(based on this post)
Oliver knows every time he goes into Starbucks that the person behind the counter probably isn’t his soulmate. But with the words written in messy script across his arm, “Welcome to Starbucks. May I take your order?” he can’t help but hope that maybe – just maybe – this time will be the right time.
In his twenties, he goes to Starbucks much more often than he should, until he meets everyone on the payroll. Then he finds a new store, new faces, new friends, but never the one.
By thirty, he’s tired of the disappointment, the heartache, and the heartburn. He switches to decaf, and only goes into Starbucks every other Monday.
* * *
The man behind the counter has a kind smile and massive biceps.
Published
lanablack 