Work Text:
Today, in another universe, Paul will wake up, walk to work, and be delayed by a crowd of people, singing and dancing. He will be called into his boss’s office, and leave with the horrifying fear that the world is turning into a musical. He will make his way to Beanie’s, only to be forced to flee for his life, and he will take Emma with him.
But this is not that universe, and that is not what happens. Instead, Paul has a perfectly normal commute to the office, and when he is called to his boss’s office, it is to face a much more common problem.
“I needed your weekly reports yesterday. I have a meeting in 10 minutes, and I was counting on having your statistical analysis. You’re not a bad worker, Paul, but if you make another slip-up like this…”
Mr. Davidson spends 4 minutes chiding Paul. For not having the reports, for not being social enough with his coworkers, for not participating in any office events, for a variety of little things Paul never realized mattered. By the end of the conversation, one thing is clear - Paul still has his job, but he’s on thin ice. He dreads the thought of going back to his cubicle and facing his coworkers, but it seems like exactly the wrong time to leave the office for coffee. So, rather than making a retreat to Beanie’s, he resigns himself to another day stuck behind a desk, wedged between Bill and Charlotte. Ted is hanging around Charlotte’s desk when he gets back, so he turns to Bill, desperate to avoid getting caught up in their conversation.
“So...how was, um, Mamma Mia?” Paul asks. Bill starts a bit, surprised by the question, but turns his chair to face Paul.
“It was nice...Alice and I got into a little squabble about dinner, though. It’s just, I only get one week a month with Alice, but she just wants to spend her time in Hatchetfield with Deb! I’ve told you about Deb, right?” Bill says.
“Yeah. She’s the one who…”
“Smokes pot, yeah. I’m sure of it. Any time Alice is with her, she always comes back smelling like weed. Anyway, I tell Alice to bring Deb to the show, and then afterwards, I decide to take Alice to Red Lobster.”
“Oh, is it still her favorite?” Paul asks.
“Yeah! And it’s Crabfest and everything. But apparently, Deb’s a vegan. So Alice doesn’t want to go unless there’s vegan stuff on the menu, and I have no idea whether or not there is, but I didn’t want to admit that in front of Deb because I was pretty sure she would get annoyed, and then Alice would get annoyed that she was annoyed. I had to sneak out to the lobby during intermission and google vegan options. And then we got there and Deb didn’t like the lobster tank, and luckily she didn’t make us leave. But seriously, Alice was ready to skip out on her favorite restaurant just to spend one extra evening with her girlfriend! I just...I feel like I’m losing her, Paul. I don’t like that Deb. But never mind me, how’s your day going?”
Paul relaxes into the comfortable dynamic of chatting with his best friend, and regales Bill with his troubles with Mr. Davidson. By the time he’s done, Ted has left and Charlotte has returned to work. Or returned to looking at cat videos on the internet. Paul returns to his computer to finish his weekly reports, making extra sure they don’t actually go to anyone else’s printer like he’d claimed. True to his word, he does make sure to get them to Mr Davidson by the end of the day, and if he conscripts Melissa to do it rather than face Mr. Davidson again, well, what does it really matter anyway?
Paul is downright exhausted by the time he drags himself out of the office - Ted had dragged him into another inane conversation at lunch, the office coffee machine had broken down, and at about 3:00, someone in the office had started playing music without headphones. To top it all off, an email that needed an immediate response came in right as he was supposed to be getting off work, and by the time he’d finished, he’d stayed an extra half-hour. A part of him wanted to go straight home, but an even bigger part of him wanted to go to Beanie’s, especially since he’d skipped his usual mid-morning trip. He’s pleased to see that Emma is still behind the counter, and even more pleased to see that literally no other customers are there.
She grins when she sees him, waving him over.
“Hey, nice to see you again. Paul, right? The guy who doesn’t like musicals.”
He chuckles somewhat nervously. “Yep! That’s...that’s me! Can I just get a black coffee and then I’ll be out of your hair.”
She says, “I’ll do you one better,” and reaches under the counter, producing an iced caramel frappe. She slides it over to him. “On the house.”
He stares at her. “But this...this is my favorite. How did you know?”
She winks. “I’m psychic.”
