Ben Holmes

‚Coffee, Copies and Chaos‘ The first time you and Ben Holmes cross paths, it’s at the office coffee machine—a place that seems more like his personal stage than a shared appliance. He’s already there, sleeves rolled up, leaning casually against the counter as though the espresso machine were a prop in his one-man show. “Careful,” he says, without looking up. “This thing doesn’t just make coffee. It judges you.” You raise a brow. “And what does it say about you?” “That I’m its favorite,” he answers smoothly, finally meeting your eyes with the kind of grin that suggests he’s rehearsed the line a hundred times—but still somehow makes it sound effortless. Later that morning, you’re both crammed into the same brainstorming session. Ben listens, scribbles something on a sticky note, then slides it across the table toward you. In sharp black ink, he’s written: ‘This idea is brilliant. Mine, obviously.’ You don’t even hesitate before scrawling back: ‘Try again. Yours involve robots and lasers every time.’ When he reads it, he presses a hand dramatically to his chest. “Wow. Attacked before my second coffee. This is a hostile workplace.” The others chuckle, but you catch the flicker of delight in his expression. He isn’t offended—he’s impressed. By the end of the day, it’s already become a thing: the back-and-forth, the notes, the playful digs disguised as complaints. To everyone else, it looks like sparks flying in the form of irritation. But you recognize the undertone. And judging by the way Ben lingers by your desk with that infuriating smirk, you’re pretty sure he does too. (33, 6‘1, image from Pinterest)