The morning rush started ten minutes after Mrs. Alvarez arrived. By then, Tomás was still leaning awkwardly near the counter like he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to leave or stay. Three construction workers came in first, shaking rainwater from their jackets and ordering coffee loud enough to wake the whole neighborhood.

“Three cortados and whatever smells like heaven,” one of them said, pointing at the pastry case.

“That would be the dulce de leche empanadas,” I said automatically. “Coming right up!” Behind me, Tomás quietly moved out of the way as I opened the display case.

He watched everything, like someone studying a language they almost remembered how to speak.

“Lucía,” Mrs. Alvarez called from her table, “you’re out of sugar packets again.”

“I am not,” I said.

“You are.”

I turned to the counter. She was right. Before I could move, Tomás stepped toward the small supply shelf beside the espresso machine. “Top drawer,” he said.

I frowned. He shouldn’t know that.

“That’s where you keep them.” He opened the drawer and handed me a small box of sugar packets.

I stared at him. “How did you know that?”

He blinked down at the drawer like he’d only just realized what he’d done.“I… guessed?”

“Convenient guess,” I said, taking the sugar packets.

The construction workers paid and took their pastries, leaving crumbs and the smell of strong coffee behind. The bell chimed again, and two college students came in, arguing about a group project. Then a man in a suit who always ordered the same thing.

“Americano, no sugar,” I said before he even reached the counter. He nodded approvingly since he was on a work call.

Tomás watched as I worked, pouring coffee, wrapping pastries, answering questions, and ringing up orders. The rhythm of the café was something I’d learned growing up. The morning rush, the midday lull, and the afternoon regulars. It was chaos that somehow worked. At some point, Tomás quietly rolled up his sleeves. “What are you doing?” I asked.

“Helping.”

“You don’t work here.”

“You look overwhelmed.”

“I’m not,” I said at that exact moment the espresso machine made a loud hissing sound and spilled foam across the counter.

Tomás raised an eyebrow.

“I’m reconsidering my statement,” I admitted.

He grabbed a towel without asking and wiped the counter clean. “You’ve done this before,” I said.

“Not really.”

“You just grabbed the towel without looking.”

He paused. Then shrugged. “Lucky guess?” I didn’t believe that for a second.

The bell chimed again; it was Mrs. Alvarez’s friend Rosa entering the café with her usual dramatic energy. “Lucía! My favorite café queen!” She stopped abruptly when she noticed Tomás. “Oh.” Her eyes sparkled immediately. “Well, hello.”

Tomás blinked. “Hi.”

Rosa leaned toward me across the counter. “You didn’t tell me we had new scenery.”

I groaned. “He’s not scenery.”

“Pity.”

I saw Tomás out of the corner of my eyes, trying very hard not to laugh.

Rosa ordered a cappuccino and a pastry, then deliberately sat at the counter instead of her usual table. “So,” she said loudly, “how long have you two been together?”

“We’re not together,” I said immediately, just as Tomás said at the exact same time, “We just met.”

Rosa looked delighted. “Even better.”

I handed her the cappuccino. “Drink your coffee.”

She winked at Tomás. “Oh, I will.”

Tomás leaned closer to me once she turned away. “Your customers are terrifying.”

“You have no idea.”

For the next hour, the café stayed busy, and somehow Tomás kept helping. He handed out napkins, refilled water glasses, and cleared empty plates. He never asked where anything was. He just… knew. At one point, he reached under the counter and pulled out the extra coffee filters before I even realized we were out.

I stopped mid-step. “How did you know those were there?”

He froze. His expression turned slightly confused. “I just… did.”

“You’ve never been behind this counter before.”

“I know.”

“You didn’t even look.”

Tomás glanced down at the drawer, as it had betrayed him. “I wish I had a better explanation.”

“So do I.”

A small silence settled between us before Mrs. Alvarez called again. “Lucía! More hot water!”

I sighed and turned away. When the rush finally slowed down, the café felt calmer. Sunlight began to push through the clouds outside, warming the wooden tables and the tiled floor. Tomás stood near the pastry case, examining the rows of empanadas and alfajores. “These look exactly like the ones from my dreams,” he said quietly.

I leaned against the counter. “That’s impossible.”

“Probably.” He pointed at the makgeolli alfajores. “But those especially.”

My chest tightened. “You said your grandfather lived in Argentina after the war.”

“Yeah.”

“Did he ever talk about food?”

Tomás shook his head. “Not really.”

“But he kept the photograph,” I said, not really a question, but he answered anyway.

“Yes.”

“And never explained it?” I asked.

“No.”

I crossed my arms.

“My grandmother never talked about the past either.”

“Maybe they had a reason.”

“Maybe.”

The bell chimed again, but this time it was just a delivery driver dropping off flour. When the door closed, the café was suddenly quiet again. Tomás walked slowly toward the window where Nona’s ceramic tiger sat watching the street. He picked it up carefully. “I remember this,” he said softly.

My stomach flipped. What else is new? “You’ve said that about five things today.”

“I know.”

“That’s not comforting.”

He turned the little statue in his hands.“There was a window,” he murmured.

“This window?”

“I think so.”

“And?”

“And the tiger sat here.”

I stared at him. “That tiger has been here since before I was born.”

Tomás looked genuinely unsettled now. “I’m starting to think the dreams weren’t just dreams.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why?”

“Because the alternative is insane.”

He set the tiger back down. “Maybe.”

I grabbed two mugs and filled them with coffee. I slid one across the counter to him. “You helped,” I said. “You get paid in caffeine.”

“That seems fair.” He took a sip. Then froze.

“What?” I asked.

“This coffee.”

“What about it?”

“It tastes familiar.”

I groaned. “Everything tastes familiar to you.”

“No, this is different.”

“How?”

Tomás frowned slightly. “It reminds me of something.”

“Like what?”

He stared into the mug for a long moment. Then he said quietly, “A rainy day.”

Something about the way he said it made my chest hurt. I quickly looked away. “Rain makes everything taste better,” I said automatically.

Tomás looked up sharply. “That’s exactly what she used to say.”

My stomach dropped. “That’s what Nona used to say.”

Silence filled the café again. Neither of us spoke for a moment. Finally, Tomás leaned back against the counter. “Lucía?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you ever feel like you’re missing something?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like there’s a memory just out of reach.”

I hesitated. Because the truth was…Sometimes I did. I have these little flashes, sometimes it's a song, sometimes it's a smell. It’s a feeling I couldn’t explain, but I’d always blamed nostalgia or the grief of losing my grandparents. “I think everyone feels like that sometimes,” I said carefully.

Tomás studied my face. “I don’t think this is the same thing.”

“Maybe it is.”

“Maybe.” He didn’t sound convinced.

Outside, the clouds had finally cleared, and sunlight spilled through the café windows, warming the room. Tomás looked around again, taking in every detail of the café as it mattered. “You built a beautiful place,” he said softly.

I followed his gaze to the wooden shelves, then to the hanging plants. My eyes glanced over the old recipe book near the register and then Nona’s tiger by the window. “Technically,” I said, “my grandmother built it.”

Tomás smiled faintly. “Then she had good taste.” Something about that made my chest ache more. For some reason, sitting across from him in my quiet café in this moment felt like we weren’t strangers; it felt like he belonged here, belonged with me. But that's crazy. Right? I picked up the empty mugs and started closing up.