Oliver reads the dessert shop pamphlet more than once. He checks out their instagram page too, and finds that the name of the barista is Robin. And the desserts… For such a small shop, there are so many variations, many of which would never have appeared in his old suburb.

It drives him to distraction. He’s supposed to be writing something brooding, but it’s not working and his coworker—she’s almost his boss, really—is not happy.

Finally, she sighs. “Go for a walk. Get a coffee,” she says, and shoos him out of the building.

Oliver slips his sunnies on and his feet carry him to the Matcha & Milk. There are mostly uni students, and Oliver straightens. He’s young enough.

He casually slips into the shop as a cluster leave. There’s just one person in front of him, and then it’s his turn. Oliver’s palms are not sweaty.

Robin’s smile brightens. “Hey there. What can I do for you today?”

“Dalgona coffee, ice, please,” Oliver says confidently, and slides out his loyalty card and taps his credit card on the contactless.

Robin nods, handing back the stamped card and receipt. “Just a little bit of a wait, okay?”

“It’s Oliver,” Oliver blurts out.

Robin’s brows go up. “Oliver?”

“My name.”

Robin’s eyes crinkle. “I typically call out the number on your receipt, but I’ll remember you, Oliver,” he says with a smile. “You can wait there,” he adds, motioning to the area near the straws and napkins and cutlery.

Oliver flushes. “Right, thanks.”

It’s not Starbucks! he cringes internally. He tries to act cool, avoiding the gazes of the other patrons. Which means that his gaze draws to Robin, calmly and efficiently making desserts and drinks.

“Number 24—Oliver,” Robin finally calls out.

Oliver exhales and steps up. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Oliver wants to say something more—what, he doesn’t know. It doesn’t matter anyway, because the first school child is entered in what would be the start of the afterschool rush.

But I have my coffee! he reassures himself, settling with a smile at Robin before heading back to work.

His coworker gives him a look of great surprise. “I never knew you were so on-trend,” she says, staring at his coffee. “We could take an aesthetic shot for the instagram page.”

Oliver’s eyes widen. “Hell no!” he exclaims, holding the coffee close to this chest. He pulls away from her, and ends up glancing at a mirror on the opposite wall. His sunnies are still on, and he grimaces.

How could I see Robin looking like that? he groans. He pulls the sunnies off and hangs them off his shirt collar.

When he finally sits down and drinks the coffee, he finds it just as fluffy as it looks. It’s sweet, more dessert than coffee, and somehow Oliver can’t see that as a bad thing.

He just needs to make sure that none of the other guys at his work sees it—because they’re Melbourne coffee snobs and only take their coffee black.

Oliver sips a little more coffee and muses. Could he write something about being broody over coffee? Just exchange the words and no-one would know. And coffee ‘metaphors’ might do well with the Melbourne crowd…

Smiling, Oliver gets to work.