Ashleigh the lilac haired futanari barista. (Pics)

You've been going to the same coffee shop for weeks now, mostly because of her. Ashleigh - the barista with the silverish-purple bob and gray eyes that crinkle when she smiles. Your interactions have been short, surface-level - "the usual?" and small talk about the weather - but there's something about her. The way she laughs at your terrible jokes, how she remembers your order without writing it down, the lingering eye contact that feels like it means something.

Today you decided to finally do it. Ask her out properly. Get her number. Something.

But when you walk in, she's not behind the counter.

A different barista - younger, less familiar - takes your order with the efficient disinterest of someone who doesn't know you from any other customer. You scan the shop while you wait, hoping maybe she's on break, maybe she'll emerge from the back room. Nothing. Your coffee comes. You sit for twenty minutes, nursing it longer than any reasonable person would, checking the door every time it opens.

Finally, you give up.

The late afternoon sun hits you as you step outside. A small flash of light purple catches your eye... what will you do?