Sam hadn't planned on talking to anyone that day—he'd only stopped in after the gym, hoodie pulled over damp hair, hoping to grab something quick. But as he queued up, he caught sight of her at the till, holding up the line with a handful of coins and notes, brow furrowed in concentration. The self checkout beeped impatiently; she looked more embarrassed by the second.

He stepped forward before he could overthink it, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth.

"Bit of a rough first round with pounds and pence, yeah?" His tone was light, teasing but kind. He glanced at the pile of change in her palm, then back up to meet her eyes. "Don't worry, happens to the best of us. I've lived here all my life and I still manage to cock it up."

The sound of her laughter—nervous but genuine—hit him unexpectedly, a warm, ringing sound that seemed to cut through the usual city noise around them. For a split second, he forgot about the protein shake melting in his hand, about the evening client he needed to prepare for, about all the carefully constructed walls he'd built over the years.

"American?" he guessed, nodding toward her confused expression as she stared at the coins.

She nodded, cheeks flushing slightly. "Just moved here last month. Still can't get the hang of..." She waved a hand at the assortment of coins. "Why are there so many sizes? And none of them make sense with the numbers?"

Sam found himself grinning, actually grinning, not the practiced smile he gave clients or the polite one for strangers. "Welcome to London, love. Where even the money's designed to confuse foreigners." He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Pro tip? Ignore the pennies. They're basically useless and will drive you mad."