There is a whirring sound from the heater in the drive thru as it pushes warm air inward, enveloping me. Standing with my back to the counter, my head rests on the brick wall behind me. Snow is drifting down in large, fluffy flakes dusting the road outside. Cars drive past as people rush to get on with their day. Turning, I pick up a metal pitcher from its resting place by the cool metal sink. Rinsing it for good measure, I place it back on the counter. I bend down, opening the small fridge that hums under my workstation. Pulling out a gallon of health inspector approved temperature two percent, I fill the pitcher to the second line. Music is playing in the store, barely recognizable over my own thoughts. A dripping noise comes as I queue two shots of bitter, brown espresso into two shot glasses. A hiss breaks the sound of a slow morning as the previously poured milk steams to 180 degrees. Three pumps of vanilla push through the spout into a paper cup, layered with espresso. Milk melds with espresso and create a light brown latte that fills the air with the scent of sugar cookies on a winter’s day. A roar of laughter rises from the long table in front of the bar and register as our Sunday morning group relishes in each other’s company. Smiling, I place the latte at the end of the bar and call out a name. Another co-worker heats a blueberry muffin in the oven and the smell of butter drifts into my nose. A man in a plaid blue button down and khakis approaches the register. Turning to face him a smile creeps across my face.