Espresso: A refreshing, energizing tale of a jaded businessman who thought he'd seen it all; and the young barista who showed him just how wrong he was.
Rated M for possible future smut and Artie's language XD Enjoy!
It was a cold, bleak morning in D.C. The constant drizzle that had enveloped the city the past few days gave rise to a gray mist that was cast over everything indifferently. People walked by, splashing dreary puddles of rainwater, shuffling along on their early commute. The concrete sidewalk seemed to be the only object that never changed amid the throng of business workers.
Arthur Kirkland was one of those business men, shuffling along in the never-ending crowd. His clean suit was mirrored in those of everyone else, making him feel like part of the background himself. God, I need a jump start this morning, thought the British gentleman, catching sight of a convenient coffee shop.
The marquee out front declared the shop to be "Liberty and Justice Coffee and Drinks", the words in a dramatic font over an American Flag. Patriotic spirit had apparently not died here, as the red, white and blue were flying outside, giving a hint at the interior of the small bar. Arthur sighed; Americans would never cease to amaze him in their strange ways, but seeing no other option, he pushed open the door. A bell jingled as he entered.
Inside, full murals of country landscapes decorated the walls, in fact, and eagle on an olive branch looked so real it was bound to fly off at any second. The rich smell of coffee scented the air. A large bar of finely-polished wood hosted only a few others, sipping a brew while leaning over the counter and a group over at a matching wooden table. Sitting behind the bar, hand-grinding beans, was the perkiest barista the Brit had ever seen. He was young, maybe 20 or so, with ash-blonde hair that had a stubborn cowlick in it and bright blue eyes framed by square glasses. The coffee-stained apron around his neck laid over a typical black t-shirt and jeans. Laughingly, he was chatting with the customers, making their days a bit brighter with his megawatt smile.
"Morning, sir! What can I get you?" the worker said cheerily, pointing at the towering sign of beverage choices; obviously he had the benefit of coffee on demand. Arthur stammered a quick "hello" before seating himself at the bar and picking out a black tea from the list. As the attendant jotted down his order, he caught a glance at the name tag. Alfred F. Jones
"Don't get much guys for tea 'round here, mostly they're full-blown caffeine addicts." The young barista commented, pulling a jar of tea leaves from under the counter. He expertly seeped the tea and poured it for an appreciative Englishman who was resisting the urge to correct his grammar.
Winking, the young blonde said with a fake and rather bad British accent, "One sugar or two, good sir?"
Arthur bit back a snarky comment and replied in his own natural British, "One, please. I'm not too fond of those sweet Southern teas."
The barista's blue eyes lit up when he heard the voice. "Wow, I don't get a lot of actual British people here. You'd have to be the first."
Sipping his tea, Arthur sighed. "Well, this has to be the first time I've been here. Actually, I don't believe I've seen this shop before." He sounded slightly condescending.
"That's 'cause we just set up a week ago! It's been doing a brisk business, mostly 'cause we're competing with a lot of Starbucks around here, but we have lower prices so I'm sure we'll win the turf war." Alfred chatted, socializing effortlessly. Usually, Arthur would have left by now, but he wanted to rest for a bit.
"Yes, indeed." Arthur replied tiredly, looking out the front window at the shifting crowd, reminding him of his own dull job, and for the slightest second, wondering what it would be like to work here. Quickly, he dispelled the notion with a sip of tea. It isn't half bad, he thought, fairly good tea, but it's rather easy to tell that the heart of this shop is set on coffee.
"Though I must say," Arthur said, adding to the conversation, "one doesn't encounter many baristas in a coffee shop who can properly brew tea leaves."
"Ah, you can tell?" Alfred smiled, as if Arthur had guessed the correct answer to a question, "My mother loved the stuff. Let's just say I got pretty good at making tea."
"Indeed. I take it the coffee is even better?" It was unusual for him to talk to complete strangers like this. Alfred, on the other hand, seemed overly friendly to a fault. Making conversation was easy around the talkative American.
