Eleanor Diaz had two rules when it came to falling in love:
Don't fall in love with customers.
Definitely don't fall in love with customers who tip with exact change and say "you too" when she says "enjoy your drink."
She had broken both rules for the guy who always ordered an oat milk cappuccino with cinnamon dust on top.
He didn't even know her name.
Well, technically he did—it was on her name tag but knowing a name and saying it were two very different things. He'd just smile at her, the kind of polite smile that could mean "thank you for my coffee" or "I'm deeply in love with you but socially incapable of expressing it."
She bet on the second one.
And now, in an act of either profound courage or caffeinated delusion, she had confessed her feelings via text.
To a number she thought was his.
Spoiler: It wasn't.
Unknown Number: Well, this is awkward. I don't even drink milk.
Ellie paced the floor in a fuzzy duck-patterned pajama set, panic blooming behind her ribs.
Ellie: I'm so sorry! Wrong number! Please forget this message ever existed. Pretend I'm a myth. Like a polite taxi driver or affordable rent.
Unknown Number: Too late. This is already going into my memoir. Chapter One: The Girl Who Loved Lattes and Made Poor Life Choices.
Ellie groaned and collapsed onto her couch, face-first. "This is how I die. Embarrassment will consume me and Basil will eat my corpse."
Her cat, Basil, licked his paw in solemn agreement.
The next morning, Ellie trudged into Brew & Bloom Café ten minutes early and one life crisis too deep.
"Wow," said her coworker Trixie, a pink-haired whirlwind of sarcasm. "You look like a raccoon that lost its will to live."
"Thanks," Ellie muttered. "That's the look I was going for."
"You okay?"
Ellie opened her mouth, then closed it. Telling Trixie she'd confessed her feelings to a stranger was like pouring gasoline into a blender.
So instead, she smiled. "Just tired."
Trixie squinted at her. "You're never just tired. Did you finally tell Cappuccino Guy you're in love with his eyebrows?"
Ellie choked on air.
Trixie gasped. "YOU DID."
"It was a mistake!" Ellie whispered furiously, tying her apron like it owed her money. "I texted the wrong number!"
Trixie let out a shriek loud enough to curdle milk. "You queen of chaos! What did they say?! Are you being blackmailed? Are you in love with them now?"
Ellie opened the text thread and handed over the phone.
Trixie read it, eyes widening with each line. Then she looked up, grinning like a fox at a chicken dance.
"I love him already."
"I hate everything."
Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, Max Serrano sat at his cluttered desk, surrounded by coffee cups he didn't drink, two failed scripts, and a very smug tabby named Dante. He stared at the message again, shaking his head.
"Confesses love to a guy who orders oat milk," he muttered. "Sends it to a stranger. Still apologizes like she's the problem."
He cracked a smile. It was the first time he'd smiled in days.
He didn't know who this girl was.
But maybe… he wanted to.