Chapter Text
Samira stumbles across the coffee shop by accident.
She’s watching the tail of the bus whip around the corner, chest heaving with exertion following her short, ill-fated run to the stop when a woman emerges from a faded red door tucked away into a brick facade on the corner. She’s carrying a cup of coffee and a blueberry muffin that makes Samira’s mouth water as she recalls her skipped breakfast and the measly protein bar shoved into the bottom of her bag.
She’s stood at this bus stop every morning for nearly four years and never noticed this coffee shop once. Maybe it’s new. Or maybe she’s been so wrapped up in her routine that she never stopped to look up.
Glancing down at her phone she does a quick calculation: It’s approximately a 12-minute bus ride to the hospital and another three or so minutes to walk from the stop on the corner down to the emergency department entrance. With buses running every 15 minutes, she should still be able to make her shift on time. Shoving her phone back into her pocket, she makes her way to the corner, slipping through the door behind an older man.
It’s cozy inside, and much larger than she’d assumed from the bus stop.
There’s a few worn leather armchairs tucked into the corner near the door and two small tables both occupied by early risers, their laptops already open and clicking away at the keys. To the left of the entrance the shop stretches on but instead of tables for patrons, the walls on this side are lined with four floor-to-ceiling shelves overflowing with books.
Ahead of her, the line pushes forward and her eyes snap back to the menu above the counter.
She’s not particular about coffee, preferring tea when possible, but the realities of being an emergency medicine resident have forced her to accept any and all forms of caffeine available to simply get through her shifts. The limited menu boasts of single-origin coffee beans from Colombia (whatever that means) but no tea.
Sighing, she skims the list of available options, settling on a flat white.
Ahead of her the man continues his long, meandering conversation with the person making his cortado and she taps her foot impatiently, sneakers squeaking against the floor with each bounce of her foot. Her phone says she has 10 minutes until the next bus.
Finally, he moves aside and Samira steps up to the counter, meeting the eyes of the man behind it.
“How are you this morning?”
He has a steady charm to him, something that instantly soothes her frayed nerves over the bus. Maybe it’s the light hazel eyes, sparkling at her through a pair of black square frames, or maybe the soft smile on his lips. His teeth are a little crooked and she can’t help but find it endearing. Streaks of auburn glint off of his styled salt-and-pepper curls, the early morning light catching and illuminating the reddish strands.
“Um, good, thanks,” she says, reorienting herself back to his eyes. He holds her stare, chin tipping forward as if she’s the only other person in this coffee shop.
“What can I get started for you?”
She nods toward the menu. “Just a 16 ounce flat white, with oat milk if you have it, and a muffin, please.”
The man nods, punching her order into the iPad in front of him.
“That’ll be $7.82.” He tips the screen toward her and she taps her card.
She steps back from the counter to wait for drink but the man’s eyes flick up toward hers, pinning her in place.
“Have you been in before?” His head tilts to the side, eyes genuinely curious. She follows his stare toward her backpack on her shoulder and then to her hospital badge and back to her face.
“No,” she shakes her head. “First time.”
His mouth splits open, a grin overtaking his face.
“Well, welcome.”
She smiles back politely, moving out of the way as he sets to work on her drink. Another glance at her phone tells her she has 7 minutes until her bus. She shoves it back into her pocket, trying to tamp down her growing anxiety.
Logically, she knows being late to one shift will not end her career. Especially considering she’s at least thirty minutes early most days, already on the floor when Robby arrives to corral the ED. But she feels off-balance, her carefully structured routine thrown into flux by an extra few minutes in the shower this morning which led to her scrambling to her stop where she watched her usual bus race down the street without her.
The man seems to notice her impatience and he nods toward her phone.
“In a hurry?”
Her answering smile is tight, contained. The kind of smile she gives the other residents and students when they try to rope her into a conversation she’s not interested in.
“Kind of, yeah.”
The man just nods, shoving the sleeves of his grey crewneck up his freckled forearms and refocusing on pulling the second shot of espresso from the machine.
There’s something soothing about watching him work. She’s fascinated by the way his hands seem to move from task to task, just a half-second before she sees the thought register on his face. It’s clear that this– coffee– is something he’s good at, something that comes naturally. His brow furrows just a little as he steams the milk, the freckles on his forehead disappearing into each other as the skin wrinkles in concentration.
Within seconds he slides the cup and a muffin across the counter to her, expression smoothed and that smirk back on his lips.
“Hopefully, I didn’t throw your day off,” he says, brushing his hands against the towel attached at his hip.
She grabs the cup, palm immediately warming pleasantly from the coffee inside.
“Thank you,” she says, meaning it.
She feels as though he’s handed her back just a little bit of her sanity and control of the day. It’s silly, really. It’s just a coffee.
Turning on her heel, she walks quickly back through the shop, gaze wandering briefly to the bookshelves, a part of her curious what she might find on the shelves, before pushing out of the door. At the far end of the block she can see the teal of the city bus and she lets out a sigh of relief, shoulders dropping just a fraction.
This bus is a little busier than her normal one, the seats filled with the first trickle of office workers making their way downtown. She manages to find a seat near the middle next to a woman who smiles kindly as she moves her bag for Samira to sit down.
Finally settled, she lifts the cup to her lips, taking a small sip. The foam slips past her tongue, silky and smooth and just a little sweet in a way she hadn’t been expecting. She takes another drink, letting the espresso pool on her tongue. Just the taste of it seems to wake her up a little.
Turning the cup in her hands she looks down at the logo imprinted on the brown sleeve. Beneath the outline of a coffee cup and an open book is one word, stamped in hunter green.
Abbot’s.