She caught his attention because they share the same name. Something he could not believe at first. When the barista shouted his name along with his order, he stopped, dumbfounded, when a woman with brown wavy hair, a book tucked under her left arm, beat him to the counter and got his steaming cup of black coffee.

“Excuse me but I think that’s mine,” he said, giving her an unsure almost shy smile, his eyes deftly scanning the name on her cup. It’s his, alright.

She looked at him, puzzled and caught off guard, then smiled. “Tall, hot Americano, with two shots of espresso?”

He nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “And my name’s on the cup,” he pointed the obvious at her.

She groaned then gave him a wide smile, like she forgot to let him in the big secret. “Of course,” she said, tilting the cup to look at the…