1. He gave me the wi-fi password.
Come on, he didn’t have to be so obvious about it! Giving me a crumpled slip of paper reading “MochaSpock33” without me even having to ask? It’s like this barista babe’s known me for years. I have a hunch this wi-fi password is a rare privilege here at this coffee shop full of laptop users and iPad readers. He must have sensed that the work I need to do today — research types of cat litter — is pressingly important. I know exactly what he’s doing: granting himself some leverage. He’s given me the joy of Internet access, so now I’ll have to say yes when he inevitably asks me out later.
2. He’s making me the drink I asked for.
No dillydallying, no mistakes, this gem of a man is making me exactly what I ordered. It’s clear that his love at first sight has inspired him to abide by high personal standards. Take the woman in front of me, for instance. Barista Babe simply filled her cup with coffee and sent her on her way. My vanilla/matcha/turmeric latte is taking him far longer, for obvious reasons: he’s anxiously striving for my approval. It’s a romantic trope as old as time. And now he’s definitely putting a message in the latte foam art- is that his phone number? Oh my god, I see a 2!
3. He’s writing something down.
I’ve never gotten a love note before, but I guess now’s not a bad time to start. And on a sticky note, how creative! It’s hard for me to make out what it says, but I see some numbers and just caught him stick it on the inventory shelf below him. What a game he’s playing! Toying with me, urging me closer to him once again, right toward the tempting path of his musky Axe 3-in-1 shampoo. He won’t get me that easily, though. I’ll play it sly for a while longer before I read his little love note.
4. He’s wiping down a nearby table.
This is proving his most elaborate plot yet. Two minutes ago, a customer at the table next to mine “spilled” his drink, prompting Barista Babe to rush over in a brilliantly-acted bout of concern and begin mopping up the mess. He hasn’t looked at me yet (his endearing shyness, once again), but I can sense his awareness of my eyes on him. Shit, he has me in the palm of his hand! And he knows it, too!
5. He touched my hand.
Alright, I caved. I couldn’t say no to helping out this dreamboat of a man, so I bolted to the napkins, almost fell, then raced back to the action of the spill. Wiping away at that cold brew, he brushed the side of my hand with his towel. Now, back at my seat, I can still feel that damp, pungent-smelling rag against my skin. Talk about an eternal moment.
6. He’s leaving the coffee shop.
Ha! Now this is clever. A little reverse psychology, eh, Barista Babe? I know the drill: you leave, and I’m supposed to run after you, introducing myself before it’s too late (and preferably, it’s raining hard outside, so we look all sultry and sexy).
7. He’s driving away.
Does he not see me waving? Or hear me screaming “I love you” over the music he’s blasting in his car? Or see me holding up my latte so he can clarify whether the hidden message in the foam is letters, numbers, or a picture? God, he’s just like the others. Guacamole Guy, Sushi Stud, and now Barista Babe; they’re all the same.