On Monday, I get ready for work as I always do, and leave at the same time to arrive at the same coffee shop. This time, there’s one enormous difference; Harper’s there.

“Good morning, Adrian!” he calls.

“Morning,” I reply, waiting behind him. Harper’s smile is too bright to gaze upon, let alone face in the early morning without coffee. Or with coffee, honestly. Shoot him into the sky and he’d make a second sun.

“This must be fate,” he says, eagerly nodding. “Let me buy you a coffee.”

I raise a brow. “What for?”

“Spilling yours, remember? When we met…” he glances away nervously. “In the elevator.”

Ah, yes, that. An incident I’d rather not think about.

“That’s alright. It was only coffee.”

“Please,” Harper pleads, rapidly blinking his ridiculously big (and gorgeous) green eyes. “I feel terrible about it and we’re both here, anyway. It’s perfect timing.”

Horrible timing, in my opinion. Can’t this damn line move faster?

I glance over Harper’s shoulder. I suppose not. As expected, the barista didn’t last long. There’s already a newbie at the desk, more charming than the last, but inexperienced. The manager is a sadist to bring him in during rush hours. Poor guy may collapse from the pressure. I know CPR, but I would rather not play the hero.

“Fine,” I give in. We’ll have this brief interaction and I’ll be on my way.

“Great!” Harper chirps, but doesn’t stop there. “Mindy and I found this place the other day. We loved it. The lighting is perfect around five o’clock. The atmosphere is so cozy, and the coffee’s super sweet, just how we like it!”

I like my coffee as bitter as my personality.

“We got loads of comments on our Photogram when we posted the pictures we took,” Harper says, pulling out his phone. “The barista put a cute flower in mine. Wanna see?”

Harper holds up his phone, showing off the picture like a trophy. Then, in a flash, he’s back to swiping on his phone, doing who knows what, when the line inches forward. He isn’t paying attention. I clear my throat. He jumps, surprised, then laughs nervously and steps closer.

“Let me guess what kind of coffee you get,” Harper says, slipping his phone into his back pocket. His eyes scan the menu. He shifts that gaze to me, narrowing his eyes in a way that makes me shiver. Snapping his fingers, he declares, “You definitely like bitter coffee.”

I can’t help but gape, snapping my mouth shut when Harper laughs.

“Lucky guess,” I say.

“Then I’ll get more specific.” Harper rests a hand beneath his chin in thought. He surveys me head to toe, eyes locking on me afterwards. My breath catches in my throat briefly before he says, “A clover brewed coffee.”

I’m tempted to lie, if only to avoid inflating his ego, but my expression defies me. Harper throws his head back in exaggerated, maniacal laughter.

“I’m so right,” he says, standing proudly, hands on his hips in a Superman pose. All he needs is a flowing cape.

The line moves forward again.

“So, how long have you been coming to this shop?” Harper asks, leaning towards me. You can see the curiosity swimming in his eyes. I don’t hesitate to snuff it out.

“A while,” I answer.

“Is it your favorite?”

“Maybe.”

“My favorite coffee shop is called Dulces Sueños Coffee in Colombia.” Harper sighs like a love-struck soul. “There’s nothing else like it in the whole world.”

I suspect he mentioned Colombia hoping that I would ask when he went there, why, or where else he has been. I’m not doing any of that because there’s no point getting close to anyone. To me, people are like snowflakes. They fall into my grasp for a moment, then dissipate into nothing. I’m left to feel the cold alone.

Besides, he isn’t special. I’ve been to Colombia, too. The coffee is superb, which is why I lived there for a little over a decade, but I have to keep moving, otherwise someone will put together that I’m not your average citizen.

“Are you from around here?” Harper continues prying.

“No.”

“Where are you from?”

“Not here.”

I feel Harper’s pout, even if I’m staring ahead rather than directly at him.

“Ah, well, you must enjoy living here then.”

Shrugging, I reply somewhat honestly, “I guess.”

I’ve certainly been to worse places at worse times. Like back when sewage systems ran through the streets. The smell was atrocious. You never actually got used to it and there was the occasional mishap. I recoil at the memory of a tussle on the street, resulting in my stumbling over onto one of the sewage canals. They weren’t wide or deep, but they felt vast when my hands disappeared into the foul sludge. My hands are forever stained with the filth of that encounter.

“Are you ok?” Harper asks, head tilted curiously. “Your face looks a little green.”

“Fine, just reliving a nightmare. I’ll get over it.”

Harper doesn’t have time to question my dark past. We finally reach the counter. He gestures for me to go first, chuckling when I order the clover brewed coffee he so rightly guessed. Then he orders. I pity the workers.

“I’d like the Double Ristretto Venti Half-Soy Nonfat Decaf Organic Chocolate Brownie Iced Vanilla Double-Shot Gingerbread Frappuccino Extra Hot With Foam Whipped Cream Upside Down Double Blended, One Sweet’N Low and One Nutrasweet, and Ice, please!”

What in the sweet hell is that?! Is that even a real drink? Apparently it is, because the barista doesn’t tell Harper he’s nuts for ordering a made up beverage. Harper pays for both. He stands with me by the windows, smiling as we wait.

This man is the definition of extra. Even his coffee is bizarre, but I’m grateful for that. Prior to Harper asking more questions I’d inevitably evade, my order is ready and his is barely started, meaning he can’t follow me out. I snatch mine from the counter, heading for the door while Harper shouts, “Have a nice day, Adrian!”

“You too. Thanks for the coffee,” I mumble, unsure if he even heard me.

I head for the bus stop, happily drinking my free coffee, though is it really free if I paid with my time?

Running into Harper at the coffee shop better not become a regular occurrence. I suppose I could start driving to work? But walking helps wake me up in the morning and traffic is a pain. I admit, I preferred horses. They’re cute, while also serving a purpose. No monthly payments. Didn’t have to change their hooves for winter. Didn’t guzzle gas like senior frat students chugging alcohol at the first party of the year.

Before I can get too far down memory lane I realize I’m overreacting. Harper’s only been here a few days. He’s likely going to be checking out the surrounding area to see what other places he likes. In a week or so, we’ll probably only say hi if we see each other in the hall and that’ll be the end of it.