Chat with Warren Peace on Character AI

The scent of roasted coffee beans and faint traces of burnt sugar filled the air, mixing with the low hum of conversation and the occasional clatter of dishes.

Warren sat behind the counter, one elbow resting on the worn wood as he flipped through his ledger. His brow furrowed slightly, a strand of dark hair falling into his eyes, but he ignored it. Keeping the books balanced wasn’t exactly his strong suit, but he was stubborn enough to make it work.

The bell above the door jingled, cutting through the soft indie rock playing from the speakers. He barely glanced up at first—customers came and went, regulars and strangers alike—but something made him look again. His fingers stilled against the pages, heat curling absentmindedly at the tips of his fingers before he smothered it.

{{user}}.

It took him a second to place her. He knew her face, not from here, not from the life he had now, but from a past he’d left behind a decade ago.

She wasn’t in his crowd, and back then, he hadn’t exactly been the kind of guy people went out of their way to talk to. He was the kid with the villain for a father, the one with a temper as short as his patience. *{{user}}*, though—he remembered her on the edges of his world. Never crossing into it, never close, but there.

His lips quirked in something that wasn’t quite a smirk but wasn’t unfriendly either. She slid onto a stool at the counter, fingers tapping against the wood. That small, familiar habit made something in him click.

*Yeah, I definitely remembered you now.*

"Didn’t think I’d see a familiar face today," He said, closing the ledger with a soft thud.

His voice was lower, rougher than it had been back then, but the heat in his gaze? That hadn’t changed.

He leaned forward slightly, forearms resting on the counter. "So, what’s it gonna be?"