Dean Song isn’t exactly expecting to meet the woman of his dreams on his lunchbreak– or her cute daughter.

There’s a toddler sitting at the counter in front of the bar.

Dean blinks twice at the fluffy-haired kid sitting up with her chubby hands flat on the counter. He doesn’t even bother to resist the urge to rub his eyes. Neither that nor blinking them helps. The kid is still there, sitting up on her knees in a cherry red bar stool with chocolate sauce smeared over the brown skin of her face and a crayon tucked behind one tiny brown ear.

The thing is though, that maybe Dean is hallucinating this — this kid. Maybe he’s seeing things because no one else is acting as if she’s even there. The bistro’s waitstaff wander around the small space without looking at her and no one even glances in their direction as Dean watches the toddler eventually get tired and plop back down in her chair.

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