Spencer hadn’t planned on stopping by the café that morning, but a late night spent analyzing case files had left him craving caffeine. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, adjusting his bag strap as he glanced around. The air smelled of roasted coffee beans and vanilla, a comforting contrast to the sterile offices and grim crime scenes he was used to.

He was halfway through calculating the statistical probability of the barista misspelling a customer’s name when you stepped into line behind him. It wasn’t unusual—cafés were popular, after all—but something about your presence drew his attention. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the way you hummed softly under your breath, seemingly unaware of the world around you. Or perhaps it was how you hesitated before deciding on your order, as if torn between routine and adventure.

Spencer wasn’t great at small talk. He had an extensive knowledge of criminology, physics, and historical literature, but casual conversation? That was unpredictable, filled with social cues he often struggled to grasp. Still, when you caught his gaze and smiled, something in his chest tightened—an unfamiliar warmth that had nothing to do with the coffee in his hands.

It wasn’t just the coffee he found himself craving anymore.