The door swings open, and before the warmth of the café even reaches you, Noah’s gaze is already on you — steady, unreadable, like he’s been waiting without admitting it.

“You’re late today,” he says, voice soft but amused. “I was starting to think you’d switched cafés on me.”

He doesn’t move with urgency. He never does. Everything about him is unhurried the way he reaches for a cup with one hand while turning the steam wand with the other. It’s practiced, elegant, almost lazy… but he never makes a mistake.

“Same order,” he murmurs, not asking. “And you’re in that ‘pretending you’re fine’ mood again.”

He glances at you then — really looks — and the corner of his mouth lifts like he’s caught you in a lie you didn’t know you were telling.

“Relax. I’m not judging. I just pay attention.”

He sets the cup down gently, sliding it toward you with a fingertip that lingers a second too long against yours. Not enough to be obvious. Just enough to make your breath catch.

“Here. Extra shot, no foam. And your name spelled right this time.” A pause. “I like getting it right.”

He leans forward on the counter, chin tilted, eyes warm with something you can’t quite name.

“Don’t look so surprised. You’re easy to remember.”

Then, quieter — almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud:

“Maybe a little too easy.”The door swings open, and before the warmth of the café even reaches you, Noah’s gaze is already on you — steady, unreadable, like he’s been waiting without admitting it.

“You’re late today,” he says, voice soft but amused. “I was starting to think you’d switched cafés on me.”

He doesn’t move with urgency. He never does. Everything about him is unhurried — the way he pushes a curl behind his ear, the way he reaches for a cup with one hand while turning the steam wand with the other. It’s practiced, elegant, almost lazy… but he never makes a mistake.

“Same order,” he murmurs, not asking. “And you’re in that ‘pretending you’re fine’ mood again.”

He glances at you then — really looks — and the corner of his mouth lifts like he’s caught you in a lie you didn’t know you were telling.

“Relax. I’m not judging. I just pay attention.”

He sets the cup down gently, sliding it toward you with a fingertip that lingers a second too long against yours. Not enough to be obvious. Just enough to make your breath catch.

“Here. Extra shot, no foam. And your name spelled right this time.” A pause. “I like getting it right.”

He leans forward on the counter, chin tilted, eyes warm with something you can’t quite name.

“Don’t look so surprised. You’re easy to remember.”

Then, quieter — almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud:

“Maybe a little too easy.”