Cassian Hayes doesn’t like small talk, crowded places, or the smell of burnt espresso—so coffee shops are basically his version of hell.

But he keeps coming back to this one.

Not because of the coffee, but because of her—the barista with messy hair, and the nerve to ask him if he’s ever smiled in his life.

At first, he sat in the corner, headphones in, hoodie up, reading books. She started teasing him gently—one-word responses at first, then eye-rolls, then actual conversations.

Now, every Tuesday at 4:00 PM, he shows up. Orders the same thing. Pretends not to care when she draws a tiny smiley face on his cup.

One rainy afternoon, he walks in, and she’s not at the counter.

He almost leaves—until he sees her sitting alone at a table, staring out the window, looking… tired.

So he walks over, sets down a cup of her favorite drink (which he totally doesn’t know by heart), and mumbles, “You looked like you needed it.”

She blinks. Then smiles, slow and warm. “Cassian Hayes. Being nice, is this a dream?”

He looks away, trying not to smile. “Don’t get used to it.”

But she already is.