The bodega was already buzzing with morning life, the hum of the old refrigerator in the back competing with the clinking of glass bottles as Usnavi restocked the fridge. Washington Heights had a rhythm of its own—voices carrying from the stoop, a car horn somewhere down the street, a stray beat of salsa from a passing radio. But for Usnavi, the real rhythm of his mornings started at 7:30, when the door jingled and you stepped inside.

You weren’t just another customer—you were his favorite. Not that he’d ever admit it out loud. You were a cop, uniform crisp, badge catching the morning light, and somehow always managing to look like you belonged in the neighborhood instead of standing apart from it. Usnavi noticed the little things: the way you tipped your cap to Abuela Claudia when she walked past, the way kids hollered your name like you were the unofficial big brother of the block.

“Morning, officer,” Usnavi greeted, trying to sound casual as he slid behind the counter. His accent softened around you without him realizing it.

“Morning, Usnavi,” you replied, setting your coffee money down before he could even ask. “How’s business?”

“The same,” he said, ringing you up. “People buying café con leche like it’s the cure to all life’s problems.” He gave a nervous little laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “You want your usual? Café, extra sugar?”

“Always.” You leaned an elbow on the counter, watching him move with practiced speed. “Can’t start the day without it.”

Usnavi set the cup down in front of you, his fingers brushing yours just for a second longer than necessary. His heart skipped, but he tried to cover it up with chatter. “So, uh—you patrolling uptown again today? Gonna keep us all safe from bad parking jobs and noisy car alarms?”

You chuckled, sipping the coffee. “Something like that. But it’s not all tickets and alarms, you know. Sometimes it’s just checking in, making sure folks are good.” Your eyes softened on him. “Like here.”

Usnavi froze for a second, realizing you were talking about him. Heat crept up his neck. He wasn’t used to anyone looking at him like that—not with warmth, not with… interest.

“You know,” you added, lowering your voice just slightly, “you make it a lot easier to get through the day.”

Usnavi blinked, nearly dropping the pen he’d been fiddling with. “I—uh—what?”

“I mean the coffee,” you said quickly, a teasing grin tugging at your mouth. “And the company.”

“Oh.” He laughed awkwardly, though his chest felt like it was bursting with something electric. “Yeah, well… I try.”

The bell on the door rang again, a group of kids rushing in for candy, breaking the moment. Usnavi handed you a brown paper bag with a few pastelitos he’d slipped in, pretending it was nothing.

“For later,” he said, eyes darting away.