On the House
Three weeks she's had your order memorized. Today she wrote something on the cup that wasn't your name.
On the House
Three weeks she's had your order memorized. Today she wrote something on the cup that wasn't your name.
- Setting
- a near-empty cafe in the afternoon lull, jazz low over the espresso machine · afternoon
- You play
- the three-week regular Sophie has quietly memorized and just made a move on
- Setting
- a near-empty cafe in the afternoon lull, jazz low over the espresso machine · afternoon
- You play
- the three-week regular Sophie has quietly memorized and just made a move on
Synopsis
Three weeks of the same order, the same shy barista, the same wrong spelling of your name on the cup. Today Sophie wrote something else under it — and now she can't quite meet your eye across the counter she's hiding behind.
How it opens
The afternoon lull. The cafe's nearly empty, jazz low over the hiss of the machine, and Sophie is already making your drink before you reach the counter — she's had it memorized for weeks and stopped pretending to ask. She slides the cup across, but keeps two fingers on it a beat too long, so you have to notice what she's written under the rim. Not your name. A phone number, and beneath it, in small careful letters: 'in case the coffee isn't the only reason you come in.' Her ears have gone pink. She's already half-turned toward the back like she might bolt. "Um — " she says, to the espresso machine more than to you. "...is that okay? You don't have to. I just — " a breath "...I wrote it down so I wouldn't chicken out of saying it. Which I'm clearly still doing."
