He had come into The Daily Grind coffee house on Sansa's first official day as a barista, and his order was the easiest she had filled all day: black coffee. Unfortunately she only managed to blurt out an incoherent "Okay," and later cursed herself for failing to greet him properly or offer the day's special to him.
Suddenly Sansa realized she had to ask him for his name for the cup. "Your name, sir?" She felt her a rush of warmth to her cheeks.
"I'm no sir," the man growled low as he followed her gaze to the tattoo of three dogs on his forearm. There were other letters and numbers there as well, which Sansa did not recognize. He tipped her chin up to meet his eyes, not ungently. "You're not from around here, are you?"
"I-I'm new in town." Sansa stammered, her cheeks flushing hotter by the moment.
The man chuckled low. "You don't say. Just put down the Hound, girl."
He smirked as he watched her mouth fall open. The Hound? What kind of nickname is that? His dark grey eyes seemed to linger on her lips before he ducked his head once more and moved on to the cashier. He has a Scottish accent, she noted as she watched him hurry to the nearest corner; it was a detail that made him all the more interesting in Sansa's view. For as long as she lived in Kentucky (which admittedly had only been less than a month) she never heard anyone speak with a Scottish accent-or any accent other than the regional drawl, for that matter.
For some reason, Sansa felt mysteriously drawn to him, though she could not say why. The enigmatic Hound occupied her thoughts the rest of her shift and throughout her evening classes at the Kentucky School of Medicine. So preoccupied was she that she could not focus on her homework that night, instead staring at the blank notebook in front her and daydreaming about her most unusual customer.
The man had a most imposing demeanor and muscular build, and, she blushingly admitted to herself after he left, the way his jeans hung low on his hips and his Carhartt t-shirt clung to his muscular chest like a second skin sent a wave of arousal through her. He had long black hair that fell to his shoulders, obscuring her view of his face. He stood head and shoulders taller than everyone in the small shop, the man seeming to fill the tiny space with his presence. Yet, he also seemed as though he was trying not to draw attention to himself, for he never removed his sunglasses and kept his gaze fixed on the screen of his smartphone as he waited for his order.
The following day Sansa hurried off to work, all the while hoping he would return the next morning, as so many of the customers did, so she could apologize for her lack of manners. Sure enough, the so-called Hound was there at the same time and it was then that Sansa understood why he tried to hide behind his hair and glasses: gruesome burn scars covered one side of his face, twisting his flesh in a most alarming manner.
Unable to control herself, Sansa leaned in and carefully studied his scarring. It did not appear to be new, and she wondered how he acquired it.
The man watched in disgust as her eyes traveled to his temple, across his chin and down to the corner of his mouth. "Like what you see?"
"Oh, forgive me for staring, but I couldn't help notice that-" Sansa stammered, spilling the coffee she was pouring in her haste to explain. Would she never stop offending the poor man? The lead barista Margaery cast her a withering look.
The Hound snorted at her, his lip curling into a wicked grin. "That's it, chirp your courtesies, little bird. Chirp, chirp." He made a fluttering gesture with his hands.
Sansa scowled at him then.
"Do I frighten you so much girl?" He asked seriously.
"No, it is not that at all. Forgive my rudeness, but I was noticing the scars on your face because I am studying to become a nurse. Eventually I would like to work at the burn unit at Doctors Hospital in Augusta."
The smug look on the man's face suddenly fell.
The scarring around his mouth was cracked and glistening. "You look to be in pain-is it so? Are you still receiving treatment?" She asked softly.
Margaery glared at her from across the floor, where she was helping her brother Loras pick a gourmet blend. "Sansa, don't grill our customers, please," came her sing-song request. "You must forgive our newest employee, sir."
"Don't fucking apologize for her. She told the truth, which is more than I expected from anyone else here." The Hound offered Sansa a slight grin, the movement twisting his scars further. "No, I'm not receiving treatment and yes, it fucking hurts like hell sometimes."
That much Sansa could see with her own two eyes. She longed to know how he got such awful burns-was it a car accident? A mishap at a gas station? He must have been very young when it happened. There were several hospitals in the south that could help him. She bit her lip to keep from asking more questions, and so she turned to look at Margaery, whose shocked expression made Sansa want to laugh out loud.
"Well if you're interested, I'd like to help you. Here, it is on the house, Hound." She smiled her first genuine smile at him as she handed him a Venti black coffee. She then gave him a small container. "This is a lemoncake."
The Hound glowered at her. "You needn't give me shit because you feel sorry for me, lass."
"Not at all," Sansa schooled her face into a bright smile. "It is a reward for being my first customer."
Sansa watched his jaw tighten as he took it from her, their fingers touching slightly as he did so. "The name's Sandor, Sandor Clegane, little bird, not the Hound." He stood there, waiting for what Sansa did not know; the people behind him began to fidget impatiently but she didn't care.
He told me his name! "I'm Sansa Stark." She answered, trying hard to keep a cool demeanor.
"Many thanks, Sansa," he muttered before hurrying out of the coffee house. Sansa did not get to see the grin on Sandor's face once he was outside, the man tracing his finger over the dog Sansa had drawn on the lid with a balloon above his head that read "Woof!"
They went on this way for several weeks, the two sharing banter and Sandor slowly revealing bits of information about himself, until one day, he did not show up at the usual time. He did not come the next day either, or the next, and Sansa did not see him again for nine months.
Sansa spent the time wondering, worrying, and coming up with all kinds of scenarios that explained his absence. Could she have offended him without knowing it? He didn't seem to mind her openness but what else could explain in absence? She hoped he was not ill with an infection, for having open wounds was very dangerous to one such as him.
