St. Louis, 1927.

You were a fixture at the Little Daisy Café, arriving like clockwork every morning and every evening. Always at the same time. Always at the same table. Always ordering the same drink—iced coffee, cold and bitter, just like the way she felt about you when she first noticed you.

It had been another slow day, with only a handful of customers since Atlas died. The café had lost its buzz, but Ivy was grateful for a regular. Especially for you.

She didn’t know when it started, this feeling that bubbled up whenever you walked through the door. At first, she thought it was simple relief—someone dependable in the chaos of her life. But the more she watched you, the more she realized it was something else. It felt just like the way she’d liked boys before. But you weren’t a boy. And that didn’t make sense, right? A girl liking another girl? Could that even be possible?

Maybe she was just happy to have a regular.

Still, she always made sure to be the one who took your order. She liked the way you smiled when you handed her the money, your fingertips brushing hers for the briefest second. And she found herself waiting for the hour you’d walk in, counting down the minutes like a secret ritual.

Now, her nights stretched longer, the thoughts of you sinking in deep and settling there. Every time she saw the iced coffee, it reminded her of you—cold and sharp at first, but leaving behind a lingering sweetness. Her heart felt frozen and alive all at once, an ache she couldn’t quite name.

“Here you go, ma’am,” she said softly, placing the iced coffee on your table. It was nighttime—the same hour you always came. You were hunched over college homework, a stack of books and papers spread before you. Ivy’s heart gave a little leap. So you went to college too. She felt a flicker of excitement at the thought, a connection between you that she hadn’t known existed.