A Winter's Tale
December

Andrew Wright, owner of W. Digital Communications, glanced impatiently at his Movado watch and tapped his well-loved Lobb Jermyn IIs against the coffee shop's terra cotta floor. The barrista behind the counter had better not mix up the order like she did yesterday, he thought peevishly. The too-sweet, too-spicy latte concoction gave him an instant headache the moment it hit his lips. He'd forced himself to swallow the hateful brew since he'd slept poorly the night before and rued the idea of being uncaffeinated during his toughest talk yet with one of the wealthiest magnates this side of the Thames.

Despite the dubious start to his day, by 3 p.m., Andrew, found himself on the receiving end of a hearty handshake with Draco Malfoy, the owner of Malfoy Enterprises himself, who'd asked him to return the following day to finalize their merger.

That was yesterday.

"Excuse me, miss? Miss?!" the hurried, business-like tone of the smartly dressed brunette in front of him brought Andrew back to the present.

"Miss? You gave me the wrong order yesterday. I accidentally drank the horrid liquid in my desperation for caffeine and it put me all out of sorts. I abhor Cafè Americano. Please make sure I receive the proper Hazelnut Latte today," the woman continued, her abrasive tone growing harsher with each passing word.

Andrew made a small irritated sound, no longer able to keep his thoughts to himself. Unfortunately, the brunette not only possessed a sharp tongue, she also had two equally sharp ears.

"I do beg your pardon, Sir, but did you have something you wished to say?"

Andrew gazed down at the bold woman with the upswept dark curls. She'd whipped around at the sound of his scoff. Her stance and tone made him feel as though she was poking an invisible finger into his chest as she made her piqued inquiry.

"Absolutely not," Andrew replied casually, running a hand through his dark wavy hair. His ever-changing hazel eyes observed her bemusedly, causing the familiar heat of annoyance at being left out of a joke to fill Hermione. She waited for him to continue before laying into this startlingly too-good looking Muggle man.

"The same happened to me yesterday, as a matter of fact," the fellow elaborated in his pleasantly masculine tones. "I happen to wholeheartedly agree with you. I, perhaps, wouldn't have been so scathing in my reprimand of the poor girl, but I do understand your caution since this time yesterday I had been forced to drink a perfectly good expresso unnecessarily diluted with some strongly flavored spices and cream. It wasabominable."

He shuddered, almost playfully, at the memory of the overly sweet taste. Hermione narrowed her brown eyes at his movement. His intelligent gaze caught her look just in time to discover her quite insulted.

"I don't suppose you enjoy Cafe Americanos?" she asked, drawing out the vowels in her inquiry.

Andrew nodded, a smile quirking his lips at her being so ruffled at his drink choice, "Guilty as charged. I'd wager you enjoy your expresso heavily doused with– what was that you said? Some sort of nut spice and cream, Miss–"

"Granger, if you must," she replied offhandedly. "Hermione Granger. And yes, you've sufficiently described my poison of choice. By the way, it is steamed 2-percent milk, not cream."

"Hermione," he repeated as though testing the flavor of an exotic treat against his tongue. "Named after one of D.H. Lawrence's characters inWomen in Love or Queen Hermione in Shakespeare's A Winter's Tale?"

Hermione stood staring at this man, clearly she must have been too swift in her judgment of him as just another vainly handsome, wealthy git. Maybe he was just another well-educated, vainly handsome, wealthy git.

"Impressive, Mr.–"

"Wright. But do call me Andrew," he invited amiably. "Was one of my guesses correct, then, Miss Granger? Or were you perhaps named after the saint?"

"I'm not sure, actually," Hermione shrugged, "I rather like the idea of being named after Saint Hermione, though I believe my mother might have been partial to Greek mythology while awaiting my arrival."

"Well then, perhaps, your mother would know that my name has some Greek heritage, too, had she been doing some study," his smile lit up his face and Hermione noticed a softening of his chiseled features. As they'd spoken, Hermione took stealthy notice of his expensive suit and how closely-tailored it was to his athletic build. He was a whole head taller than she, and Hermione was wearing her highest heels. His understated, swank accessories rivaled the cost of those worn by her arse of an ex-fiancè.

Certainly not a good idea to jump from the pot into the frying pan with this one, she thought, dismissing the rather tempting idea of pursuing this well-read, clearly monied Muggle devil who possessed the dark good looks of a grown up Cedric Diggory. She cast him a nonplussed smile at his mild flirtation, wiggled her fingers in hasty farewell, and moved further up the line, away from the temptation of him.