One day in late September, Sandor walked through the door, and the sight of him brought a great sense of relief over her. The first thing she noticed was Sandor's hair was now shorn close to his head, and he that he looked even more muscular than before, his huge frame outfitted in brown and tan military fatigues. When their eyes met, his mouth quirked into the same grin he gave her when she had told him her name.
"Sandor Clegane," Sansa happily clasped her hands together. Her obvious eagerness caused Margaery to roll her eyes. "I-I am so relieved to see you. I wondered what happened to you. I hope I did not cause you offense."
"No," he removed his hat. "No, little bird; you're as sweet as the lemon cake you gave me." Sandor licked his lips as he allowed his eyes to roam over her figure. Sansa was glad she took the time to iron her new fuchsia dress that morning. "I was deployed with my unit a few days after I last came in here." His words sounded forced, hollow and his normally keen eyes wore a somewhat blank expression.
"And where were you sent?" Sansa asked while preparing his usual order. Her heart fluttered in her chest as she raised her eyes to his: deep grey, smoldering and staring directly at her with all his might. I feel as though he knows what I look like in my slip.
"Sansa, we do not grill our customers." Margaery shook her head, breaking Sansa's reverie. "You might be a college girl but you're a slow learner."
Ignoring her, Sandor ducked his head and muttered, "Afghanistan. Kandahar, to be exact."
A chill moved through Sansa, and she could not help but gasp audibly. "Truly? You went to war?"
"It's not supposed to still be a war; it's a drawdown, they call it, but yeah," Sandor shrugged once more. "They can call it whatever the fuck they want but it's still war, you best believe that."
"I do believe that," Sansa answered sadly. "I-I did not know you were in the military." That was stupid, she berated herself. She had only known him three weeks-she knew virtually nothing about the man. "Welcome home."
If Sandor thought her words foolish, he didn't let on. "The Army 101st airborn, 1st Brigade Combat Team is where I serve. My time is up in a year hence." He cleared his throat. "Here in town I work for a construction outfit that gives me time off to serve. I haven't gone home yet. I had to come here first and see if you still worked here."
"Well, I do," she grinned, holding out her arms to display her Daily Grind apron. "Not for long, though. I will get my nursing certificate in the winter and then I will have to intern. I'm not sure I'll be able to manage both."
"Oh, aye." He fumbled with his hat. Sansa could see it was a strain on him to be in a crowded place. The line behind Sandor grew longer by the minute.
A sudden boldness overtook her. "Sandor, would you please come back in three hours? My shift ends then. I would like to hear more about your trip, if you don't mind." She reached over and placed his coffee in his hand, offering a gentle squeeze on his massive wrist before pulling away. "Perhaps we could go somewhere less crowded."
Stunned, his eyes darted down to her hand. "Aye, I'll see you then." Sandor paused, swallowing hard as he moved on to the cashier. "Mayhap we could sit by the water for a bit."
"I'd like that," Sansa beamed, handing him a piece of lemoncake. "Here, this is my favorite dessert. And please, you needn't pay-it's on the house."
"For fuck's sake, what's a man got to do to get coffee around here? Dress up as some soldier boy?" A young man outfitted in an Armani suit huffed loudly. "Sell it in the street on your own time, Red-I've got clients to meet!"
Nervously Sansa went back to pouring coffee, while Sandor turned sharply and glared at the businessman. "Shut the fuck up, pretty boy, before I shut your mouth for you. Apologize to the lady."
Fearfully the man stammered out an apology, after which Sandor settled the man back on his feet. "I've known your bloody type my whole life." He sneered as he flipped the man's suit lapels derisively while bringing his face in closer still. "Useless. You think your money and your fancy cars and your high paying career means you're entitled to something more than a man like me. Well bugger that, and bugger you. You speak like that to her again and I'll cut your tongue out." Sandor then stalked out the door.
Startled, Sansa stared after him with her mouth agape, while Margaery hurried over to her.
"That's enough for one day. Go home, Sansa," Margaery hissed into her ear. "If anyone says anything, I'll tell them he just got home from the war. And make sure your boyfriend learns some manners before he comes in again, will you?"
Without a word, Sansa took off her apron and left the coffee shop, brushing past the man who insulted her in her haste. She caught up with Sandor just as he was about to climb onto the back of his Harley.
"Sandor-wait!" She waved after him, hurrying as fast as she could manage in her platform sandals.
Frowning, Sandor turned off the engine and removed his helmet. "What happened, Sansa? You get fired?" He put down the kickstand. "I'll go back in there and bloody well-"
"No, no," she gasped out. "I'm not fired. Margaery sent me home for the day and I'm glad she did." Sansa could not help but beam at him as she spoke, her cheeks flushing as brightly as her dress. "We could go by the water now, if you don't mind, or maybe grab a bite to eat."
Sandor stared at her for a moment, and just when Sansa thought she had made a terrible mistake, he nodded slowly. "Aye, we could. Let me go by my place and get squared away first and then we can be on our way."
"O-okay. I guess I could wait here, or-" Sansa wasn't sure how she felt about going to his place, or if he even meant for her to go with him. She felt her cheeks flush once more.
Sandor frowned slightly and then made a noise that might have been a laugh. "You'd rather wait here than go to my place?" His eyes were focused on her lips again; slowly, he reached out and brushed the back of his hand against her cheek. "You blush so easily, lass. Sure I don't frighten you?"
"No," she whispered shyly and then shuffled closer to him. "I am not afraid of you…I like you." Sandor stared at her with such intensity that Sansa made up her mind at once. "And I'd very much like to see your place."