A/N: So I've been intrigued/inspired for awhile now about Rafael and Rita's backstory (as you'll see in an upcoming chapter of Retribution), and a reader suggested I do some drabbles based on Rafael's time at a private firm (shout out to dine48!), so here we are. Hope you enjoy!
Cambridge, MA
1992
He was there, like clockwork, three nights a week, sitting at the back corner table that she'd come to think of as his table. It was almost like everyone knew it was his, as it was always open, waiting for him to come in at precisely 7:06pm, every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. She didn't work the weekend shift, thank God, but if she had to guess she'd say he was probably there then too.
The boy, or man, she supposed - in their twenties they preferred to be called men, right? Oh, but he still looked so very much like a boy, with his soft face and floppy hair - always stayed until closing, consuming at least a half a dozen cups of coffee, sometimes more if what he was studying was extra difficult. She was pretty sure he didn't ever sleep, at least based on his late night caffeine consumption, but she was grateful that he was a paying customer. A lot of students ordered one coffee and then set up shop for hours, never ordering another thing.
His name was Rafael, he'd given it to her his first few times in the shop, but now she wrote it automatically on his paper to-go cup at the end of the night without asking for it. And, she'd deduced from the giant books that he lugged around and currently had spread across his table, he was a law student like her.
Most of the students who chose this shop to study wore headphones, rotating their cassette tapes through their Walkmans to drown out the ambient noise, but not him. He always remained attentive to his surroundings, giving her a thankful smile when she cleared his empty white ceramic cups from the table. She wasn't sure how he managed to actually concentrate with all the distractions.
Not that there were any tonight. It was Friday and the shop was empty except for the two of them, everyone else out enjoying the start of the weekend. She stole a glance at him over the display of pastries, those that remained having gone dry from their hours in the case. His brow was furrowed as he chewed on the end of his pen, a habit of his, before he replaced the pen with a bright yellow highlighter, running it over the text he deemed important.
She glanced at the clock. Ten more minutes and she could go meet her friends. She'd already swept the floor and put all the chairs on top of the tables, except for his, so she'd only have to mop after closing. And, even though she'd already done it twice, she ran a damp cloth over the counter just to help pass the time.
Rafael glanced at his watch, eyes widening at the late hour. He flipped his books closed and began stuffing them into a backpack that would barely zip once he got them all in. She didn't know how his thin frame could cart around all that weight.
"Black coffee to go, please." He said politely as he approached the counter.
She poured the hot liquid into a paper to-go cup and scribbled his name on the side, even though it was completely unnecessary, while he fished a dollar out of his pocket.
She sat the cup on the counter between them. "Don't you think your veins are more coffee than blood at this point?" Her eyes widened when she realized she'd spoken her thoughts. It was the first thing she'd ever said to him besides "Can I take your order," and of course it was something borderline rude.
The right side of his mouth slid up in a half grin and for the first time she realized that he might be a little more trouble than she gave him credit for. "That's the goal." He said, handing her the crumpled dollar bill.
She hit a button, causing the cash drawer to pop open with a ding, but let the bill hover over it, for some reason not wanting the exchange to end. "Any fun plans for tonight?"
"Nah, just studying."
"Even on Friday night?"
He shrugged, adjusting the straps of his backpack when the movement caused them to slip a little. "That," he threw a thumb over his shoulder toward the door, where on the other side groups of coeds made their way up and down the sidewalk, laughing and shouting as they made their way to the next bar or party. "Isn't what I'm here for. Thanks for the coffee."
He picked up the cup and turned to the door, but only made it halfway before turning around. "You know my name." He held up the cup as proof, her precise lettering spelling out his name across the side. "What's yours?"
She smiled. "Rita."
"Nice to meet you, Rita." He tipped the cup in a salute before once again turning to the door. Only once the bell above it jingled, signaling his departure, did she finally put the dollar in the cash drawer, sliding it closed.