"You weren't entirely wrong about cultural preservation being important work."
We sit watching the morning café activity flow around us: laptop keyboards clicking, espresso machines hissing, conversations blending into urban white noise that feels soothing rather than overwhelming.
"So what are these communication protocols you had in mind?" Maya asks.
"Perhaps... coffee as neutral ground? Regular check-ins to address concerns before they become major disruptions?"
"Coffee diplomacy."
"Exactly. Scheduled rather than crisis-driven."
She smiles, genuine warmth that makes the morning's embarrassment feel worthwhile. "I like that idea. Though maybe we should establish some ground rules about sugar management."
"Noted for future reference."
"And muffin procurement. This cranberry-walnut situation might become a regular requirement."
Regular.
The possibility of routine interaction, planned rather than accidental, creates anticipation I hadn't expected when I entered this establishment with baked goods and good intentions.
"I can arrange consistent bakery consultation," I offer. "Student cooperative maintains extensive variety rotation."
"Perfect. Though I should probably contribute something to this diplomatic arrangement. Fair trade and all."
"What did you have in mind?"
Maya considers while examining the remaining muffin options. "Translation work? Cultural consultation? I'm working on a blog series about urban community building. Neighbor relations, conflict resolution, finding common ground across different backgrounds."
Research opportunity.
"That sounds... professionally relevant to my academic interests."
"Mutual benefit. You help me understand cross-cultural communication challenges, I help you navigate local social customs that might prevent future coffee explosions."
"Symbiotic arrangement."
"Exactly."
The morning rush begins thinning as commuters disperse toward offices and academic obligations. Maya checks her phone, probably calculating deadline-driven productivity requirements against extended café conversations.
"I should probably get back to writing," she says, though without the urgency I expected. "But this was really nice. Thank you for the muffins. And the entertainment."
"Entertainment?"
"The foam explosion. Sarah's going to be talking about that for weeks."
My cheeks warm again, but Maya's expression contains no mockery, only gentle amusement that feels inclusive rather than exclusionary.
"Perhaps next week?" I suggest. "Same time, improved beverage management?"
"It's a date." She pauses, color rising in her own cheeks. "I mean, an appointment. A scheduled diplomatic consultation."
Date.
The word hangs between us with implications neither of us seems prepared to address directly. Maya busies herself with laptop reorganization while I gather empty muffin wrappers and contemplate the semantic weight of casual expressions that might mean more than their speakers intended.
"Same time next week," I confirm, standing and shouldering my messenger bag. "With enhanced sugar integration protocols."
