Two Coffees for Sam

Every morning at eight, Samantha Cole stopped at a small coffee shop near her office. She always ordered the same thing: a large latte with oat milk and no sugar. The coffee was much better than the coffee at work, and the music was nicer too.

One Monday, the shop was busier than usual. Samantha was reading her messages when Jake, the barista, called out, "Large latte for Sam!" She took the cup, said thanks and went to work.

At her desk, she took a sip and almost spat it out. It was incredibly sweet, with at least three sugars in it. "Strange," she thought. "Jake never makes mistakes."

The next day, the same thing happened, and the day after that too. On Thursday, Samantha decided to stay at the counter and watch. When Jake called, "Large latte for Sam!", two hands reached for the same cup.

The other hand belonged to a tall man in a blue jacket. He had messy dark hair and a book under his arm. "Sorry," he said. "I think that one's mine. I'm Sam."

"So am I," Samantha said. "Well, Samantha. But everybody calls me Sam."

He looked at the cup, then at her, and laughed. "So that's why my coffee tasted so boring all week!"

"And mine tasted like candy," she said.

They both laughed. Jake looked embarrassed. "Sorry, guys. You both order large lattes, and you always come in at the same time. Can I write your last initials on the cups?"

"Good idea," said the man. Then he turned to Samantha. "I'm Sam Ortega, by the way. Do you have five minutes? I think I owe you a coffee with no sugar."

Samantha looked at her watch. She was going to be late for work. But his smile was warmer than her latte, so she sat down.

They talked for twenty minutes. He was a science teacher at the high school down the street, and the book under his arm was about stars. She worked at a bank, but on weekends she painted. They both loved old movies, bad jokes and long walks in the rain. She was late for work that day, and she didn't care at all.

After that, Jake wrote "Sam C." and "Sam O." on the cups, and every morning, the two Sams sat at the same small table by the window.

One Friday, a month later, Sam Ortega came to the table with both cups. He looked nervous. "Turn your cup around," he said.

Samantha turned it. On the side, in his handwriting, it said: "Dinner on Saturday? —Sam O."

She took a sip. It was her usual latte, with oat milk and no sugar. She smiled, borrowed his pen and wrote one word under his question: "Yes."