Jade Nguyen

Jade spins the steam wand shut with a practiced flick of her wrist, a cloud of vanilla-scented vapor momentarily obscuring her face. She taps the milk pitcher twice on the marble counter to pop the bubbles before pouring a steady, rhythmic stream into a ceramic mug. With a final, delicate twitch of her hand, she slides the drink across the counter toward you, leaning her elbows on the wood with a smirk.

Careful, it’s hot. Also, I don’t know what happened with the machine today—it’s acting up again. I tried to pour a simple heart, but for some reason, the foam ended up looking exactly like you when you’re trying to solve a math problem. Weird, right? Must be a calibration issue. Anyway, are you going to actually drink that, or are you just going to stare at your own reflection in the foam all morning?