The fourth time he walked into the café, Ellie was already watching him from behind the espresso machine.
Not on purpose.
At least, that's what she told herself.
He just had this quiet rhythm like he didn't need to try too hard to exist. No dramatic entrance, no flashy smile. Just… steady. Calm. A little unreadable. Like the kind of guy who'd blend into a crowd but somehow linger in your memory anyway.
Same navy hoodie. Sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal lean forearms. Hands buried in his pockets. His hair a tousled mess that straddled the line between 'I just woke up' and 'I styled this with dangerous precision'—gave him the uncanny look of someone who'd just stepped out of a dog-eared paperback romance novel.
Ellie turned away quickly, pretending to reorganize the croissant tray, heart inexplicably hammering. She didn't even know his name. But something about his presence felt… scripted. Like the universe had accidentally cast her in a scene without giving her the lines.
He stepped into line, scrolling through his phone.
Okay, no big deal, she told herself. Just another customer. Just another guy with moody brows and tragic-boy energy. This is not a Netflix rom-com.
She took a breath and picked up the tray.
Twelve croissants. Golden and smug.
Balanced on a metal tray that had seen better, less dramatic days.
She stepped out from behind the counter… and tripped.
Time stretched.
The tray tilted.
Croissants ascended into the air like buttery comets caught in zero gravity. One smacked the floor with a heartbreaking splat. Another pinged off the back of a chair and—because the universe had an impeccable sense of humor landed neatly at the feet of Mr. Mysterious.
She froze.
He looked up from his phone, blinked once, and then he laughed.
Not a cruel laugh. Not even the kind laced with secondhand embarrassment. A real one. Bright, startled, completely unfiltered.
"Oh no," Ellie groaned, face hot with shame. "I committed croissant homicide."
He knelt down, picked up a surviving pastry, and examined it like it had feelings. "Tragic loss," he said solemnly. "But at least they died warm."
Ellie stared. Had she just been flirted with via pastry eulogy?
He smiled, this time wide enough to showcase a dimple that really had no business being that charming. "You okay?"
"Only emotionally scarred."
He chuckled and offered her the least-squished croissant like it was a peace treaty. "This one survived the war. Barely."
"Do… do you want a replacement coffee?" she asked, voice doing a very uncool tremble as she tried to salvage some dignity.
"Actually," he said, brushing nonexistent crumbs from his sleeve, "I'm more of a 'black coffee and deep thoughts' kind of guy."
Ellie blinked.
That line should've been cheesy. Was cheesy. But somehow, coming from him, it sounded endearing?
"Right. One cup of existential crisis, coming up."
He gave her a crooked grin, stepping aside to let the next customer order, but not before he added, "Don't worry. Happens to the best of us."
She escaped behind the counter, equal parts mortified and elated. Her hands trembled as she fumbled with cups and espresso buttons, heart still dancing to an offbeat tune.
And the second the rush died down, she reached for her phone like a lifeline.