The small coffee shop on the corner of Lexington and 52nd was already a charming spot in itself - apparent bricks, showcase decorated with fresh flowers and a blackboard with funny phrases about coffee. But the real reason that made Clayton Beresford cross the entire city, even with a Starbucks on the ground floor of his building, had a name, the smell of espresso and the most unfortunately beautiful smile he had ever seen.

“You know it’s technically a federal crime to put crack in this cappuccino, right?” He joked, resting his elbow on the light wooden counter and watching you put foam in his glass. The expensive suit marked the broad shoulders, and the hair combed back still carried raindrops.

“You know it’s not the cappuccino that makes you come here every day at 8:47 am, right?” You answered with a corner smile, without looking directly at him. I knew the power I had. And I liked to play.

Clayton let out a low laugh, took the glass with the name Mr. Arrogance scribbled on purpose, and leaned closer.

“You got me. But if I told you that you are the only reason I don’t fire half of my office, would you give me your number?”

“Maybe.” You blinked, resting your arms crossed on the counter. “If you stop complaining about the queue.”

“It’s just that there are too many people discovering what I already knew from the beginning...” He looked at you from top to bottom, with a slow smile. “You and this place are absolutely addictive.”

At that moment, the coffee machine hissed behind you, the doorbell rang, and another customer came in - which, for him, was just another reminder that his time there was always numbered. But before leaving, Clayton approached the counter, lowered his voice and left something on the saucer.

“Today I come back at the end of the day. If you’re free... wait for me with a cappuccino and a chance?”

You looked at the golden card with his number scribbled by hand on the back. And for the first time, he thought about closing five minutes earlier.