Chapter Text
When the door clangs open, signaling the first customer of your first shift, you watch the (younger, much prettier) barista training you snap to attention and stride to the counter. It was only 6:30 in the morning, and you couldn’t fathom how this girl had so much energy in her. On top of it all, the spring air was affecting your seasonal allergies, and the Benadryl you’d taken was adding to your tiredness.
“Good morning!” Emmy chirps, eyes wide and smile stretching to her ears. “What can I get started for you?” Behind her back, she twists her fingers to beckon you forward. You walk up behind her, watching her tap on the screen in front of her to type in a new order.
Emmy’s alertness almost emphasizes the dark circles under the customer’s eyes and the way he took a second to respond to her, like he was still processing what she’d said. His glazed eyes pan over to you, then back to Emmy, then to the menu.
“Let me get a… uh… Y’know, let’s do a regular roast with… Is there sugar over…”
“You can add in your own sugar over at that station!” Emmy gestures to a table that sits to the right of the counter, where various sweeteners and creams awaited those with a sweet tooth.
“Right.” He pushes his glasses up his nose with a knuckle and swallows. “Just a large regular roast, then.”
“We’ve just got a new hazelnut roast in, if you’d like to try that?”
Behind Emmy, you roll your eyes. You were not really on board with the upselling tactics she had encouraged you to use.
“Yeah, why not?” He fumbles in his bag for his wallet, eventually coming up with a loose five-dollar bill and placing it on the counter. “I don’t need change, thanks. I just—“ he pointed to the other side of the counter “—wait over there?”
“Yes, thank you!” Emmy turns to you. “This one’s easy. The coffee’s already made, we just need to pour it.”
“I can handle that.” You pick up the kettle labeled “Hazelnut Delight” and begin to pour.
Emmy’s voice carries over to you, though she was talking to the customer. “You want room for cream, hon?”
“No, thank you.”
You finish pouring— a full cup, no room for cream— and bring it to the counter. “Here you go.”
He takes the coffee from you, gave you a quick, jolty nod, and then walks over to the sugar and begins dumping a considerable amount in.
“So, what’s your novel about?” Emmy asks. She was making herself a coffee. Probably only half-listening. Still, your chest flutters at the prospect of talking about your novel.
“It’s a romance. Academic rivalry— two professors butt heads on everything except each other’s well-being. I’ve been working on the ol’ realization scene lately—“
You’re interrupted by a cough from across the cafe. The customer stares into his cup, hands wrapped around it, mouth half-open. You and Emmy held still for a moment, watching him, then— he looked up.
“I’m… I don’t want to bother, I’m sure you’re busy…”
Before Emmy could move, you cross over to him. “Is there something wrong with the coffee?”
“No, it’s delicious, it’s… real… hazelnut…y…” He looks back down, face and neck flushed red. No, wait. Not flushed. He raises a hand to scratch at the growing rash. “I just may have forgotten that I have a tree nut- mild! A mild tree nut allergy.”
Emmy immediately shrieks, “Oh my gosh, why didn’t you say so?!” She pulls out her phone and begins frantically typing. “Jesus Christ, I’m calling 911!”
“That’s not-!” He trails off as she runs into the back room. “…Necessary…” He turns back to you, face now entirely red. “Look, I won’t go into shock or anything, I’m gonna be fine, just…”
And you mentally thank the San Francisco spring air for upping its pollen count. “I’ve got Benadryl.”
“Oh, perfect.” He waits— a little too patiently— while you search for the Benadryl in your bag. You finally scrounge it up and hand a pill over. “Thanks.”
“Yeah, of course.”
He puts it into his mouth and raises his drink to wash it down— the coffee. The fucking idiot-!
You smack the cup out of his hand, splashing hot coffee all over the counter, your apron, and his shirt, just as Emmy comes back up front, panting.
“They’ve got someone coming— what the hell is happening up here?”
The customer looks down at his shirt front, then at the cup. He lets out a quiet laugh and runs his hand through his hair. “No harm done. I’ve got a— there’s a shirt in my backpack.”
Emmy stands stock-still for a moment or two, mouth wide open and staring at the gradually growing coffee stain on this poor man’s button-down. “Are- are you sure?!”
