?

The elderly man, whom she now knew as Luigi from his name tag, occasionally glanced her way, his understanding eyes offering reassurance. She felt as if he knew her or at least understood that she hadn’t always been like this—that she was more than her current circumstances.

As she neared the end of her coffee, Luigi approached her table, a plate of pastries in hand. “For you, signora—a little sweetness. On the house.”

Gabriella was taken aback, her eyes welling up with tears once more. “I…I can’t accept this.”

“Please,” Luigi urged, “We are all family here.”

His earnestness broke through the last of Gabriella’s defenses. She nodded, managing a grateful smile. “Thank you, Luigi. Thank you.”

In that one suspended moment, Gabriella found resolve and hope, knowing that she would survive and flourish. And one day, she too would give the gift of a suspended coffee to another human seeking hope. It would be her pleasure.

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