"You bet!" Alfred's eyes lit up when Arthur mentioned the coffee, "I used to work in my Pop's store, and he knew all sorts of stuff about coffee. One of the first ones he showed me how to make," the barista pointed up at the menu, "was called 'cowboy coffee'. Y'see, I was kinda obsessed with being a cowboy as a kid, so he thought it'd be funny to teach me it. My mom never forgave him for letting a six-year old have some."
Arthur pictured a hyper child running around. Then, he remembered his job. "I can imagine. Thanks for the tea, but I must be off." He checked his watch, making sure he could get to work on time if he left then.
Alfred smiled and said, "Sure, I'll ring you up and you can 'be off'." The fake British accent made Arthur want to groan. Paying for his drink, the Brit opened the door, ringing the bell on the door as he left. He was in a hurry to stay on schedule and should have no time to talk to coffee shop employees.
The barista smiled. He hoped this wasn't the last he'd see of him. He wandered took a few new orders, pressing the espresso machine with a flourish and setting cups down. Wiping his hands on a cloth, the American wondered when he'd be able to serve tea again.
After work, the sky was a smoggy orange as the sun lit up the remaining clouds in the sky. Lights came on and illuminated the streets and sidewalks, simultaneously darkening the shady alleys. Arthur walked out of his building, planning to catch the subway back to his apartment complex. That was, until someone grabbed his shoulder.
"Well, what's a nice boy like you doing put this late?" A voice purred in his ear right before Arthur slapped the hand back, only to be rewarded with a creepy chuckle. "Non, mon cher, I won't let you get away that easily."
Arthur was pushed into an alleyway, facing the wall and breathing hard out of anxiety. He didn't know what was happening. What did this stranger plan on doing? He started trying to jerk out of the hold, but the mysterious man just chuckled in the same way as before, holding firm. Arthur was panicked, he wanted to scream but before he could the stranger placed a hand over his mouth, muting any attempts to call for help.
What the bloody hell is going on? Arthur though hazily as he felt tears of desperation well up in his eyes. He felt a hand undoing his belt and tried thrashing again, only to be pressure-pointed into submission. Nervous system in shock, he froze.
"Stop!" A new voice yelled, accompanied by a hard kick to the face for the would-be molester. Cursing, the captor stumbled away, releasing his hold on Arthur, who instantly broke away and ran out of the alley into the man who had just saved him.
He was wearing gray jogging clothes, which was about all Arthur noticed before he grabbed Arthur out into the streetlight. "Come on, let's run!" The rescuer half-pulled the dazed Arthur down the block, stopping at a bench on the sidewalk. The victim slumped onto the metal seat, breathing deeply as he tried to regain his composure. His savior sat down next to him and put his arm around the shaking Brit.
"I guess you're lucky I was on my evening jog, otherwise I'd be back at the shop." The hero said, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt down so that his face was revealed. He was a blonde, wearing square glasses containing bright blue eyes. It was the barista from the coffee shop that morning.
"Th..Thank you." Arthur stammered, unsure of how to react.
"I saw you on my jog and recognized you from this morning, and when you got pushed into the alley I sped up and tried to help. Looks like it worked." Alfred said, and Arthur was very aware of the arm over his shoulders, but that could be simply because of his close scrape.
After a few minutes, the Brit was composed enough to speak. "We…We should call the police-"
"Nah, the guy's probably long gone by now. You okay?" Arthur looked up at a concern-stricken face.
"I'm just fine. I'd better get home." Alfred jumped up to help right the unsteady Brit, who was trying to walk to the subway station.
"No, you're not fine. I'll come with you. My brother's taking this shift, so I'm free to help innocent British people get home." He winked, and Arthur grumbled.
"All right. I guess its fine." Arthur replied, making his way for the underground transport with a helpful American in tow.
It was surprisingly less cramped than expected on the train Arthur had taken, which he attributed to having narrowly missed evening rush. He sat in a seat while Alfred stood nearby, holding on to the top rail.