He waves her off with a quick smile. “Honestly, this one stopped me from re-drinking that coffee. Is that a word?” He tilts his head, brow furrowing.
Emmy can barely muster an “Oh. Okay,” before she excuses herself to the back again, mumbling something about, “let them know there’s clearly nothing to worry about”.
Once the door closes behind her, you turn back to the customer and dryly say, “So, are you on our rewards program?”
To his credit, he gives you a small chuckle. “No, afraid not. First time here. Noticed this place on my ride— uh, drive to school. Not a student, a teacher. Me. Yeah.”
He lapses into silence, staring into the empty mug.
“And you forgot to brew your coffee this morning?”
“Yep.”
“In your Keurig?”
This time, he really laughs. “Please don’t tell me I give off ‘I have a Keurig’… vibes.”
You shake your head no, suppressing a smile. It breaks through anyway. He’s still breaking out in hives.
“Did you want some water? For the Benadryl.”
He nods, and you head over to the sink, filling a paper cup with water. You also find the regular brew and fill up a cup for him, then slide both over. He mutters a “thank you” before taking a drink of the water. A bit spills out of the side of his mouth and he quickly wipes it away, avoiding eye contact with you.
“So,” you say before you can stop yourself. “You teach at the middle school?”
“I didn’t—“ He looks back at you, brows furrowing again. He looks like a golden retriever that’s had a treat dangled in front of his nose for just a bit too long. “I didn’t say which school.”
“Lucky guess. Grover Cleveland is two blocks from here.” You lean your elbows on the counter. “Apparently, we get a rush around 8:15. Tired parents that just dropped off their kids.”
“I bet.”
“So, you beat the rush.”
He takes a swig of the coffee and presses his lips together. The hives look calmer, though Benadryl doesn’t act very fast.
“Well, at the end of the day, if those kids put you through the ringer, you’re welcome to come back.”
What are you doing? your subconscious screams. Yes, you admit, he’s kind of cute. But you’re on the job.
“I just might.” His voice pulls you out of your thoughts and you snap your focus back to him. “I’m— uh, my name’s Mr.— sorry, Ryland Grace.” He runs a hand through his hair again and huffs. “Sorry, I think I’m already in teacher mode.”
“It’s fine.” You both stare at each other for a moment before you remember the social convention that usually follows someone giving you their name. “I’m—“
“Yeah, I got it.”
“Huh?”
He points to the name tag on your shirt.
“Oh. Right.”
“Well, nice to meet you.” He picks up his coffee and does a little “cheers” motion. You’re pretty sure you can see him internally cringe.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Ryland Grace.”
He rolls his eyes— actually rolls his eyes, like all the way around— and turns to the door. “Thanks for the Benadryl!”
He’s gone by the time Emmy joins you back up front. “He’s okay?”
“Seems like it. He’s fine— okay.”
Emmy laughs. “You’re gonna have a great time here.”
He didn’t come back for another week.
Not that you were tracking.
But bright and early on the next Monday, at 6:30 a.m. sharp, the bell over the door tinkles, its musical notes reaching through your earbuds and alerting you to a customer.
“Welcome in, what can I—“ You cut yourself off as you watch Ryland shuffle in, taking measured steps up to the counter.
“Hi,” he said, pressing his palms into the laminated menus taped to hardwood.
“Hi?”
“I meant to…” He lifts a hand to scan over the options. “Can I have a large coffee? Regular.”
You nodded, gears turning in your head as he stepped back and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’ll get right on it.” You step away from the counter and turn to the kettle, where the fresh brew is just starting to cool enough to be drinkable. You pour the coffee into a to-go cup and spend far too long trying to get the lid on— your hands are trembling.
“I’m sorry,” Ryland interrupts your thoughts. “I meant to come back earlier, but one of my students— they got the stomach bug, and so I was out for a couple of days, and then I didn’t want to get you sick, so I figured it was best if I hung back.”
