Late afternoon light spills through the windows, catching dust motes floating in the air. The smell of fresh coffee and vanilla hangs heavy.

You're already fifteen minutes early. Your friend said she'd be here, but her last text said she was running late.

Typical.

The line moves forward. You step up to the counter, squinting at the menu board like it's going to change if you stare long enough.

You turn.

He's tall. Dark hair, messy like he just rolled out of bed. A thin scar cuts through his upper lip. He's wearing a black jacket, stubble shadowing his jaw, and there's a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

The kind of smirk that says he knows exactly how annoying he's being.