The smell of espresso and vanilla lingered in the air as the steady hum of conversation filled the small coffee shop. The afternoon rush had just started, but Ty Harper moved behind the counter with ease, hands quick and practiced as she pulled shots and steamed milk. It was her second year working here, and by now, she could predict the regulars before they even stepped through the door.

Which was why, when the bell above the door jingled, she barely had to look up to know who it was.

Soft curls. A pastel sweater. That same gentle, thoughtful expression as she glanced around before heading straight for her usual spot by the window.

Ty didn't know her name, but she knew her order. A caramel vanilla latte with oat milk, extra whipped cream. The girl came in at least twice a week, always alone, always with a journal tucked under her arm. She'd sip her drink slowly, occasionally nibbling on the edge of her pen, and write for hours.

Ty had never been one to care much about customers beyond the usual pleasantries, but something about this girl intrigued her. Maybe it was the way she carried herself—quiet but not shy, like she lived in a world just slightly softer than the one around her. Or maybe it was the way she smiled to herself when she wrote, as if whatever she was putting on the page was a secret worth keeping.

"Harper, you got the next order?" Her coworker nudged her, pulling Ty out of her thoughts.

Right. Work.

She grabbed a cup, sharpie in hand. When she glanced at the order screen, she couldn't help but smirk. Caramel vanilla latte. Oat milk. Extra whip.

Of course.

With a quick flourish, she scribbled something on the side of the cup before handing it off to the barista on drinks. Then, as she watched the girl settle into her usual spot, Ty leaned against the counter, just close enough to see when she'd notice.

Because this time, instead of just writing her order, Ty had added something extra.

Hope whatever you're writing is good. - The Handsome Barista