A/N Pffft what? This isn't a coffee shop au! It is a bistro au thank you very much :p. Anyway, the nations are regular old humans in this story. Hope you like it!
Disc: I don't own Hetalia
I push open the glass door, and the bell tied around the handle jingles. A young girl looks up from behind the counter and smiles. "Hello sir! Welcome to Becca's, the finest bistro in all of New York City. Please sit anywhere and I'll be with you in a moment."
I mumble a thanks, and sit down near the window, watching the waitress' curly hair bob up and down with her movements. It's a dreary day, and the grey rainclouds look like they're ready to burst, but I thought I should get out of the house anyway. I don't usually go to restaurants (unless Francis sets me up on a date), so it's a bit of a treat to come here, even it is just to get some work done. At least the place is quiet. In addition to the comfortable looking couches, there's a fireplace going in the corner, and whole bistro smells like cinnamon. Maybe this new atmosphere will give me some inspiration for the article I've been assigned. I hope so, because I've been staring at a blank page for three days now.
The bouncy haired waitress smooths out her yellow apron and walks over to my table. "Can I take your order?" She asks.
I'm not especially hungry, so I say, "Just some tea, if you have any."
"Okay! I'll have it ready for you in a couple minutes." She spins around and attends to the other tables. In the meantime, I unpack my laptop and open up a new document. However, no matter how long I stare at the blinking cursor, I can't seem to find anything interesting about the efficiency of new factory machines. A few minutes later, Ms. Curly sets a cup of hot water and a rather poor selection of tea bags on the table. I go for the standard: earl grey. I'd hoped they'd have more of a selection, but then again, this is the United States. I suppose it doesn't really matter though, as long as it's something warm to drink.
It's been about an hour and a half, and I've written a couple decent paragraphs, when the sky finally breaks open. The rain comes down in sheets, drenching anyone and anything in its wake. A few of the people in the restaurant turn towards the window and raise their eyebrows a bit, but no one is too troubled about the storm. As I watch the raindrops on the window, I see a man sprinting towards the restaurant. He has his brown jacket pulled up to cover his head, and is still completely drenched. Why didn't the idiot take an umbrella with him? I frown. The sky's been looking gloomy all day. The man rushes inside Becca's and shakes out his hair like a dog. Ms. Curly gives him a similar greeting to mine, asking what he'd like to eat, but he replies with "Oh no, it's okay, I'll wait to order when my date gets here. But, do you maybe have a towel I could borrow?" He grins, and I am suddenly ever-so-slightly jealous of his 'date'.
Ms. Curly grabs him a towel and he plops down a few tables away from me. Great, now I'm never going to finish this article! I think, trying to watch the stranger from behind my Mac. A strand of his blonde hair sticks up straight out of his head, regardless of the fact that the rest of his hair is soaking wet. When he takes off his glasses to clean the rain off the lenses, I can see that he has blue eyes. I'm not really sure what makes him so interesting, he's just an ordinary guy, but something about the way he smiled at the waitress, and how his wet shirt clings to his body makes me unable to take my eyes off him.
If Francis were here he would say 'Go talk to him! What are you waiting for?'. But even so, I wouldn't dare do something so foolish, especially when I know the man has a significant other. I feel bad for staring at him, and somehow manage to turn back to my article.
Thirty minutes have passed, and still, the blonde man's date hasn't shown up. He keeps checking his phone, and twiddling his thumbs on the table. Ms. Curly quietly asks him if he would like to order any food yet. He shakes his head. "No, I'm sure they'll be here soon. I bet the rain just made them late or something." Why anybody would be late to a date with him, I have no idea.
The restaurant closes in an hour, and I know that the blonde's date stood him up. I think he does too. He stopped checking his phone for messages after sitting for an hour. Ms. Curly has started to clean up the other tables. We're the only three left in the restaurant.
Once she's finished clearing plates, the waitress walks up to him. "Listen, um," she starts.
"Yeah, I know. He's not coming." He stares down at his table. Did he just say he? Or is my mind playing tricks on me? My heart leaps as I realize I might have a chance with him.
"Do you want to order any food before I start to close up?" Ms. Curly asks. I have to say something.
"I don't think so. Thanks anyway." He mumbles as he pulls on his jacket.
"I'm really sorry about this," Ms. Curly says. "I've been stood up before too." He nods and moves towards the door.
The little Francis in the back of my mind says 'What are you doing?! Don't let him get away!'. As he reaches the door, I stand up and say, "Wait!"
He stops and turns back at me. "Hm?"
"I know we've never met, but," I pause. "But, since, you're not doing anything right now, do you maybe, want to get dinner?" He's silent, and so am I. I feel my face going red with embarrassment. What was I thinking? Why would a man I've never met before want to go on a date with me?
"Yeah, sure!" There's that smile again.
"Wait, really? B-But we've never met before so I thought you'd-" I say, flustered. I didn't expect him to say yes!
"Hey, you're the one who asked me, remember?" He says. "Besides, I didn't really know the guy I was supposed to have a date with that well either."
"W-Well alright then!" I say.
"Hey, you'll never believe me, but I happen to know the best bistro in all of New York. They close in an hour though, so we'd better be quick!" He laughs. "My name's Alfred, by the way."
"I'm Arthur."
Ms. Curly gives us some menus, and we talk the whole time. Alfred is funny and sweet, and by the end of the night, both our faces hurt from smiling so much. I didn't know it was possible to feel so connected to somebody after just meeting.
"Hey, Arthur?"
"Yes?"
"I had a really nice time with you. Do you maybe want to go out again sometime?" His face turns red.
"Well, I'll have to make sure my schedule isn't overbooked, but I'm sure I can fit you in somewhere." We laugh, and Ms. Curly waves goodbye as we exit the restaurant. Looks like that article will have to wait for another day.
A/N Well, that's all folks! Thanks for reading this cheesy ass thing (/) and please leave a review with your thoughts or advice! 3