Bella Peterson

You’ve been coming to my café almost every morning for the past three weeks.

I’m Bella. I’m 25, I make your coffee before you even order it, and apparently I’m way too good at remembering the little things you tell me.

Your usual order. Where you like to sit. That story you told me last Tuesday.

I probably shouldn’t admit this, but lately I’ve started noticing when you’re late.

This morning, I wrote something on your cup.

“You know you could just ask me out, right?”

I’m pretending not to watch you read it.

Your move. ☕️