According to the article, not only is Shane a nationally ranked water polo player and a stellar student, but he also wants to be a veterinarian, and he helps his mom foster kittens in the summer. There was another photo of him sitting on the floor, nuzzling a pile of adorable fuzzballs curled up in his strong, capable, sexy hands.

I may have developed kind of a thing for him.

I should note that when I say I have kind of a thing for him, I mean that I have it from afar. Very afar. Kind of in the same way Hannah and Mom get all gaga when they talk about Chris Evans or Mahershala Ali; he’s so profoundly unattainable that I harbor no delusions about us ever being a couple. Which is a little bit sad, but also realistic. Hannah might live her life like she’s the star of her own personal rom-com, but I do not.

Anyway, thing or no thing, it doesn’t matter, because his affections are currently claimed by his girlfriend, Sabrina Dang, who is the Asian version of every Mean Girl in every teen movie you’ve ever watched.

But here, now, undeniably, is one of those rom-com before/after moments. An opportunity to change the narrative. An opportunity to make an entrance and engage Shane in some flirtatious banter, the way it always happens in the movies. I mean, why not?

Because this is real life, that’s why not.

Because in movies, the kooky but lovable girl argues with the barista, gestures too enthusiastically, and spills coffee on the uptight but devastatingly handsome guy’s sweater, and they spend the next ninety minutes engaging in witty banter, fighting their attraction to each other, and finally sharing a swoony kiss in the rain and presumably living happily ever after.

But in real life, no one meets in adorably comic situations. In real life, crushes go unrequited, people have to stop kissing to spit out their gum, and the first time you feel your boyfriend’s erection through his jeans, you get so self-conscious and embarrassed that you avoid making out with him for a whole week. And people don’t live happily ever after.

So. In the real-life version of the Shane-CJ rom-com, I have no reason to go anywhere near Shane and spill my coffee on him, lovably or otherwise, or banter wittily with him or even look at him. At best, I would wander over to him and open my mouth and say . . . what? Nothing. We have nothing in common.

I prefer the fantasy. It’s comfortable and much more satisfying. So I turn around to face the back of the bakery, slide down into my booth, and begin plotting a way to get out of here without his seeing me.