“Lattes, Llamas, and Love”

It all started with a latte. Well, technically, it started with a spilled latte and a rogue llama, but we’ll get there.

Carly Evans was having a Monday. Her hair refused to obey gravity in any reasonable direction, her shirt had a stain shaped suspiciously like North America, and she had just found out that her favorite podcast host was arrested for smuggling exotic cheeses across state lines. Emotionally fragile and caffeine-deprived, she dragged herself into Brewzilla Café and muttered her order like a dying walrus.

“Triple-shot vanilla oat milk latte, extra hot.”

What she didn’t know was that across town, Miles Patterson was having a Monday too. His neighbor’s parrot had escaped and dive-bombed him in the shower. Then, while attempting to file a noise complaint, he accidentally joined a Zoom support group for people who believe they’re reincarnated pirates. He stayed for 40 minutes out of sheer politeness.

So, naturally, Miles needed coffee.

By fate, divine intervention, or just dumb luck, both of them ended up at Brewzilla at the exact same time. Carly, distracted by an argument between a barista and a man insisting “foam is a scam,” didn’t see Miles approaching. Miles, absorbed in texting his sister about the pirate Zoom call, didn’t see Carly’s latte in her hand.

Boom. Latte to the chest. Splash zone: everything from Carly’s eyebrows to Miles’ very white pants.

“OH MY—oh no no no,” Carly gasped, trying to dab his pants with a napkin that only made it look like abstract coffee art.

Miles blinked. “Did I just get baptized into the Church of Caffeine?”

“I’m so sorry!” Carly shrieked. “I can pay for dry cleaning! Or new pants! Or like, a new lower half!”

“It’s fine,” Miles said, grinning like an idiot. “At least now I’m mocha-flavored.”

Despite the coffee-soaked chaos, Carly found herself laughing. It wasn’t just his dumb joke. He had dimples. Dangerous dimples.

She handed him her business card, apologizing again, and bolted out of the café before she could say something even more unhinged.

Miles looked down. “Carly Evans. Event planner. Specializing in weddings, parties, and panicked exits.”

**

Two weeks later, Carly was setting up decorations for a wedding in the countryside. The groom’s cousin, who was supposed to transport the doves, backed out last minute, so Carly had to hire a farm to bring in something festive.

Enter: Llamas.

Yes, llamas. The only animal available on such short notice. But Carly, ever the professional, dressed them in bow ties and flower crowns and pretended this was totally intentional.

Meanwhile, Miles was attending the same wedding as a plus-one to his friend Stephanie. He didn’t know who was getting married. He just knew there would be cake, which ranked high on his list of life priorities.

Then he saw her.

Carly.

The woman who had baptized him with espresso. The queen of chaos. She was now wrangling a llama that seemed to be trying to eat a balloon arch.

“Carly?” Miles called out.

She turned and nearly dropped her clipboard. “You?!”

“What is this? A rom-com sequel?” he said, looking around dramatically.

Carly groaned. “Oh my God. Don’t tell me you’re—”

“I’m with the bride’s cousin’s dog groomer’s sister. Long story.”

Carly stared at him, then burst out laughing. “Are you following me?”

“I mean, statistically, we were bound to run into each other again at a llama-infested wedding.”

One of the llamas chose that moment to sneeze. On Miles.

“I swear I’m not usually this damp,” he said, wiping llama mucus off his blazer.

“Sure, and I’m not usually this sweaty and covered in floral tape,” Carly replied.

They stood there, smiling at each other like two idiots in a greeting card that says “Love is awkward and kind of gross sometimes.”

**

The reception went smoothly, minus one rogue llama who tried to crash the conga line.

Carly and Miles ended up seated at the same table. She learned he worked in app development, specifically on a game where sloths fight zombies. He learned she once got stuck in a bouncy house at a six-year-old’s birthday party and had to be rescued by firefighters. They laughed until their stomachs hurt and then danced terribly but enthusiastically.

As the night wound down, Carly looked at Miles and said, “This is probably the weirdest way to meet someone.”

“You mean the coffee collision or the llama wedding?”

“Both.”

Miles grinned. “So, what’s next? Are we adopting a pet chinchilla together? Starting a hot sauce company?”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re assuming there’ll be a ‘next.’”

He looked mock-offended. “You owe me after two separate outfit ruinings.”

Carly held up her hands. “Fair enough. Coffee? No llamas?”

“Deal.”

**

One year later, Carly and Miles stood in front of their wedding guests. The officiant, dressed in a llama-patterned tie, smiled as he said, “Do you, Carly, take Miles, llama mucus and all?”

She laughed. “I do.”

“And do you, Miles, promise to always accept spontaneous coffee baptisms?”

“With all my heart,” he said.

The guests roared with laughter as confetti cannons exploded and—yes—two very regal llamas trotted down the aisle wearing tuxedos.

Because love, like coffee, is best when it’s hot, messy, and served with a side of absolute chaos.

After the ceremony, during the reception, Carly and Miles stood next to their custom wedding cake: a replica of Brewzilla Café, complete with a tiny spilled latte cascading down the side. Perched on top were two figurines—one of Carly holding a clipboard, and the other of Miles, mid-sneeze, with a llama.

“To weird beginnings,” Carly toasted.

“And even weirder middles,” Miles added, clinking his glass with hers.

“May we never have a normal day,” she said.

“Wouldn’t know what to do with one,” he replied.

And with that, they danced their first dance, surrounded by love, laughter, and one very curious llama chewing on the DJ’s shoe because when fate writes your love story, it’s best to expect spilled drinks, rogue livestock, and a whole lot of joy.