Andrew watched her withdrawal toward the front of the counter where her mass of dark chestnut curls was quickly lost in the crowd. He took two steps in pursuit, intent on satisfying a sudden curiosity about her left hand and whether it was adorned with a ring as bright as her mind quite obviously was.

"Order up!"

The barrista's call interrupted Andrew's movement and he changed course to gather up his drink. Preoccupied with scanning the room for this unexpected brown-haired siren, he reached out to close his hand around the cup's cardboard sleeve when the soft warmth of a feminine hand covered his. As soon as he felt her touch, a soft cry hit his ears, causing him to turn his dark eyes toward the sound and the startled gaze of the woman with the surprisingly strong grip.

Hermione Granger.

His smile went wide and his eyebrow arched as he took on a teasing tone, "About to abscond with my Americano again, Miss Granger? Or did you simply wish to hold my hand?"

She blushed prettily. "I thought it was mine..." Noting her fingers still over his she added quite flustered, "the drink, I mean, not your...er...your hand."

His attractive left dimple and dazzling grin froze her brain cells for a moment before she thought to reluctantly lift her hand away from his to examine whether the barrista marked the order on his cup. She made some production of looking for marks. The careful examination of nonexistent pen markings served a useful cover as she took more of him in.

The mere presence of this man, Andrew, was disconcerting, she thought to herself. He wasn't much taller than Ron, not much broader than Harry and certainly not as self-audulating as Draco. Yet his presence beside her set her all aflutter and she found herself unconsciously edging closer to the heat of him.

"Fancy a taste?" Andrew's deep sultry voice brought images of more than just coffee flitting through Hermione's mind. It had been a long time. Too long, really. She knew a good round in the bedroom would rid herself of her ridiculously randy responsiveness toward suave men of late. Certainly this fine specimen of masculinity might be just the one to wipe the memory of Malfoy from her mind, even if the obliviation would last only a short while.

Her lips twitched.

Andrew watched her curious behavior and squelched a groan when he heard the sound of a barely audible, needy whimper escape her. Captivated, his eyes were drawn to the sight of the tip of her tongue and his gaze followed it as she licked her lips in anticipation of a sip of his drink. Andrew glanced down, noticing her slim, shapely figure wrapped in a crisp white button down shirt and black pencil skirt. Her tall red heels certainly showcased her long lean legs. As he felt his body respond to the sight of her, he quickly concluded that it truly had been awhile since he'd been with a woman. And this brazen, dark-haired beauty certainly was intriguing.

"Hazlenut skim latte for Her.. uh..mee–"

Damn and double damn.

"That's me," Hermione snapped, annoyed to be so rudely wrenched from the deliciously surreal feeling of Andrew's hungry gaze raking down her body. "For goodness sakes! I come here everyday," she scolded, exasperated more at having to draw away from this enticing man than hearing her name mispronounced for the umpteenth time. "You'd think you'd get my name right by now! Honestly!"

She lowered her eyelids as she captured her cup between her hands and inhaled the spicy scent. She glanced up and flushed at finding the look of censure on Andrew's face at her admonishment of the coffee girl.

"Sorry," Hermione sighed, realizing her discourtesy. "I'm a real witch in the morning before I've had my–"

"-coffee," he chuckled, distractedly watching Hermione savor her first sip. "Well, no need to apologize to me," he said, gesturing toward the red-faced girl behind the counter.

"Oh! I do apologize–" Hermione offerred breathlessly, tilting her head to peer at the employee's nametag,"–Ashlee. So sorry."

"No worries, Miss. I get that sort of rude behavior all of the time," came Ashlee's unapologetic retort. Hermione grit her teeth, repressing the strong desire to retrieve her apology.

"Kind of you nevertheless," Andrew whispered in Hermione's ear. A shiver of anticipation went through her as she caught a whiff of his intoxicating cologne.

"It was nice meeting you, Andrew Wright," she said, discovering the strength to pull away and offer him a beguiling smile.

"Charmed I'm sure," he said, knocking his coffee cup against hers in a toast of sorts. He noticed a peculiar glint in her eye at his parting words. "Until tomorrow morning then, Hermione Granger."

Andrew turned to leave, making his way to the business meeting that was sure to change his life. As he strolled down the sidewalk, he wondered idly if it hadn't already altered course at this chance meeting of Hermione with the secret little twinkle in her eye.

Chapter End Notes:

This story not intended for profit. All characters belong to J.K. Rowling with the exception of my Muggle, Mr. Wright who cannot be copied because I already have him safely tucked away at home. :)