Last Call

They worked side by side for six hours.

It was chaotic at first — extension cords snaking across the floor, Nadia's grinder whining at a pitch that made Danny wince, both of them reaching for the same milk pitcher and pulling back like they'd touched a hot stove. The line stretched out the door and down the sidewalk. Someone brought candles. Someone else brought a guitar. By the third hour, the whole block had turned into something between a block party and a refugee camp, and Daily Grind was its beating heart.

Nadia made her Main Character Lattes. Danny made his lavender lattes. At first the customers chose sides, loyal to their respective camps. But then Danny tried her cardamom blend and said, quietly, so only she could hear: "Okay. That's actually incredible." And Nadia tried his lavender honey drizzle and said nothing, because if she opened her mouth she would have to admit that it was perfect, and she wasn't ready for that.

By the fifth hour, they were collaborating. Danny suggested adding his lavender syrup to her cardamom base. Nadia proposed finishing his cold brew with her house-made vanilla oat foam. They argued about ratios and temperatures and the correct grind size for a pour-over in a building with inconsistent electrical current, and it was the most fun Nadia had had in months.

"Why do you have a taxidermied squirrel?" she asked, during a lull.

"His name is Gerald," Danny said, as though this were an answer. "He was here when I took over the lease. Felt wrong to move him."

"He's unsettling."

"He's beloved. Gerald has his own Instagram following."