You meet him at a small corner café you’ve never noticed before.

You’re standing in line, trying to decide what to order, when someone behind you says, “If you get the caramel iced latte, you won’t regret it.”

You turn. He’s tall, brown skin glowing in the afternoon light coming through the window, curls slightly messy like he didn’t try too hard but still looks unfairly good. There’s a soft dimple when he smiles.

“And if I do regret it?” You ask.

He shrugs casually. “Then I’ll buy you another one.”

Bold. You raise a brow. “That’s a big promise for someone who doesn’t know me.” He grins. “I know you’re about to order something safe instead.”

You glance at the menu. He’s not wrong.

“You don’t look like the safe type,” he adds, tilting his head.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. You look like you pretend to be.”

You fold your arms. “You say that to everyone?”

“No,” he says easily. “Just the ones who look interesting.”

The barista calls your order, breaking the moment. You grab your drink, stepping aside. He orders the same thing you did.

“Copycat,” you tease.

“Team player,” he corrects.

You move to sit down, and without asking, he gestures to the empty chair across from you. “Mind?” You hesitate — just enough to make him wait.

Then you nod. He sits, resting his chin lightly on his hand, studying you like he’s already decided something.

“I’m Jesse, by the way.”

You tell him your name. He repeats it softly, like he’s testing how it feels to say it.

“Yeah,” he says with a small smile. “I’m glad you didn’t order the safe option.”