Ella tripped over the welcome mat as she burst into "Brew-tiful Morning," her apron flapping like a wounded bird. The bell above the door jangled so violently it sounded like a cat fight in a jewelry store.
"Sorry I'm late!" she yelped, skidding behind the counter. Her boss, Marnie, raised an eyebrow from behind a mountain of muffin tins.
"Late is putting it generously. You missed the rush. Also, your hair looks like a squirrel nested in it."
Ella patted her messy bun, which had indeed achieved sentience overnight. "Fashion statement. Now, what's the first order?"
Marnie pointed to the only customer in the shop—a man hunched over a laptop by the window. His black sweater was so crisp it looked ironed, his hair parted with the precision of a protractor, and he was glaring at his coffee like it had personally insulted his ancestors.
"Grande latte with oat milk. And he's been staring at that cup for five minutes. Probably plotting how to write a strongly worded letter to the dairy board."
Ella suppressed a snort. She sauntered over, coffee pot in hand, and pasted on her best customer service smile. "Everything to your liking, sir?"
The man looked up. His eyes were a piercing blue, the kind that belonged on a detective show protagonist, and they narrowed at her like she'd just misquoted Shakespeare.
"Actually," he said, voice as smooth as aged whiskey but twice as sharp, "there's an issue."
Ella's smile froze. "Did we burn it? I can make you a new one—"
"It's the foam," he interrupted, tapping the edge of the cup with a finger that looked like it had never lifted anything heavier than a fountain pen. "You spelled 'love' in the foam. With a heart. Which is grammatically incorrect."
Ella blinked. "I'm sorry, the foam committed a grammar crime?"
"It's a拿铁 (latte), not a 情书 (love letter)," he said, enunciating the words like he was teaching a remedial English class. "If you must decorate beverages, stick to punctuation. A well-placed exclamation mark, perhaps. Not... this." He gestured at the heart like it was a particularly offensive political bumper sticker.
"I didn't realize coffee art required a PhD in linguistics," Ella muttered, refilling his cup with more oat milk—extra foam, just to spite him. "Anything else? Should I conjugate the verb 'to steep' while I'm at it?"
His lips twitched, like he was fighting a smile. "Just... no more hearts. And for the record, it's 'steeped,' past tense. You're welcome."
Ella rolled her eyes, but as she walked back to the counter, she caught herself grinning. Marnie leaned in, stage-whispering, "Who died and made him the grammar police?"
"Beats me. But he's got a face that could sell dictionaries. Expensive ones."
An hour later, the man stood to leave. He placed his cup on the counter, and Ella noticed he'd scrawled something on the receipt. She waited until he was out the door, then fished it out of the trash.
In neat, precise handwriting: "Your foam is grammatically challenged, but your latte is passable. - L."
Ella snorted. Passable? She grabbed a marker and scribbled back: "Your attitude is grammatically atrocious, but your tip was decent. - E."
She stuck the receipt on the bulletin board behind the counter, next to a flyer for "Karaoke Night" and a photo of Marnie's cat wearing a tiny barista hat.
That night, as Ella locked up, she found a folded napkin under the door. Unfolding it, she saw the same neat handwriting:
"Correction: 'atrocious' is too harsh. Let's settle on 'linguistically adventurous.' Also, tomorrow, try a semicolon in the foam. It's more sophisticated. - L."
Ella laughed out loud, tucking the napkin into her pocket. Maybe tomorrow, she'd draw a comma splice. Just to see what he'd do.