"The boys just got here," says one of the women. Outside, four men shuffle to the door of Starbucks.

Shortly after this Starbucks at the corner of Wolfe and Homestead opened about six years ago, it became a daily gathering place for the men known as the "Breve Brothers."

They come in the morning to drink coffee and nibble pastry, but mostly they are there to socialize.

Dozens of people on their way to work skirt around the retired men.

Their photographs were once on the wall of "Stars of Starbucks" but when a new mural was put up the photographs came down.

The Breve Brothers make this store different.

Their conversations, laughter and presence give it a homey feel. It's a place where everybody--or at least the employees and regular customers--know their names.

"They're a wonderful group, very friendly. It's almost like family," says Cupertino's Emily Madsen, a regular customer, too.

The baristas (Starbucks name for their coffee-making staff) gave them the nickname Breve Brothers because two of the men--the two who are really brothers--have a standing identical order of breve coffee (espresso with half-and-half or milk) and foam.

Every day Tunisian-born Carmelo "Charlie" Diaura, 91, and his older brother, Artemio "Art" Diaura, 95, each get: one small espresso drink, four mugs of different sizes each mounded with foam, and a straw. Charlie Diaura says as he uses a straw like a spoon to scoop foam from cup to mouth. It's his notion of a light breakfast.

Occasionally the Breve Brothers take turns bringing in snacks. The Diauras are partial to spingi--Italian doughnut fritters--or as semi-regular Breve Brother Lido Scardigli says, "They're doughnut holes."

There are four core members of the Breve Brothers, all Italian, who hang out together in the corner of Cupertino Village, a very Asian shopping center. They used to go to a Starbucks in Sunnyvale, but the air conditioning there was too cold, so when this one opened, they thought they'd give it a try and they keep coming back.

"We're a fixture here," says Franco Ciacchella of Sunnyvale, the youngest at 72. Cupertinian Dante Falcioni is 84.

Ciacchella and Falcioni are known for roaming the coffee shop and visiting other customers.

"The other two are pretty stationary. Dante, he bounces around," says Kevin Brown of Santa Clara, a regular customer who says he's been observing the group for a couple of years.

Others have come and gone over the years. Once, there was a young pregnant woman who used to sit with them every day. After she had the baby she would bring it with her. The baby liked Charlie Diaura and would sit on his lap. Eventually she moved but still keeps in touch occasionally.

Some participants come every day, and others drop by occasionally.

But it is the Breve Brothers who are the heart of this morning gathering.

Even before their breve coffee and foam, the Diauras start each day at St. Joseph of Cupertino Church. The brothers come from a family of six siblings, whose parents moved from Italy to Tunisia for work, and then moved the whole family to the United States in 1939.

Church has always been important to them.

It's where they met fellow parishioner, and coffee drinker, Falcioni. The three started going for coffee after church. One day Sicilian-born Ciacchella was in the same Starbucks, overheard them speaking Italian and chimed in.

They've been like the four morning Musketeers ever since.

When Ciacchella's daughter was getting married in Italy, he invited the gang, but didn't really expect any of them would be able to attend. On the day of the wedding he walked in to the church and saw Falcioni sitting there.

Ciacchella says he asked him: "What are you doing here?"

"'You invited me, didn't you?'" Ciacchella says Falcioni replied.

When Ciacchella's son got married in France, Falcioni happened to be in Italy at the same time so he drove from Italy to attend that wedding.

Behavior such as that contradicts what some call Falcioni's "Grinch-like" behavior. So does his flirting.

"He'll say things like, 'I think I love ya,' or when a new girl starts [working here] he says, 'I think I've got a crush on the new girl,' " says barista Mackenzie Jiosa.

Fellow employee Denise Belardes says Falcioni puts his hand up by his face holding his index finger and thumb apart just a pinch and tells her, "I like ya this much."

The baristas say the Breve Brothers and their friends are "good tippers." Annually the group spends about $5,000 on coffee and other goodies.

Other customers have bought rounds of coffee for the men, but Belardes says they don't like that. They don't like it when one of their own gang sneaks and pays for the rest of the group.

What they like is their friendship.

On one particular day, the employees and regular customers notice Falcioni was missing.

Ciacchella explains that Falcioni hurt his hip. It is difficult for him to walk so he won't make it. Falcioni hasn't made it for coffee for more than a week now because he's been ill. It's unusual and people miss him.

"Dante's the hugger. He's always running around talking to everyone like he's running for mayor," Scardigli says.

The Breves have a usual spot to sit.

A large table in the center of the lobby area is their favorite. On busy days, the employees hold the table for the Breves. Two days before Christmas, small bundles of cookies tied up with a ribbon in holiday cellophane marked their spots.

Belardes, who has worked at the coffee shop for 6 ¹/2 years, baked the cookies at home. It's common for exchanges such as this to take place. The day before, Ciacchella had taken her by the hand and led her out to his car where he had a belated birthday gift for her.

"It was wrapped up in newspaper and masking tape," Belardes says. "Oh, and a rose from Franco's garden. He always brings us roses."

Inside the package was a Dirt Devil dust buster. Ciacchella says he bought it for her because he knows she has four children.

Belardes' husband stops in frequently and the men have taken a liking to him too. When he was a manager at a Pasta Pomodoro, the Breve Brothers were regular customers there for a while, Belardes says.

Moments after the elder Diaura brother, Art, was seated, Belardes placed a glass of water on the table for him and touched his cheek.

"He's warm," she said.

She's not the only one who dotes on the men. Lynne Shamshoian of Cupertino, one of the regulars who sits with the men every day, takes coffee to the Diaura brothers' home when Ciacchella and Falcioni are unable to pick them up.