the missed connection

Noah, where are you?

Let me set the scene.

I was feeling good. I was feeling in my element. I hadn't heard from my situationship and I didn’t really care. I mean, I didn’t even know it was a situationship at that time. But still, I was feeling myself.

And I had this urge, this intuition, to go to Starbucks. And I never go to Starbucks anymore. Not that there’s anything wrong with going to Starbucks. Well, maybe there is, in a corporate way, but anyway, I went. I got my oat latte and I was waiting for my egg sandwich and croissant by the window.

I looked out onto the street, and then I saw him.

The most attractive guy I’ve ever seen in my neighbourhood. He had wavy brown hair, a five o’clock shadow, and clear-framed glasses, and I never like guys in glasses, but I liked him. Or I thought I did. Or—I mean—at least I was attracted to him.

He was also wearing socks with Birkenstocks, I regret to admit, which I didn’t hold against him because I figured he just rolled out of bed. Or at least I thought he was cute enough to give him — a perfect stranger — the benefit of the doubt, especially one that was so disheveled.

Anyway, here I was, basically ogling this (hot) schlump of a man. Was I ovulating? Maybe. Who cares. There was something about him that just sort of stuck. I didn’t know if he was going to walk in. I hoped he would walk in. And lo and behold, he did.

Then my name was called, and as I was getting up to get my croissant, I looked up, and he looked up, and our eyes met. And, BOOM. I hadn’t had an eye gaze like that in a long time. One where I felt something. It was an instant something. A spark. A legitimate eye-fuck, and it felt really good.

He moved over closer to get his coffee, and I had just received both my croissant and egg bites. And I was like: what do I do? Do I leave? Do I not leave?

I didn’t want to not leave. But I also didn’t want to make it too obvious. I didn’t bring a purse, and so I really just did not have the room to carry my egg bites, my croissant, and the latte. Basically, I couldn’t hold a conversation even if he did say something—I needed a tray, or another pair of his hands (it would’ve been nice if it were his hands) and a plan. So I decided to eat the croissant and—hopefully—also wait in the interim for him to make a move.

He had turned to look at his phone, then back at me, and I was waiting for that moment. That moment where he says hi.

But that hi never came.

His fancy black Americano—or whatever the heck it was, something fancy, probably — came up. He clearly was a coffee aficionado. I mean, he looked the part. That casual, almost “hipster”-like quality (again, which I did not hold against him).

And then I saw it. I saw his name on the cup: Noah. (A sexy name!)

Another sexy Noah. IYKYK

He grabbed his coffee. He was still waiting for his breakfast sandwich. I was still waiting, too. For him to say something. Anything. But eventually, I was like: I can’t wait any longer — I’ve already eaten my croissant! This is too obvious.

And I don’t like being obvious—not too obvious, anyway. I have standards to uphold. (Well, at least some.)

At last he grabbed his sandwich, and that’s when I bolted for the door. I thought, if I went before him, I wouldn’t make it too clear that I was following him. I thought, maybe he should follow me instead. That might work.

He followed me outside.

And I was waiting. Waiting for him to catch up. I couldn’t walk any slower if I wanted to. I turned around, and I saw him. So then I did my best to sashay a little bit. Maybe persuade him to catch up. I wanted to look back again, but I couldn’t keep looking over my shoulder because that would not only be too obvious, but also really not safe. There’s a lot of pigeons in my neighbourhood (don’t ask).

Anyway, I walked a couple more blocks.

I looked behind me.

And Noah was gone.

I went home, feeling disappointed but also…reinvigorated. I thought, why should I let go of this spark? If this were the early aughts, I’d be posting on Craigslist right now about my Missed Connection.

Which, by the way, is making a comeback:

Suddenly, finding Noah became my mission. Noah wasn’t just some guy anymore. He was my white whale in a sea of “not ready for commitment” or “still figuring out my options” men on Hinge.

So I did what any sane, stable adult woman would do—I tried to find him.

