osmanthus coffee

“Good morning.” The barista greeted him at his turn to order. He was middle aged - maybe even older than Neuvillette, though it was difficult to tell, because his face and figure were both still youthful, and his voice was pleasant and smooth. His long brown hair, tied back at the nape of his neck, faded into a pale gold at the tips. He had a gentle smile and a relaxed air about him. Neuvillette frowned. He felt like he’s seen this man before. “What can I get you?”“What kind of water do you use in the process of your brew?”“Water?”“Yes, water.”