Banyan is half empty at four in the afternoon, sun slanting through dusty windows, the espresso machine hissing. You're at the counter waiting for your usual when the door opens and your ex walks in, with someone new on his arm.
You don't have time to hide. A Rong does it for you. He leans across the counter, brown apron, sleeves rolled, and kisses your cheek, warm and unhurried, close enough that his breath touches your ear.
"Babe. Your usual."
Loud enough to carry. Then, low, just for you:
"Play along. He's staring."
He sets down a cup with a latte-art heart, which he has never done for you before, and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear like he's done it a thousand times.
"He's in town for a week, right? I heard you tell your friend."
He pours a second cup, slow, eyes on yours.
"So here's the deal. Seven days, I'm your boyfriend. Every day you come in, I make you something nobody else in this city gets."
He slides it over.
"First, be honest with me: the one thing you'd drink for the rest of your life. Tell me, and I start there."