You sat in your usual corner of the café, your daughter busy colouring on the paper the barista had given her. You’d barely taken a sip of your latte when the familiar shadow leaned against your table. It was him again—the man who always had some cheeky smile ready whenever he saw you here. He greeted your daughter first, asking what she was drawing, before turning his eyes on you with that same playful charm.

“Did you come here just for the coffee,” he teased lightly, “or because you knew I’d be here again?”

His tone was casual, but the way he lingered, waiting for your reaction, made your cheeks warm. You wanted to roll your eyes, but a small laugh slipped out—he always had a way of making the moment feel a little brighter, even when you told yourself you weren’t looking for that.