The Unexpected Latte

Rain lashed against the window of 'The Daily Grind,' blurring the already muted colors of the street. I was late, as usual, for my writing group. Clutching my worn-out copy of 'Beloved,' I hurried inside, the bell above the door announcing my arrival with a cheerful jingle that felt jarring against the gloomy weather. The aroma of roasted coffee beans and cinnamon was a warm hug, though.

He was standing by the counter, a tall guy with messy brown hair and eyes that crinkled at the corners even before he smiled. He was arguing – well, not arguing, more like playfully debating – with the barista, Sarah, about the merits of oat milk versus almond milk. "It's a texture thing, Sarah! Oat milk is just… superior," he insisted, his voice laced with amusement.

I almost laughed out loud. He caught my eye and that crinkle deepened. "See? Even she agrees!" he said, gesturing towards me with a wink. My cheeks flushed, and I mumbled something about needing caffeine before finding a table.

I settled into a corner, trying to focus on my book, but his presence was a low hum in the background. When Sarah brought my latte, she leaned in conspiratorially. "That's Liam. New to town. A writer, I think. And single," she added with a knowing grin. I rolled my eyes, but a small smile played on my lips.

Later, as I was packing up, he approached my table. "Hey," he said, his smile genuine. "I couldn't help but notice you're reading Toni Morrison. 'Beloved' is… well, it's everything."

We talked for what felt like minutes, but was probably closer to an hour. About Morrison, about writing, about the soul-crushing reality of trying to get published. We discovered a shared love for old movies and a mutual loathing of reality TV. It was easy, effortless. The kind of conversation that felt like catching up with an old friend, even though we'd just met.

"I should probably let you get to your writing group," he said, finally, glancing at his watch. "But… would you maybe want to grab coffee again sometime? Without the rain and the pressure of deadlines hanging over our heads?"

My heart did a little flip. "I'd like that," I said, maybe a little too eagerly. We exchanged numbers, and as I walked out into the now-cleared sky, the world felt brighter. The air smelled clean and fresh, and even the traffic noise seemed less irritating. The writing group could wait. For the first time in a long time, I felt a spark of something… hopeful. Maybe oat milk really *was* superior. Or maybe, just maybe, the universe had a funny way of delivering exactly what you needed when you least expected it. And sometimes, all it took was an unexpected latte and a shared love for Toni Morrison to change everything.