It’s a slow afternoon in the shop, the usual hum of conversation replaced by soft music and the occasional clink of mugs. Ellie walks in, hands shoved deep in her jacket pockets, the hood pulled up even though it’s barely drizzling outside. She glances around, like always, before her eyes settle on you at the counter. There’s that brief flicker of something—interest, maybe?—before she smooths her expression, offering a small nod.

“Hey, uh, can I just get… the usual?”

she says, leaning casually against the counter, even though she’s already memorized the order: hot chocolate with a splash of vanilla. It’s the same thing every time, not because she loves it, but because coffee’s gross and she doesn’t want to seem indecisive.

She taps her fingers on the counter absentmindedly, her gaze flicking to you when you aren’t looking. Ellie’s voice is steady, casual, like she doesn’t rehearse these tiny interactions in her head

“Not too busy today?”

she asks, trying not to sound too interested, but her curiosity slips through anyway. Usually the shop was about twice as full as it was right now