The Blackout

The power went out on a Thursday at 2:47 PM, which was the worst possible time because that was peak afternoon-slump traffic. One minute Nadia was pulling a shot of espresso for a woman who looked like she might cry if she didn't get caffeine in the next thirty seconds; the next, every machine in Ember & Bloom went silent.

The lights. The grinder. The espresso machine. The playlist — a carefully curated mix of lo-fi beats and acoustic covers — cut out mid-song, leaving the shop in a silence so profound that Nadia could hear the woman across the counter actually start to cry.

"It's the whole block," Priya reported, phone in hand. "Transformer blew. They're saying six to eight hours."

Six to eight hours. The afternoon rush, the evening study crowd, the after-dinner decaf regulars — all gone. Nadia did the math in her head and felt her stomach drop.

Then she heard it: the low, diesel rumble of a generator kicking on across the street.

Danny Park had a generator. Of course he did. Through her window she could see Daily Grind's lights flicker back to life, warm and golden, while every other storefront on the block went dark. A line was already forming at his door.

Nadia closed her eyes. She took a breath. She reminded herself that she was a professional, a business owner, a grown woman who had once parallel-parked a moving van on the first try.

Then she walked across the street and into Daily Grind.

Danny looked up from the register. The shop was packed — her regulars, his regulars, people she'd never seen before, all desperate for electricity and espresso. He blinked at her, surprised.

"I need to plug in my grinder," she said.

"Your grinder."