Page 2

CHAPTER 2

JACK

I push open the door to The Love Roast, and I'm immediately assaulted by an explosion of pink and red. Paper hearts dangle from fishing line attached to the ceiling, swaying with the draft from the door. The smell of coffee mingles with something artificially sweet - vanilla and strawberry, perhaps.

"Welcome to The Love Roast!" A barista calls out from behind the counter. Her name tag reads 'Vanessa,' and her smile doesn't quite reach her eyes.

I pull out my phone, pretending to check messages while I observe the café's patrons. Two young women share a heart-shaped cookie, giggling over their phones. An elderly couple holds hands across their table, sharing what appears to be a single drink with two straws.

"Fascinating," I mutter under my breath, making a mental note about human mating rituals and shared sustenance.

"Can I help you?" Vanessa asks, her forced cheerfulness cracking slightly.

"Yes, I'd love to understand the significance of the dual-straw beverage consumption I'm witnessing." I gesture toward the elderly couple.

She blinks. "The... what?"

"The sharing of drinks. Is this a common courtship ritual in your establishment?"

A slight frown crosses her face. "It's just a couple sharing a milkshake. Are you going to order something?"

"Of course. What would you recommend for someone conducting research on human mat- I mean, for someone interested in the full Love Roast experience?"

"Our current special is the Cupid's Arrow Mocha. It comes with heart-shaped marshmallows." She says this like she's reading from a script she's tired of performing.

"Perfect. I'll take one of those. And tell me, do you find that these themed beverages actually enhance romantic connections between your customers?"

"Sir, there's a line forming." She points behind me, where indeed, three people now wait.

"Right, yes. The mocha then. For research purposes."

I step aside, pulling out my small notebook to jot down observations while I wait. The humans here seem to either embrace or reject the romantic atmosphere with very little middle ground. Fascinating indeed.

Soon, rush dies down, leaving me alone at the counter while Vanessa wipes down the espresso machine. The paper hearts above cast dancing shadows across her face as she works.

"These decorative organs," I say, pointing upward. "They're rather anatomically incorrect, aren't they?"

She pauses mid-wipe. "What?"

"The hearts. Real human hearts are more conical, with distinct chambers and major blood vessels. These are just two rounded shapes joined at the bottom. I mean, I'm not a biologist but that's true, isn't it?"

A small laugh escapes her lips - the first genuine one I've heard from her. "They're symbolic. Nobody wants to see actual heart diagrams while they're drinking coffee."

"But wouldn't anatomical accuracy better represent the physical manifestation of love? The actual organ pumping blood through the body?"

"That's..." She sets down her cloth. "That's not really what Valentine's Day is about."

"No? Then why celebrate it at all? These decorations, the special drinks - what purpose do they serve?"

"You're not from around here, are you?" she asks, one eyebrow quirked high.

I let out a laugh. "You got me."

"European?"

"Further."

"Look, it's just..." She glances around the empty café. "It's commercialized nonsense designed to make single people feel bad and coupled people spend money."

"Fascinating. So you don't participate in the cultural rituals of Valentine's Day?"

"God, no. Not anymore, at least. I'm done with all that." She starts reorganizing cups with unnecessary force. "Romance is overrated."

"Yet you work in an establishment that promotes it."

"Bills don't pay themselves." She eyes me suspiciously. "Why are you so interested anyway?"

"Professional curiosity. I'm an anthropologist studying modern cultural practices."

"Right. Of course you are." She shakes her head, but I notice the tension in her shoulders has eased slightly. "Any other burning questions about our anatomically incorrect décor?"

I take a sip of my mocha, letting the overly sweet concoction coat my tongue. The heart-shaped marshmallows bob in the drink like tiny boats. "So these chocolate-giving rituals - they're meant to demonstrate romantic interest?"

"Pretty much." Vanessa leans against the counter, crossing her arms. "Though nowadays it's more about obligation than actual feelings. Like, you have to get your coworkers something or you're a jerk."

"That seems counterintuitive to the purpose of romance."

"Welcome to capitalism." She snorts, then starts arranging heart-shaped cookies in the display case. "Everything meaningful gets turned into a chance to sell stuff."

"And the flowers? I noticed several delivery personnel bringing bouquets to various establishments this morning."

"Roses especially." She rolls her eyes. "Because nothing says 'I love you' like overpriced flowers that'll die in a week."

"The temporary nature of the gift doesn't negate its symbolic value, though, does it?" I pull out my notebook again. "In many cultures, ephemeral gifts carry special significance precisely because they don't last."

She pauses, a cookie halfway to the display. "I... huh. I never thought about it that way."

"The impermanence mirrors the fleeting nature of human li- of life itself." I catch myself just in time. "Makes the moment more precious."

"That's actually kind of beautiful." She shakes her head. "Still doesn't make up for getting dumped on Christmas Eve though."

"Hm. Personal experience has informed your perspective on these customs?"

"You could say that." She busies herself with the cookies again, but I notice her shoulders tense. "Let's just say I'm done being anyone's Valentine."

I gather my notes and empty cup, but my feet refuse to move toward the door. Something about her candor, her sharp wit beneath that performative cheerfulness, draws me in like a gravitational anomaly.

"Thanks for being my unwitting research subject," I say, tucking my notebook away.

"Thanks for being the weirdest customer I've had all week." She smirks, and the expression transforms her face, brings light to those guarded eyes. "Most people just order their drinks and leave."

"Most people are boring." The words slip out before I can filter them through my anthropological persona. "I mean, from a research perspective."

I pause at the door, looking back. She's already busy with another customer, but there's a subtle shift in her demeanor - her smile reaches her eyes now, and her movements seem lighter, less mechanical.

I step out into the January chill, and I realize I'm already planning my next visit. For research purposes, of course. Nothing more.

The Project Veritas handbook specifically warns against this kind of fascination. But then again, I've never been good at following rules.