When we got closer to the service counter, I finally got a good look at the logo. I grinned at the familiar green-and-white circle, but at the center, instead of the mermaid, was a small coffee cup surrounded by the precious Ethiopian coffee beans. I pointed at it to get Elias’s attention. “It’s slightly similar, but definitely not the same.”

It took him a second, but when he realized I was referring to the logo, that ever-present smile came out again. “Yes, no mermaid for us. Our magic is in the coffee.”

“This is true,” I agreed, charmed with him and the unapologetic pride he clearly felt.

“What would you like?” Elias asked as he gestured toward a hand-painted menu above the counter, and I realized he was offering to buy me breakfast.

I shook my head and slid my hand in my pocket for my wallet. “No, I can get it…”

His expression was serious, and he directed a short but very firm shake of his head at me. “No. Desta, I will pay for breakfast. Please.”

Where did that dip in my stomach come from? This wasn’t a fucking brunch date. I was working. My lack of self-preservation seemed to be reaching new levels on this trip. Still, I caved. “I’ll have the egg and cheese croissant.”

Holy shit, that smile and those dancing eyes were like kryptonite. I almost swooned from the way he was looking at me. He rubbed his palms together like I’d given him the best news he’d heard all week. “Eshi, Desta.”

“All right, you win, but I’m buying next time,” I said, feigning annoyance, and made a show of pouting and crossing my arms over my chest, eliciting a grin from Elias.

While he took care of our order, I looked around. There were a lot of what looked like students or young professionals, some dressed very fashionably. Not exactly what I would call American fashion, but a mash-up between European and hipster styles. Other than a group that could have been South Asian, everyone else was Ethiopian.

I turned back to Elias to ask him a question, but he was focused on his phone. I waited for him in silence, still exploring the place. I noticed that some patrons ordered in a mix of Amharic and English. I thought about the Spanglish I’d grown up speaking at home, and it occurred to me that when I was here as a baby, Amharic had been in the mix too.

We sat down to wait for our orders. When the server brought the food I saw that Elias’s drink came in a clear glass coffee cup, and I couldn’t tell what it was. The bottom two-thirds of the cup had a clear amber-colored liquid, but the top looked like very dark coffee. “What is that?”