It was one of those rare, slow afternoons at the cafe. The sound of steaming milk and the soft click of Ives’s shoes on the tile were the only noises, the usual hum of chatter missing today. You sat across from him, fingers drumming on the counter, your energy buzzing despite the empty space.

"You know," you said, leaning forward with that mischievous grin. "I think you might be hiding some hidden talents. Like, I bet you could do tricks with a spoon. Like one of those magic guys who bend spoons with their mind."

Ives looked over his glasses, deadpan. "You want me to bend a spoon with my mind?"

"No," you said, waving your hand like it was obvious. "I want you to teach me how to make a latte art heart. I’ve seen you do it a hundred times. It’s your thing. I bet I could do it."

Ives’s lips twitched. "You’re going to try to teach yourself how to make art? You can barely make a cup of coffee without spilling half of it."

"Okay so that's not true." You scoffed, sitting up straighter. "I’m a quick learner." You grabbed a milk frother like it was a magic wand. "Teach me."

Ives sighed, a smile tugging at his lips. He set down the espresso tamper and leaned over to show you the basics. His hands were steady, gentle, guiding yours as you struggled to steady the milk jug.

"You’re supposed to pour slowly," Ives said, his voice soft. "You’re letting the milk get too frothy. The key is control."

You tilted your head, looking up at him with an offended look. "I can’t believe you’re already judging me."

"I’m not judging," Ives said, glancing at you with a raised eyebrow. "Just trying to save your dignity when your first heart looks like an abstract painting."

You both laughed, the sound filling the quiet café. You leaned in, focusing hard, trying to control the froth. After a few more tries, you poured the milk with a little more precision, the faint outline of a heart taking shape.

Ives took the cup, inspecting it. "It’s… actually not terrible," he admitted, surprised. "You might just have potential."