Papadopoulos & Sons: Surprisingly fic-writable. SPOILERS AGAIN. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: If this was mine, I would be a gentleman called Marcus Markou and this would be substantially better written. I am not, and it is not; my apologies, for this is not mine.
"You're sure you don't mind?" Katie treated Hassan to a bright smile.
"Not if you don't. Just don't tell Mehmet, yeah? He'll only feel guilty about it." Hassan shrugged; that much was true.
"Alright, let me show you how it's done." Selling kebabs, it turned out, wasn't very different from selling fish, and Katie soon got the hang of it.
"Damn, wrong shop." Katie laughed as Phil the Till walked in, took one look at her, and turned back towards the door.
"No, this is the kebab shop, Phil. See the apron?" He hesitated, turning to scan the menus, before he met her eyes again and grimaced.
"Er, yeah. Wrong-"
"I won't tell Dad." He relaxed suddenly, digging in his pocket for his wallet.
"Thanks, mate. Lamb doner then, yeah, with everything. What are you doing this side of the street, anyway?"
"Covering for Mehmet. He's gone off with Dad and James to look at shops and the usual replacement's busy or ill or something. Sophie's covering for me at home, with Laki. So it all works out." By the time she'd explained all that, Hassan was already handing over Phil's order and he left looking none the wiser.
"Mr Ali?" The thing about working in a shop like this was that there were frequent lulls. "Can I ask you something?"
"Yes, only if you call me Hassan." It wasn't the first time he'd suggested she use his first name.
"Yeah. Do you really not like Greeks?" He chuckled.
"Who told you that?" She shrugged, absentmindedly swiping a piece of lettuce from its bowl under the counter.
"Mehmet said that was why you sent him to spy on us."
"I'm glad I did. Look how happy you are, you two. No, I'm sure your father would laugh to hear me say it, but I am a businessman too." Katie stared at him blankly. "It isn't that I don't like Greeks. I don't like competition."
"So now we don't do kebabs, we're OK?"
Hassan gestured to the customer who'd just come in that he would be a minute, placing a hand on Katie's shoulder.
"You've been OK for a while, Katie. You make my son happy and you make me happy. Don't doubt that." They dealt with the customer - Katie hoped they were ordering for a group, but at least having to chop more onion meant she had a good excuse for her teary eyes - and settled back to chatting behind the counter.
"So last time I saw you you were gonna tell me a cute story about when Memhet was a kid..."
"But then he came back, yes. Well, once when I was at prayer, he climbed right up on top of my shoulders..."
When Mehmet came home later that afternoon, he found one of his many Aunties helping his dad run the shop, and his girlfriend leaning against the counter, beaming. She burst into a fit of giggles when she saw him, throwing her arms around him as his dad skilfully distracted his disapproving Auntie.
In the park a few minutes later, she remembered to ask if they'd found a place.
"Yeah, we did, yeah. And me and James spotted some stuff your dad reckons he can use to get the price down." Katie raised an eyebrow in disbelief.
"James spotted some stuff?" He shrugged, embarrassed.
"Well, OK, mostly me." He pressed a kiss to her cheek. "I love you." She looked at him then, startled.
"You too. Why are you being all soppy?" He shrugged.
"Dead romantic, me." He pulled her down to lie in his arms on the grass. "Plus I ran into your uncle's mate, Phil? Sounds like I owe you one."
"Oh, shut up. Pay me back in kisses." So he did.