Chapter Text
“Venti quad shot mocha with whip for Penelope!”
The coffee shop was tightly packed this morning, bodies pushing in from all sides in search of heavily caffeinated sugar-milk to start their day. Penelope tried to squeeze her way to the front, hand extended as she reached for the hot steamy goodness waiting for her at the counter. Only to find some random dude with a broccoli mullet grabbing it.
“Excuse me, are you taking my drink?”
“Uh, lady, this is mine.”
“Your name is Penelope?”
“What?”
“That’s a venti mocha for Penelope,” said a tall, muscular drink of water with perfect teeth and beautiful warm sienna skin. “The barista literally just said what it was and who it was for.”
“Nah, this is mine; they just finished it.”
“That’s funny because the cup you’re holding says ‘Penelope’ on the side,” she pointed. “Spelled correctly and everything.”
The broccoli mullet sneered and shoved the drink at her. “Whatever lady.”
He turned back to the counter, tapping his heel impatiently as he kept scrolling his phone (which was probably what led to his confusion in the first place - him not freaking paying attention, the entitled little asshole). Penelope put him out of her mind and turned to the man-god who had been willing to step in to help her.
“Thanks for the assist, big fella.”
Those perfectly straight, bright white teeth made another appearance, dazzling her. Usually facial hair wasn’t strictly her thing, but there was something about his sculpted goatee that did fantastic things to his face and it was working for her. Everything about him was working for her, actually, from his completely shaved head to the fit of his plain cotton tee and black tactical pants to his well-worn black boots. He looked like he gave good hugs… after a night of other close-type holding that he’d obviously be very skilled at.
“No big thing, mama,” he shrugged. “You had it handled just fine, but uh, I was a little afraid you were about to nail him to the wall.”
“Oh, so it was one of those ‘dicks before chicks’ things.”
“Not quite. If you got too worked up, you might not take my number.” He held out his hand - large and thick fingered and strong enough to make her stomach burst out into butterflies. “Derek Morgan.”
“Penelope Garcia,” she responded, unable to stop the delighted smile crawling across her face.
“Blackeye with whole milk for Derek!”
He eyed the counter and slid interested eyes to her again. “Wait for me by the sugar station?”
Penelope bit the side of her lip, trying to rein in some of the delight she felt. This delicious piece of man wanted to talk to her? Well lord almighty. “I guess I can do that.”