First, I posted on my Facebook community page. This wasn’t about desperation—it was about curiosity. About possibility. I mean, how often do we share that kind of moment with a stranger? That little spark, that eye contact that lingers a second longer than it should? And then we let it go? What if?

Then I went on Threads. A gentle “Noah, if you’re out there…” Nothing too cringe. Just hopeful. It felt like something out of Sleepless in Seattle. Like Annie Reed, sitting in her car, listening to a man on the radio and thinking, what if?

What if Noah was my destiny?

Yes, okay, fine, the what-ifs were clouding everything.

But, whatever. Maybe I really was ovulating. Because Rom-Com Brain had officially activated. But who says rom-com moments can’t happen in real life? I’m a writer, for crying out loud. If I don’t experience this in my real life, then how on earth will I be able to write about it?

So then…the piece de resistance.

I went on Craigslist.

Craigslist.

I haven’t been on Craigslist since, I don’t know, 2010? I half-expected it to infect my laptop with malware just for opening the tab. And yet…I did it. I posted. I hit “publish.”

And guess what? I wasn’t the only one! There were others on there, looking for their missed connections too. Other people still believing in the what-ifs, in crossing paths, in fate.

As we know, people are tired of our current dating culture. Tired of dating apps, of swiping, of algorithms that don’t know your favourite coffee order. They want sparks. Serendipity. Glimpses of someone across a room or a sidewalk or a Starbucks.

And I was one of them.

Because maybe he’s not just some guy named Noah in Birkenstocks-with-socks with a fancy coffee order. Maybe he’s the plot twist. Maybe he’s the Sam Baldwin to my Annie Reed.

Spoiler alert: we’ve never actually met. After a few weeks, he's still a mystery to me. (And yes, of course, I've gone back to Starbucks a few times. I mean, who wouldn't?)

But no, we haven’t run into each other. Our paths haven’t crossed, and no one’s gotten back to me on any of my shout-outs. And maybe it’s better that way because maybe it wasn’t ever really about Noah.

You know, I used to—and maybe I still do—think I live in a fantasy too much. I have a Pisces rising. I'm a writer. I'm an artist, and I'm someone who now writes rom-coms. So of course I'm looking for that movie magic. And I think maybe all of us are.

Sometimes women get a bad rap for being able to build a relationship out of a glance and a name on a coffee cup. But what happens if it's a gift and not a curse? I mean, of course it would be a curse if he turns out to be married—or worse, a finance bro. But what if believing in something bigger than ourselves—in a love that is unexpected, that isn't according to a dating algorithm, that comes from taking a chance—what if that is what really living is about?

That's what I think about when I think about why I met Noah.

Noah was just a metaphor. A symbol. A guy for me to believe that I don't have to be swiping on my phone to meet a match. The sign that there’s still magic and sparks in our life. Whether they become something or not is besides the point because they don’t have to become anything at all.

The point is to look up from your phone. The point is to believe in something. And the point is to try it out. You never know.

I don't regret posting on Threads, or Facebook, or even Craigslist (fingers crossed I don’t get some weirdo DMing me!). I think I would regret it more if I didn’t try at all. If I didn’t believe in anything. If I didn’t believe in happy endings. If I didn’t believe that something could maybe change my life—something that started with a Starbucks, and a name on a coffee cup.

I think that’s what Noah taught me, and I’m grateful for that.

And Noah, if you’re out there: I like a venti latte with oat milk. Hot. Almost as hot as you. LOL! Kidding!! (but, maybe not?)

Thanks for being here!

Love, Brie xoxo

P.S. ✨ If you’ve ever built a whole love story in your head after a single glance, you’re in good company. Hit the heart 💛 if you've ever had a “Noah,” or share your own in the comments — I want to hear them all.

And if you want to hear about the other ridiculous things I’ve done for love (or lust) — including one that’s got me questioning whether I’m still 16 — that’s coming next week for paid subscribers.

Because let’s be honest: the crush never really dies, it just gets more complicated.

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