"So, I never really got to introduce myself." The barista said, holding out a hand, "I'm Alfred Jones."
"Arthur Kirkland." They shook hands; then Alfred asked a question.
"So, do you an apartment out this way?"
Arthur nodded. "Yes, it's not too far, so I usually walk to work."
Alfred's grin became a bit mischievous, "Got anyone waiting for you at home?"
The Brit sighed. "Probably just my cat, Crumpet. He's really my brother's but I took him in once Peter grew up and went to college."
"How many siblings? I've just got one, Matthew. We kinda co-own the shop, but Mattie really does a lot of the paper work while I do the whole employee bit."
"Ah, well there's four altogether, but I try not to think about all of them at once. Splitting headache." Arthur wondered why it was so easy to talk to Alfred. For someone he had just met that morning, he was awfully friendly.
"Can't imagine having so many. Mostly I had a ton of cousins. Fifty, can you believe it?"
Arthur raised his eyebrows. "Fifty cousins?" That was pretty impressive.
The barista smiled. "Yeah, 'cause my dad was one of five kids, and so was my mom. I had a whole bunch of family. We joked that there was one for each state. One of them was named Virginia, the oldest."
Arthur's lip formed a bit of a smile. "Quite interesting. I suppose you don't have a cousin named Minnesota though. Or Oklahoma."
Alfred chuckled a little. "We came close. Okie was his middle name."
A robotic voice interrupted the conversation. "Now arriving. Please do not block the doors and allow others to get past…."
Arthur got up. "This is my stop."
"I'll come with you. I should be able to get back in time, and if I come there early I always get roped into doing accounting that Mattie hasn't finished."
"All right." Arthur was fairly sure he could trust Alfred, after all, if saving someone doesn't qualify for their trust, what does?
They stepped off the subway and walked up to street above. It was more or less a nondescript D.C scenery, with the Washington Monument visible in the far distance and apartment complexes scattered around the sides of the road.
Arthur walked up to one named "Kensington Place". Walking inside, Alfred looked around at the interior. It seemed like your basic décor, a few fake trees, a sitting area, some old magazines. He followed Arthur up to the second floor, when the Brit took out a key and clicked it into the lock of apartment 203.
Arthur cleared his throat. "Well, thank you for helping me."
Alfred nodded. "Anytime. Wanna come by the shop tomorrow? I'll have tea ready."
"I guess I wouldn't mind." The door opened.
"See you then." Alfred turned and walked away, back to his coffee shop that, come the next morning, would have a pot of black tea ready for a visitor.
Riding back on the subway, listening to the rumble of cars against the metal rails, Alfred smiled. Now just to take the midnight shift and help his poor brother out.
The next morning, Arthur woke up at the usual 7:30. Arthur groaned as he got out of bed and dressed, tying his dark green tie in the typical Windsor knot.
Bending down to scratch his cat behind the ears, he paused before going to the kitchen. Crumpet was a Scottish fold cat, which meant that his ears comically bent down and gave him a characteristic look. He poured himself a bowl of Cap'n Crunch. Ever since he had first attempted cooking, the reviews from his family and friends had been less than satisfactory to say the least, so he decided to rely on simple things for breakfast.
Quickly eating the small meal and feeding his grateful cat, Arthur finally began his walk to work, descending the stair and picking up the daily routine, but this time, with a small difference.
The sky was a light morning blue. Bustling cars and taxis made a river of moving vehicles that mirrored the steady stream of pedestrians. The Liberty and Justice Coffee and Drinks sat where it had been yesterday, still decked out with the star-spangled banner and the bold smell of morning roast attracting it's fair share of energy-depleted workers.
