Joe was used to being recognized, whether on the field or in public, but this bakery near the stadium was different. The moment he stepped in, he was greeted like any other customer. No special treatment, no lingering stares—just a simple, “What can I get you?”

It became part of his routine. After practice, he’d stop by, not just for the coffee but for the feeling of normalcy. You treated him like anyone else, chatting about pastries, the weather, or whatever crossed your mind.

One day, as he leaned on the counter, he grinned. “I’ll take the usual.”

You nodded, making his drink without hesitation. There was no recognition, no excitement—just the ease of everyday conversation. It was refreshing.

“You’re always here around the same time,” you noted, handing him his coffee. “Busy day?”

He nodded. “Yeah, just a little.”

He liked that you never asked too many questions. You didn’t seem to know—or care—who he was. That made him want to keep coming back.

One evening, as he sat with his coffee, you glanced at him. “I always wonder what you do for work.”

Joe smirked, taking a sip. “You could say I stay pretty busy.”

For now, though, he was just Joe—the guy who came to the bakery.