Maya had been planning the coffee shop takeover for weeks. Not a violent overthrow, nothing dramatic — just a quiet campaign to convince the owner to finally add oat milk to the menu. She'd gathered signatures, chatted up regulars, and this morning she was going in with her petition.
She arrived early, her tote bag brimful of printed flyers and a thermos she'd already drained twice from nerves. The little bell above the door chimed as she stepped inside, and the familiar smell of espresso wrapped around her like a warm coat.
Marco, the owner, was behind the counter arranging cups. He looked up and smiled.
"I know why you're here," he said before she could open her mouth.
Maya blinked. "You do?"
He nodded toward the small chalkboard menu behind him. There, between almond and whole milk, someone had written oat in slightly crooked letters.
"Got the delivery yesterday," he said, already reaching for the steam wand. "Figured I'd surprise you."
Everything proceeded smoothly from there. Marco made her a latte without being asked, the foam sitting perfectly on top, and Maya slid onto her usual stool feeling slightly ridiculous about the flyers but mostly just happy.
"You didn't have to do all that research," Marco said, nodding at her bulging bag.
"I know," she admitted. "But it felt good to fight for something."
He laughed and set the cup in front of her. She wrapped both hands around it and took the first sip, warm all the way down.