The barista drew a heart in my coffee foam, the way she did every Tuesday. I smiled and left my usual tip. She smiled back.
This went on for six months.
I practiced conversations in my head while walking to the café. I imagined telling her about the book I was reading, asking about the tattoo on her wrist, learning her actual name instead of just reading "Mia" on her name tag. But when I reached the counter, I only ever said "Latte, please" and "Thank you."