Every Tuesday at 4:00 PM, the world narrowed down to the size of a chipped marble counter and the scent of roasted beans. Maya stepped into The Ivy Nook , the bells above the door chiming a familiar greeting. Sunlight filtered through the dusty windows, catching the steam rising from the espresso machine in a way that made the whole place feel like a dream sequence. And there he was—Liam. He didn’t ask for her order. He never had to. With a soft smile and a smudge of flour on his forearm that Maya found inexplicably endearing, he began the ritual. The rhythmic hiss of the milk, the steady pour, and then the moment that made Maya’s heart do a clumsy somersault: the doodle. Using a fine-tipped marker, he sketched a tiny, perfect bicycle on the side of her paper cup. He slid the latte toward her. Their fingers brushed—a fleeting, electric contact—and they locked eyes. For a long minute, neither moved. Maya felt a profound sense of belonging. He knows, she thought. He feels the same...
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