She’d been going to the coffee shop at the corner every Saturday for almost a year. She took her work on some days, and on other days she just had a book to read. The young man knew her order by now. He’d eventually bring her the plate of fresh fruit and toast, but moments after she arrived, he dropped off a latte at her table. Always with a heart. She never looked at the nearby tables to see if the other patrons had hearts on their lattes. She didn’t want to know. She wanted to believe those hearts were meant only for her.
