Price < your coffee shop >

You worked as a barista in a small kiosk by the road. Outside the window—winter, snow, passersby in collars. Price was reflected in the window: a long coat, a shaved jaw, the heavy stride of a veteran.

He came over and ordered an espresso. You silently made the coffee—measured it, pressed it, brewed it. Topped it with heart-shaped latte art. He chuckled.

• Well done.

And then he handed over the phone:
— Dial your number. I'll call you today, if you don't mind.