Marta Novak crossed Union Station’s great hall and squeezed through the crowd spilling out of Traditions Bookshop. At the barista station, a young woman in her early twenties poured steaming milk into the cappuccino she was preparing for an elderly gentleman. Expecting to see a heart or swan when she turned to place the takeaway cup on the serving counter, Marta was stunned by the flawless abstract design that recalled neither. Beautiful.

Marta stepped forward. “Large dark roast.”

The barista wiped her palms on her apron. “Do you need room for milk?”

“No.” Marta surveyed the area. Floor-to-ceiling used books on every wall. Minimal seating, barely enough counter for a single barista. Noting the miserly amount of open space, Marta wondered how the young woman had even gotten back behind it. Traditions Bookshop seemed to begrudge stealing even that minimal area from displaying books.

Still, the shop appeared to be thriving. Patrons scanning the shelves maxed fire safety occupancy limits while across the way a much larger chain coffee shop with three baristas served one lone customer. Wondering why she’d chosen to get her coffee here instead of there, she decided the bookstore vibe had made the difference. “You’re busy.”

The barista set Marta’s coffee on the counter as if it might break. An artisan’s presentation. “I’m getting more space. A bigger spot is opening up next month.”

Impressed, Marta sampled her coffee. With no one waiting behind her and the barista standing idle, she commented, “It must be hard to succeed with a bookstore these days.”

“It is.” As if grateful for a moment’s respite, the barista leaned forward on the counter. “My father started it. When he retired, he was determined to realize his dream of opening a used bookstore.”

“And he succeeded.”

“Well, the odds were against him. He was a long-haul truck driver, had no idea how to start a business, but he found resources and he learned.”

“Impressive.”

The barista’s voice conveyed her pride. “On top of that, he’d never worked in any kind of retail. So he took a job at a bookstore for practical experience.”

Marta nodded, returned the barista’s smile.

“But still,  my mother was terrified they’d lose all their money, told him they’d go broke. My parents argued about it. A lot.”

Growing up poor, Marta’s dreams of a better life had been everything to her, pulled her through when life felt overwhelming. She thought of her current goal—seemingly unobtainable—of reuniting with her estranged son. The barista’s story gave her hope. Even with the odds stacked against you, you can succeed if you keep trying. She felt a surge of joy in that, and almost laughed. “He certainly achieved his dream in the end. Your shop is filled with customers and you’re even moving into a bigger space.”

The barista’s face clouded. “I guess things sometimes turn out in ways you never expect. Do you know what he said to convince my mother to go along?”

“What?”

“He said, “Fine. I’ll sell coffee, too. People love coffee.”

“So his bookstore was a success.”

“He invested all of their savings to get this spot at Union Station. Then just as it opened, he got sick and I dropped out of college to take it over.” She leaned closer across the counter, spoke softly. “This place is a gold mine. But I’ll tell you a secret. I’ve never sold a single book here. I think people come in so they can drink coffee in a bookstore.”