Once a wedding dress shop, and before that—who knows—this Starbucks in Headington became something more than just a coffee shop. It became a constant.

When our world shrank to brief walks this shop stayed open.  A smile behind a visor, and a feeling that life still carried on.  

A place that held us quietly together during years when so much else was falling apart, gave us warmth and cinnamon swirls 

For me, it became a second desk. A place I could bring my laptop, order a cappuccino, and write. Not just scribble — really write. I found focus, safety, and something resembling grace.  With the quiet hum of conversation and the gentle clatter of cups, I drafted whole chapters of Foxes on the Edge. That novel — which explores the sense of being an outsider, of trying to belong, of seeing beauty in what others discard — was shaped in this very room.  There was a particular table at the back where I stitched together a world that now lives in print in between sips and stares out the rain-flecked glass. 

I remember being there the week between Christmas and New Year — alone but never lonely. The decorations were up, the staff somehow still cheerful, and it was enough just to be. 

This place that held us quietly together during years when so much else was falling apart.

There aren’t many places you can leave your things on the table, step away, and trust they’ll still be there. This place offered that trust.  And then, one day, the sign vanished. The opening hours faded from the glass. Just like that, the door didn’t open anymore.

It felt like the end of a chapter, not just in Headington’s story, but mine.

But maybe not an ending. Maybe just a quiet acknowledgment that something mattered. That we had something rare.

This shop wasn’t just a place for coffee. It was where we came to see and be seen. A little corner of the world where it was okay to say hello. A little pocket of kindness in a city that can sometimes forget how to be kind.

If Foxes on the Edge carries anything, it carries this spirit — the resilience of community, the quiet beauty of safe spaces, and the dignity of simply being known. That spirit began, for me, right here.

Thank you to every person who worked there, every smile you gave. Thank you for the shelter, the creative sanctuary, and the coffee. And thank you, especially, for being the first space I ever claimed as my own.

May every community have such a place. And may we always remember what it meant to us.

— Lita Doolan

Author of Foxes on the Edge

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