The to-go cup is warm in your hands, and you focus on steadying it. “That’s… gracious of you.” You turn back to him and set the coffee on the counter. “I’ve got emetophobia real bad, so…”
“Shoot, I didn’t… activate it, did I?” Ryland’s eyes flick over yours, wide and alarmed. “I’m sorry—“
“It’s fine!” You push the coffee over and he grabs it, almost too quickly. A bit of coffee splashes out of the hole in the lid, but he lifts the cup and licks the spill away. Fortunately, he doesn’t look at you, because your mouth drops open and you have to quickly regain control over your face.
“Whoops,” he mutters, wrapping both hands around the cup.
“Enjoy,” you say, still attempting to force your mouth into an easy smile.
He doesn’t seem to notice the effort it takes, and shoots back a little half-smile, where just the left side of his mouth twitches up. You notice. You don’t like that you notice.
“Oh!” Ryland swings his backpack up onto the counter and unzips a small pocket, from which he pulls a little foil packet. “I brought you some replacement Benadryl.”
“Oh, that’s very sweet, but you didn’t have to—“
“No, I know it’s a pretty expensive med. Didn’t want you to miss a dose or anything.”
You elect not to mention that it’s a. An over-the-counter med that you could grab at any time, so you wouldn’t “miss a dose” and b. It’s an as-needed med that you don’t take every day. But the gesture is, indeed, very, very sweet.
“Thank you.” You take the packet from him and are about to slip it into your pocket when you notice a paper taped to the packet. “And what—“ Ryland’s face is now a very, very deep shade of red— “Do we have here?”
You unfold the paper and find a string of ten digits written in careful teacher-approved handwriting on the back, along with a much more hastily scribbled Ryland Grace.
“And he gives me his number!” You smile at him, not forced this time. “Smooth, sir, very smooth.”
“Yeah, cool, text me anytime, let me know if new… uh… non-tree-nut flavors of coffee come in, or whatever!” He picks up the coffee and starts backing towards the door, nose very cutely scrunching up. It takes you a second to realize that he’s trying to shift his glasses up his nose without using his hands, and your heart does a very traitorous ka-thump ka-THUMP at the movement.
“I will,” you promise, and then he’s out the door. You sigh, shake your head, and take out your phone to type his number in.
———
hey u up?
is this my favorite barista?
What if it is?
I’d have to say hi, and thanks for the free coffee
Oh shoot
Emmy’s gonna kill me
I can come in tomorrow and pay for it
That’s not necessary I promise
I don’t want to be the reason Emmy kills you
Is that the other barista?
I knew you liked her better than me :P
Nonsense
You’re the right amount of tired in the morning, she’s a little brutally chipper
Not exactly an early riser over here
But you’re a teacher?
I can do it for the kids
And he’s good with kids
charmer
I’m not trying I swear
Also I would like to apologize for my very bad opening text message
What do you mean
I mean that’s usually a proposition
Only realized after I sent it
It is? Oh I have some people I need to apologize to
Specifically all of my friends in high school
Anyway I didn’t think it was
Still apologizing
Well I accept your apology
Thank you
Are you coming by tomorrow?
What, you want to see me again?
Nah, you said to text if we got new flavors, and we just got a vanilla bean brulee in
Neato
I should hit the hay, see you at 6:30?
Groovy :D
———
Ryland drops his phone onto his chest and lets out a massive huff. “Neato?” he says, smacking his forehead twice. “Is that what I’ve been reduced to? Neato?”
He moves his phone to the bedside table and plugs it in. The screen lights up, reading Charging — 24%. He rolls back onto his back and closes his eyes, hoping he can at least get seven or so hours. But his brain is running at a million miles a minute, overanalyzing every moment of his conversation this morning and the one just now.
It’s ridiculous. He has a doctorate in molecular biology. He’s a sixth grade science teacher that knows how to spot a sixth grade crush. Unfortunately, he’s currently spotting one in himself.
After fifteen minutes of tossing and twitching, he sits up and find the melatonin on his bedside table. Two go down with a water bottle that’s been sitting out for who-knows-how-long.
“Get it together,” he mutters, settling back in and pulling his quilt up to his neck. “She’s just making you coffee.”
It takes another thirty minutes for his racing mind to relax enough to send him off to dreamland.