Today's guest post is by J.P. who describes himself as a part-time author and full-time awesome.
She was late. But that was OK. You wouldn't mind waiting a little longer. The cafe was warm, its interior glowing with the kind of cozy light that only a rainy evening can produce. You could feel, more than hear, the roar of the raindrops, like a hundred master pianists running their fingers across the shingles of the roof. You knew the light from the door, and the single low window of the cafe, was leaking softly from its confines, illuminating the slick cobblestones and providing some evidence of life to the slumped passerby in the little side alley outside.