The next morning, the airhorn that was my alarm startled me from deep dreams of frothy foam, deep blue waves, and scratching whiskers. Stomach rumbling, I shoved my frozen feet unceremoniously into the slippers warming by the vent and shuffled into the kitchen.

I set the kettle on the range and as I waited for the water to boil, I popped open a frozen breakfast sandwich and set the microwave to a minute. Pulling the magnetic list off the fridge, I added to my to-do list as I retrieved the hot sandwich from the nuker and bit into it. Ice cold egg met my teeth and tongue.

"Dang itttt."

I threw the sandwich back on the plate and set it for thirty more seconds. My teeth still slightly ached as I bit into the now completely thawed sandwich. The whistle of the kettle drew me from my food-induced reverie and I poured the boiling water over the chamomile packet sitting in my chipped Grumpy Cat mug.

A faint "mrow" from behind the kitchen door snagged my attention from my tea. Grabbing the chipped porcelain bowl and the can of tuna from the counter, I opened the creaky outside kitchen door.

"Hello, gorgeous."

I cooed to the battered black cat sitting serenely on the door mat. Her nub of a tail swished impatiently as I upended the can into the bowl.

"Here ya are, darlin'. Bone apple teeth."

The mlem, mlem noises Frankie made as she chomped away made my heart happy and I grinned from ear to ear as I gently ran my hand down her back. The hair on the back of my neck raised again and I looked around at the coast line and cliffside. A few seals bobbed in the rocky harbor, but other than that, it was as still as any other morning.

Shrugging, I continued to pet Frankie as she licked the bowl clean. Backing out from under my palm, she pressed her side into my leg and head butted my hand for scratches. Giggling, yet obliging, we stayed there for a while, reveling in each other's company. Sooner, rather than later, it was time for her to go and she gave me one more affectionate headbutt before wandering off to whatever she was going to do that day.

I watched her go, then headed back inside to the warmer air. I headed straight for the kitchen sink. Already, my throat was getting scratchy and I could feel a couple sneezes building. After drying my hands with a towel, I grabbed the lint roller and ran down my pant legs a couple times before meandering over to my phone sitting on the charger.

A bright flash of the red notification light told me that I'd missed something either last night or this morning. Swiping open my phone, I saw a text from Sally.

I looked at the clock ticking above the doorframe. Eight o' seven.

Her response was immediate, apparently it was a slow morning.

Smiling to myself, I turned towards the entry way. Gramps's lighthouse was small and built for an open concept. To the left of the entryway was the half bath, from the entryway came the living room, to the left of the living room was the dining room, to the left of the dining room was the kitchen, and to the left of the kitchen was that same half bath.

To the right of the living room was the actual stone light part of the light house. The rest of the house was just added on as an afterthought, at least that's that way I thought about it. The stairs led up from the first floor to the second floor, where my and one other bedroom sat as well as the full bathroom.

The stairs then led up from the second floor to the "third" floor, which was a landing that allowed for the ladder to the light. All in all, it was a right cozy place; a little cramped at times, but it was just me and I liked it that way.

I ran upstairs to change into more layers, then hustled down to grab my bag, phone, keys, and wallet, before lacing up my Doc's and heading outside into the bitter autumn cold.

With hands in pockets, and chest heaving a bit, I arrived at the café. Sally was at her usual spot, cleaning the counter of any and all drips and stains. With my entrance the bell rang, and her head shot up.

"Morning, Sam!"

"Morning, Sally!"

"I got your cocoa ready, its already at your booth."

"Thanks, you're a lifesaver!"

I dropped into the booth seat and scootched the mug of hot chocolate over to make room for my computer and drawing pad. Struggling with the USB connection for a few seconds, I tested the drawing tablet with a swipe of the stylus.

Opening up Microsoft paint, I decided to do a few little warm-up sketches to get my hands back to a flexible temperature. The dream from last night, or at least the feeling of it, and stuck with me throughout the morning, so I decided to try a little ocean-seaside scenery.

