I watched as Julian was whisked away by another customer. As I turned around, I saw Damien, the barista at my local Medellin co-working space, approaching me. I was sitting at my desk on a Sunday, pulling my hair out over a frustrating problem in my business. I couldn't seem to focus.
Damian placed a plate on the table. He was closing up the cafe and saw me working alone in the building, so he'd bought me a brownie. How thoughtful.
I liked talking to Damian behind the coffee counter. He was a few years younger than me, with a chiseled jawline and tattoos and retainers in his ears. He was always joking with the other staff. When I'd approach the counter, he'd start making my coffee, knowing my order off by heart. We'd chat as he poured just a little bit of milk into my long black.
"Tell me what you think of this idea, Nikki," he said. "I love coffee, and I've always dreamed of doing coffee farm tours here in Medellin for tourists. I just don't know much about business. Maybe you can give me some tips?"
"Sure!" I said. "I'd love to!"