Arthur walked in, surprised at the increase of people. There were a good ten or so more people sitting at tables, sipping drinks and resting among the paintings on the walls. Alfred's head appeared from behind the bar. "Arthur! Hey, it's started filling up in here after all! Come and sit down!" Alfred then took a few orders from oncoming customers and started pouring cups of espresso from a bronze machine, dumping ice, chocolate and coffee into a Frappuccino blender, and filtering drinks from a large pot. When the rush ended, he grabbed a white teapot and poured some into a cup and handed it to Arthur.
"Well that's quite the coffee making process, Alfred." Arthur said, sipping his tea.
"Is it ever." Alfred sighed. "I always know I can handle it, but it's still kind of a rush when everyone starts ordering."
"Frankly, I never knew there were so many ways of making a cup of joe." Arthur glanced over at the machines coating the countertop among bags of coffee.
"You'd be surprised. I sure was when my Pop showed me." The doorbell jingled and Alfred groaned a little. "More people. We're running low on French vanilla."
The American rushed over, took orders, pushed buttons, pour water, and began grinding coffee by hand. Arthur watched.
"Isn't it a bit unusual to grind them by hand?" In addition to grinding them by hand, Alfred seemed to be doing a jig as he turned the crank of what looked like a peppermill.
"Well sure, but when I need a proper coarse grain this is the only way to do it. Machines do it too fine." Humming a tune, Alfred was hopping around behind the bar, alternating his weight on his back and front foot.
"But, er, I didn't know you had to dance while doing it." Arthur said, looking on as several patrons noticed and giggled a little.
"You don't have to, but I always think it makes the coffee taste better." Alfred winked and stopped the jig, dumping the grains into a pot of boiling water. "Cowboy coffee. Coarse grain only." Some customers clapped and Alfred took a deep bow, smiling brightly.
"That is the most ridiculous dance I've ever seen." Arthur just shook his head.
"Then you haven't seen me dance that much." Alfred chuckled and sat down behind the bar, wiping his hands on a towel.
"I can't say I have. I only met you yesterday, remember?"
"Ah, yeah. That's true. Oh hey, give me your opinion on this, I'm trying to convince Mattie, but wouldn't it be cool to have a radio or something playing music in here? Right now it's just awkward silence."
Anyplace with you in it is anything by silent. "I suppose it might be nice."
Alfred got up. "That's what I said, but Mattie started going all old man on me, about how we don't need music. That's my bro, all right."
Arthur thought for a second. "But knowing you, you're going to get one anyways, correct?"
"Of course. Maybe even a live band, now that wouldn't be too bad."
"I doubt a band would fit into here. Quite the dreamer, you are." Arthur took another sip of his black tea, enjoying the flavor and warmth it brought.
"That's what Mattie says too." Alfred slumped down over the bar like a heavy drinker. "I guess I'm just that kind of person. Well, hey, when you're 21 the sky's the limit. If you don't mind me asking, how old are you?"
Arthur stirred some sugar into his tea. "I'm 25. Not too old."
"Could've fooled me. You act like an old guy." Alfred said, pointing at Arthur's forehead and the wrinkles there.
"Oh, come off it, you git." Arthur scowled and drank some more tea.
"What's a git anyways? I've always heard British shows use it, but I don't know what it means." Alfred said.
"It's more or less an idiot, moron, ignoramus…"
"Okay, I get it. What about 'bloody'? What's up with that?"
"I guess…"Arthur scratched his head, "It's similar to adding more emphasis."
"Really?"
They ended up having a rather pleasant conversation, interrupted by new orders which Alfred rushed to take care of. Arthur checked his watch and realized he was going to be late, but left with a smile on his face. It wasn't a bad thing, knowing Alfred.
The barista picked up a mug and wiped it a cloth as the doorbell jingled and Arthur left. He cast a glance over at his teapot, sitting among the coffee implements. It seemed like one peaceful object among the hustle and bustle of the shop. Sighing, he hoped Arthur would visit again soon.
A/N: I've got a good bit of this written, and new chapters as soon as I can manage. Feel free to R&R, I will hand out imaginary intangible cookies to those who do! XD