“No, but seriously, how did you know?”
“Okay, fine, you got me. I’m not psychic. Your friend, uh, Bill? Yeah, Bill. He came by a little earlier, said you’d had a tough day at work. Mentioned you were probably going to stop by soon, since you didn’t come this morning. I asked him about it.”
Paul takes the coffee, suddenly feeling a little guilty for refusing to go see Mamma Mia. He’d have to find a way to make it up to Bill. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet, rummaging through it.
“Uh, dude,” Emma cuts in, “it’s on the house, remember?”
He pulls out a 5 dollar bill. “No, this is, uh, a tip. Like I said, you know, people should...tip.” He notices the sign is still up. “So, speaking of tips, how’s...how’s the singing thing going?”
She grimaces as she took the money. “Ugh, don’t remind me. I mean, I’m not the only employee who doesn’t like it, but none of the others share shifts with me, so I’m kinda outnumbered. And Nora thinks it’s gonna, I dunno, be the shop’s ‘thing’ because people associate singing with Cold Stone so it’ll give us a competitive edge or something? But it’s stupid to base our ‘thing’ off of a different place! Especially since it doesn’t really work well for Cold Stone either, ‘cause like, most Cold Stones drop the song thing after a few months anyway. And just because the one in Hatchetfield hasn’t reached that point yet, Nora thinks ‘the singing coffeeshop’ is a viable idea, and Zoey and all her little theatre friends back her up, and now I’m stuck singing for every rando who comes through here, half of whom are just creepy old dudes who want to see if I’m gonna do a dance in my uniform!” She looks up at him and seems to deflate a little. “Sorry, sorry, here I am rambling about how bad my day has been when I know you had a crappy day too.”
“No, don’t worry. It’s fine.”
She shakes her head. “No, let me make it up to you. Tell you what, go sit down. I’m off work in 5 minutes, and then once I clock out, I’ll come over and you can rant about your day to me for as much as you want.
He finds himself smiling, maybe his first real smile all day, and does as she says.
After that, it becomes surprisingly easy to shift his routine from going to Beanie’s during his break to going after work. He falls into a new routine - he goes to Beanie’s, orders his coffee (decaf if he has work the next day), sits by the windows, waits for Emma to clock out and come over, and then they chat until the night shift workers decide it’s been long enough since he finished his coffee and kick them out. Sometimes she takes her hair down from its bun and he pretends not to stare at the way it catches the light from the lamps that hang outside over the windows. She learns that he used to babysit his friend’s daughter and that he doesn’t participate in any company events if he can help it. He learns that she recently moved back to Hatchetfield and that she’s taking weekend classes at a local community college.
Two weeks into this routine, it is Emma who finally breaks it, in the form of a receipt. Paul doesn’t notice anything or think about it when she hands it back folded up, and just slips it in his wallet with the other receipts. It is Emma who has to tell him, several minutes later, when she slides into her seat across the table from him.
“Did you look at the receipt?” she asks him, smiling. The smile is new, somehow different from any previous smiles of her’s that he’s seen, but he can’t place why. Looking back later, he will realize that the smile held a touch of nervousness, an emotion he is unused to associating with Emma Perkins.
“Not yet,” he says, pulling it back out of his wallet. He unfolds it to find something written on it. Not a phone number, though. “What is this?”
“It’s my address - you’ll need it when you pick me up Friday evening for dinner.”
He stares at her for a second, unable to do anything but blink. “Uh…what?”
She chuckles, and it’s not a pretty, musical laugh like so many stories talk about, but it’s real, genuine, and that makes it one of the best sounds he’s ever heard. Who needs music, anyway? She looks at his confused face and replies, “It’s a date, dumbass! You were never gonna work up the courage to ask me out, so I had to do it myself!”
“A, uh, a date?”
“Yeah! Look, Paul,” and she reaches across the table and gently takes one of his hands, “I know why you keep coming to Beanie’s, instead of just going to Starbucks, and it’s not ‘cause you like our shit coffee. 7:00 on Friday, don’t be late.” She stands up and presses a kiss to his cheek before heading out the door.
And if Paul spends a whole half hour before he goes to bed just staring at the address on the receipt, well, it’s not like anybody’s ever going to know.