Fully engaged in my work, I didn't notice until she was standing right there that Sally had brought over another mug and a chocolate croissant. I blinked a bit, wondering what she'd come over for. She gestured behind her with a tilt of her chin. I leaned forward over my table to look.

There sitting with his friends again was Mr. Soft Coat, smiling and laughing, but not speaking much, just like last time. I think he might have noticed me watching, because he turned his head to look at me, still smiling.

I dodged eye contact and quickly looked back to Sally who was giving me a funny look.

"What?"

"Your friend over there sent this over again."

My eyebrows raised of their own accord. I peeked past Sally to look over to their table again. Mr. Soft Coat was still looking. I gave him a small smile and a swift nod. His smile grew hundredfold, and he turned back to his friends and said something to the one sitting next to him, who I recognized as Mr. Cup Wiper.

Quickly sitting back in my seat, I took the croissant and mug from Sally and got back to work.

Work, however, was not coming back to me. I was extremely distracted by the group of men and women sitting with Mr. Soft Coat and Mr. Cup Wiper. They would whisper about something, maybe someone would laugh, and a few would look over at me, then they would start whispering again.

Was there something wrong with my hair? Something in my teeth? I ran my tongue over my teeth and my fingers through my hair. Nothing that I could tell so far. My clothes? I scanned down my seated self. Layers covering up a not-flat-stomach-that-my-mother-keeps-telling-me-is-absolutely-normal? Check. Skinny jeans with long johns underneath? Check. Beat up Doc Martens and thick wool socks? Check. Slightly messy short hair from a beanie? Check.

All in all, I was pretty cozy, and I looked it, too. I didn't understand why they were looking over at me so often.

Pretty soon, enough was enough, and I couldn't handle the stares and the whispers anymore. In a rush, I packed up my things, left a five on the booth table for Sally, and hurried out the door. I was almost all the way down the street when I heard a,

"Miss! Wait, Miss!"

I stopped and turned around. There was Mr. Soft Coat, running after me, holding what looked like a bright red brick in his hand.

My phone!

I met him halfway, and he reached me out of breath, holding out the bright red case that held my giant, off-brand phone.

"Here, Miss, your cellphone. You forgot it."

Startled, but also touched, I took the phone from his outstretched hand.

"Thanks! You know, you could have left it with Sally. I'm there every morning."

"Yes," He chuckled awkwardly, one hand reaching back to scratch his neck, the other reaching into the pocket of his soft coat, "I guess you are right, I could have just left it there."

We stood there for an awkward hot minute, me looking around trying to find a reason to either leave or stay and talk, him fiddling with something in his pocket and looking pretty nervous about something. It all became too much for me, and I started to leave with a,

"Thanks again, see—"

"Wait!"

Mr. Soft Coat pinched the sleeve of my coat about the area of my elbow between his forefinger and thumb. Startled, I looked up at him and our eyes met. Deep, dark pools of brown fusing with my own golden brown rimmed with black. He broke contact first when he looked down to grab something from his pocket.

"Here, I have something for you."

Holding out his closed fist, he gestured for me to hold my hands out. Once my hands were within reaching distance, he dropped a small black square-shaped something into my palms. I brought it closer for inspection. From my knowledge of pop culture, and my mom's shadow box, this looked like a ring box. Confused, I looked up at him again and he gestured with his chin. Looking back down at the box, I hesitantly pulled it open.

Inside the red velvet lining was a thin, opalescent, blue-green ring.

"This—this is a... a ring?"

I looked back up into his sharp, angular face, eyebrows creased. His sun-tanned cheeks were lobster red and his dark eyes looked off up and to the side. Hands shoved into pockets, he said,

"Well... we—we should get married by human customs as well. So I thought..." He trailed off, rubbing his neck.

I blinked, still processing his last sentence. I blinked again, looked down at the box, back up at him, back at the box, and my head shot up to look into his face again.

"Wait, what?!"