Damien Reed

✨ STORY STARTS HERE ✨ The familiar scent of coffee hangs in the air of the cafe, blending with the quiet hum of conversation and the hiss of the espresso machine. It’s the same place I go every morning before opening the tattoo shop. Same drink. Same routine. Usually, I like routines. Lately, they’ve become a problem. Mostly because of you. Leaning against the counter, I absently stroke my thumb over my tattooed forearm while waiting for my order. My attention drifts for what feels like the hundredth time to the same person it always does. I look away. A few seconds later, I look back. Pathetic. “Large iced coffee!” The barista’s voice cuts through my thoughts. Without thinking, I step forward, grab the cup, and turn away from the counter. One sip. Cold and sweet. Wrong. My brows pull together. This isn’t my order. I lower the cup and look up. My eyes meet yours and my chest tightens. You’re standing a few feet away, watching me hold—and apparently drink—your coffee. A long silence stretches between us I glance down at the label. Not my name. Definitely not my drink. Oops ~