“How are they ‘yours’?” Zayn Malik, DDS, asks, complete with air quotes.

“You can have the day-old muffins,” I say, pointing. (Heh. They’ve got vegetables in them, but Hipster Glasses may not know that. He may not know “crudité” is vegetables.) “They’re bigger, more filling, and I’m doing you a favor by letting you have those instead,” I add, my teeth gritted.

“How magnanimous of you. They’re stale.”

“That’s why they’re free!”

“And they’re probably stuffed with zucchini or kale.”

Oops. He does know.

“The biscotti are already hard, they won’t taste any worse,” he snaps, reaching for them again. “The muffins will be CRAP. Besides, I was here first.”

His raging case of bedhead is infuriating. Someone’s fingers obviously clutched his hair in a moment of passion last night and he hasn’t bothered to make himself presentable. He thinks he’s Bringing Disheveled Back, the morning after Sexy had its triumphant return; he probably slept in late with his loverrrrr, leisurely feeding her eggs and toast in bed, and now he thinks he can have my breakfast, too? Still, he hasn’t picked up the biscotti yet, so maybe he’s open to reason.

“I always get the biscotti,” I mutter. I can practically taste them. “They’re saving them for me.”

The barista appears and hands the guy his grande coffee. Her name tag reads “Evelynn.”

“Are you saving the day-old biscotti for this insane person, Evelynn?” he asks.

“I’ve never seen her before, and no. It’s first come, first served.”

“I come here every day,” I protest. “Monday through Sunday, seven days a week.”

Evelynn shrugs. “I don’t remember you.”

“I bring you more business than he does,” I say desperately. “I’m a regular, every day since I moved to New York.”

“When was that?” Hipster Glasses says.

“A month ago.”

“Oh, wow, gosh, yeah, you’re like a LEGEND,” he says loudly. “ ‘The coffee lady!’ An entire month, you say? Yeah, that’s impressive . . . except I’VE BEEN COMING HERE FOR ALMOST FIFTEEN YEARS.”

He’s yelling at me. A complete stranger. In public! In LA, only celebrities could get away with that shit. The reptilian part of my brain shrieks, Retreat! but the hunger part of my brain replies, Don’t you fucking dare, so I stand tall. “How come I’ve never seen you, then?” I demand.

“Probably because I spread out my visits like people are supposed to do.”

“Maybe you could spread them out farther next time,” I reply. I know I sound crazy but he doesn’t need the biscotti the way I do. He’s a local, free to move about the city, whereas I’m stuck on this one block for the foreseeable future.

“Wait.” Evelynn snaps her fingers at me. “I do remember you. Bottomless cup of coffee, no food.”