“So, I know we’re not quite friends or anything yet, but do you want to hear a story?” Jack asks, ignoring the girls and facing me.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Jo and I used to work together in the same office and didn’t get along. Every Tuesday we’d have these meetings we both attended. She always brought the small group of us drinks from Beans and Brews, distributing them after writing our names on the paper. Except for me, of course.”

“What do you mean?”

A smile tugs at his lips, recalling a very fond memory. “I got a whole slew of insults on mine. Arrogant prick. Dimwitted dingus. Grumpy. Those coffee cups were the best part of my week. They were small, wonderful moments I got to share with her. She didn’t know it at the time, but those silly scribbles were how I fell in love with her. Slowly. Steadily. It was hard for me to convey those feelings. One day, after we had been together for a while, I brought her here and asked her to order our drinks. When she picked them up, these lovely ladies had written the three words that were so difficult for me to say. ‘I love you.’ This spot is special to us. And I know it’s special to you and Henry, too. It’s where you met for the first time outside the secret identities after learning so much about each other.”

My pulse is spiking and I peer over Jack’s shoulder, thinking I’m going to find Henry sitting at the table off to the side. When I notice the shop is empty, my heart drops, hopes dashed instantaneously.

“He’s not here,” Jack continues. “The girls have a special delivery for you, though, before I whisk you off to your next location. Trust me, be glad you get to deal with me first. I’m the least sociable one.”

“What’s the special delivery?” I ask, looking at the baristas. My voice is shaking. My throat is dry. I haven’t had a sip of caffeine yet and I’m already jittery and trembling.

My go-to order, the most ridiculous drink on the menu with pounds of whipped cream and extra shots of coffee, slides across the counter.

“Your usual,” they say in unison.

“You’re not the ones who are normally here in the morning. How in the world do you know what I get?”

“No, we’re not,” one says, giggling. “Henry remembered your order and called it in.”

“W-what? He only saw me order it one time. Weeks ago.”

“Isn’t that interesting?” Jack muses.

“Make sure you read the back,” the other suggests, waving at us as they disappear down a hallway.

I pick the drink up, spinning the cup around, noticing his scrawly penmanship. The letters take over the entire back side of the plastic, looping and squishing together.

Hi, Sunflower.

I miss you.