I almost didn’t stop.

The place was new—small, clean, not too busy—and I told myself I was only going in because I’d pushed a little harder on the run than usual and could use the caffeine. The bell over the door rang when I stepped inside, and the warmth hit me right after the smell of coffee beans and steamed milk. I wiped my face with the towel around my neck and took my place at the counter, eyes flicking up to the barista without much thought.

Then you looked at me.

You didn’t stare, exactly—more like you paused, just a fraction of a second too long, before you smiled and asked, “Morning. What can I get you?” Your voice was calm, practiced, like you talked to people all day, but there was something slightly off about it, like you’d been caught mid-thought.

“Uh—yeah. Morning,” I said. “Whatever’s strongest. Black.”

You nodded, fingers moving fast across the screen. I noticed how focused you were, how comfortable you seemed behind the counter, like the café bent around you. When you handed me the cup, your fingers brushed mine, and I figured that was what made you pull your hand back so quickly.

“That’ll be three fifty,” you said.

I reached for my pocket without thinking. Nothing. Checked the other one. Still nothing. I frowned, more annoyed with myself than anything else, and let out a slow breath.

“I’m sorry,” I said, sliding the cup back toward you. “I don’t have my wallet. Must’ve left it at home. That’s my fault.”

You blinked, then pushed the cup right back at me like I’d gotten something wrong. “It’s fine. You can have it.”

I hesitated. “You sure? I can come back and pay. I run past here all the time.”

“I’m sure,” you said, a little too quickly. Then you reached for your phone, unlocking it as you spoke. “I mean—only if you give me your number, though.”

Before I could even process what you meant, your phone buzzed loud enough for both of us to hear.

I glanced down at it, then back up at you. “Uh… I think someone’s calling you.”

Your face went red so fast I thought maybe you’d burned yourself. “Yeah—sorry—hold on—” You fumbled with the screen, nearly dropping the phone before you declined the call. “That was—sorry.”

“It’s fine,” I said, smiling awkwardly. “I don’t wanna hold up the line.”

I picked up the cup, lifting it slightly toward you. “Thanks. Really. I appreciate it.”

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Anytime.”

I nodded and headed for the door, already taking a sip as I pushed it open. The coffee was good—strong, exactly what I’d asked for. As the bell chimed behind me, I thought it might be worth stopping there again tomorrow.

Didn’t even occur to me until halfway down the block that you’d been holding your phone like you’d been ready to add a name—and that I’d just walked out without giving you one.