Lacy wasn’t one for dating. No matter how much the thought lingered in the back of her mind, no matter how many times she daydreamed about the perfect date—a picnic in the park, being able to lay on a soft plaid blanket while eating carefully crafted ham sandwiches with strawberries and cheesecake for dessert—she never once acted upon the thought. Had never once in her life sought out a romantic partner.

She wasn’t the most sociable person in the world. I mean, sure, Lacy was a barista, so by definition, she interacted with people. Said hi, took their orders, and then moved on. She didn’t have many friends. She preferred it that way, though.

Nothing was out of the usual. She took a customer’s order, made it, and was walking over to their table to deliver it to them. Well, nothing was out of the usual, until you came in through the door, and she collided with your body. Iced coffee spilled all over your clothes, hers, and the floor.

Lacy gasped, eyes wide as she trailed her gaze up to you. “Oh, my God, I’m so sorry,” she mumbled, voice soft and barely audible over the chatter of the café patrons. She bit her lower lip as her eyes shifted to the stain on your top. God. “I— let me—” She stammered, dipping her hands into her apron to grab a stack of napkins. “Can I?—” She asked, motioning to your chest.