Letter 10 • What You Find When You Look a Little Closer
Hello, Dear Stranger,
If there’s one thing I’ve learned from serving tea, it’s that people rarely show up just for the tea. Yes, it tastes good. But it’s also the way it warms you from the inside out, helping you say the things you’ve been holding or hear the things you’ve been missing.
Most people walk into the café carrying something — a decision they’re wrestling with, a feeling they haven’t made sense of, or a worry they’ve been holding a little too tightly. And even before they speak, you can see it in the way they pause, look around, and choose their seat like it’s not just a chair, but a place to land.
This café has a way of noticing that. It really does have a way of seeing people.
Some people come because they want to feel understood without having to explain everything, like the young couple rewriting the rules of their relationship — choosing to build a life that feels like theirs instead of following what everyone else expects of them.
Some come overwhelmed, like the father who desperately wants to reconnect with his adult children but isn’t sure how to reach them anymore.
What all guests have in common is that they’re somewhere in the in-between space — not always messy, but rarely simple. That place where you’re sorting through who you were, who you are, and who you’re becoming… sometimes all at once.
And what I love about this space is that it’s never about coming in to seek answers. It’s about slowing down enough to remember what matters most right now — before the next step, before the decision, before life starts moving fast again.
People sometimes ask how I always know the right tea to pour or the right message to slip beneath their saucer.
Honestly? I think the café and I work in sync. We pay attention. We feel the energy that walks through those doors. And as soon as we sense what someone needs… we just start pouring with care.
And once they settle in — the chair, the cup, the warmth — something shifts. Not everything, but enough. Enough for their shoulders to drop a little. Enough for them to remember they don’t have to have it all figured out today.
As I wrap up this letter, let me ask you something. Who helps you see yourself more clearly — the person you trust to hold up the mirror gently?
Where do you find community, a place where you can connect, reflect, and grow without rushing?
And when you sit with yourself — really sit — what’s the cup you reach for?
Those questions? They’re the same ones people bring into this café every day. And they’re tucked into the heart of these pages too. So before you step inside, there’s something I want you to see…
I wanted to show you the door — the cover you’ll walk through each time you step into these pages. And beneath the jacket, there’s another waiting for you, like a reserved table with your name on it.
Because what you find — when you slow down, settle in, and look a little closer — is often exactly what you needed.
I’m glad you’re here.
Really.
And I’m grateful you’re letting these stories find their way into your hands.
The Authenticitea Barista
This letter was inspired by the book A Cup of Authenticitea by (yours truly!) Christina Owens
Now… here’s your first look at the cover, and the quieter design waiting just beneath it.
A Cup of Authenticitea releases in February 2026, it will be available online and through independent bookstores and sellers. To support small businesses, it will not be sold through Amazon or major retailers.
Preorder now — early orders are the quiet support that helps independent stories grow. Your preorder truly makes a difference.
Short Content Brew:
Not every story brews the same. Some steep quietly in the background, waiting for the right moment to rise. This one carries the warmth of a quiet café evening — the kind where something shifts inside you before you find the words for it. It’s a blend of reflection, comfort, and the type of curiosity that meets you mid-sip. A gentle reminder that clarity doesn’t always announce itself… sometimes it just settles softly in.
That’s the sip I’ll leave you with today.
Thanks for reading — until the next letter.
P.S. If this letter made you smile or feel seen, feel free to forward it to someone who might need the same sip today. (Or simply leave a note in the comments — I love hearing how these letters land.)
