Shane pulled his baseball cap down, further covering his eyes, hid behind his newspaper when he noticed a couple girls at the next table peaking over at him. He'd been camped out at the corner table since morning and had, for the most part, avoided recognition. Under serious pressure from the label to finish the album and even more serious writer's block, Shane decided to search for the environment he always used to find inspiration in – a coffee house.

Every move he made was watched by millions of people, but when it came down to it, he was just as much a people watched as any of his fans. It was the little things that got his creativity going – the way a girl brushed her hair over her shoulder; a businessman juggling his coffee, briefcase, wallet, and cell phone; the look on a waitress' face when she got a really generous tip…or a really lousy one. He started his morning at a café a few blocks away, but the atmosphere just didn't feel right. But as soon as he stepped into this place, he felt right at home. He was yet to be stricken with an incredible idea, but he'd been scribbling down some lyrics here and there throughout the day.

"Miss, this isn't what I ordered!"

Shane peered over the top of the sports section at the annoyed man at the register. Nice suit, black leather briefcase, Bluetooth on his ear, Blackberry glued to his hand...obviously a Wallstreeter on his lunch break who thought he was the most important man in New York City. A lot of them came in around this time.

"I ordered a cappuccino. This is a latte."

"I'm sorry, sir…I'll make you a cappuccino, it will just be a minute," the waitress told him.

She was obviously timid, but tried to hide it with a smile. She was pretty, even with her long, brown hair thrown under one of the black baseball caps that all the employees wore.

"I don't have time for this!" the man exploded. "This city doesn't run itself, ya know!"

Shane stifled a laugh. The way the man tried to draw attention to his important and powerful job, like that was going to get his cappuccino made faster or something, was most likely code for he worked for someone important and powerful. Maybe it wasn't even his cappuccino – he was probably just making a coffee run for his boss.

"I apologize, sir…let me just…" she stuttered.

The man let out a dramatic sigh. "This will have to do. But I'm not paying for it. This was your mistake, you can pay for it."

He stormed out of the café before the waitress had a chance to say anything.

"Okay…" she said to no one, annoyance obvious in her voice. And, just in case it hadn't been obvious, she complimented it by rolling her eyes.

Another employee came over and whispered to her before taking over the register. Shane turned his attention back to the newspaper, pretending to be engrossed in an article about the New York Islanders – he preferred the Rangers. He replayed the confrontation in his head, and he felt bad for the waitress. He hoped she wasn't going to get fired or anything. It wasn't her fault this city is full of egomaniacs. Especially the financial district…

"Iced Peppermint White Chocolate Mocha with soy milk and an extra shot?"

Shane looked up and saw the same waitress smiling at him, drink in hand.

"Um, no…that's not what I ordered," he told her sympathetically.

"Damn," she said under her breath. "Was I at least close?"

No, he'd ordered an Espresso Macchiato. "Yeah, really close. Actually, that sounds better. Thanks."

She let out a relieved sigh and set the drink on the table in front of him. "Sorry…it's my first day."

"Really? I couldn't tell," he lied.

He examined her pretty face. She had the most striking brown eyes he'd ever seen. There was something about her voice that he liked, too, and the way she spoke. It was very trusting, very comforting.

"I don't believe you, but thanks for saying that anyways," she replied genuinely. "I'm really only working here because they let me play here on Saturday night."

That sparked Shane's interest. "Play? Are you a musician?"

The waitress blushed a little. "Yeah…well…I mean, I don't even know if I'm any good or anything, but…"

"Hasn't anyone ever told you?"

Her face turned an even brighter shade of red. "My mom does…"

Shane hoped she didn't mistake his smile as condescending. She was very enduring, and he found her confession adorable. He knew how she felt. He'd been there once, too. "Well, I could tell you."

"What? No, I'm sure you're totally busy," she said quickly. Her frustration was kind of cute. "I mean, you're Shane Gray, you must have so many more important things to do than spend Saturday night sitting here listening to me…"

"Nope," he interrupted her. "I have no plans tonight. At least, I didn't until now. What time should I come back?"

Her eyes widened. "Um…I start at eight, but…"

"I'll be here."

She sighed and smiled, giving up her argument. "Okay."

"Wait," Shane said as she started to turn and leave. He opened his wallet and handed her a five dollar bill. "For that guy's cappuccino. Or…latte, I guess."

She blushed again, hiding her face in her hands at the thought of her mistake and the subsequent overreaction. "No, you don't have to…"

"Somebody does. He deserves it. Didn't you hear him? He's the most important man in the world," Shane joked.

This made her giggle, which was his intention. She had an innocence about her that he found very refreshing – not many people in the music business could be described as even remotely 'innocent'. But at the same time, he could tell that there was something more to her, and the mystery intrigued him...inspired him.

"Thanks," she smiled at him genuinely for the first time, taking the money from his hand and shoving it into a pocket on her apron. "Have a nice day."

"Wait," he stopped her again as she tried to walk away. "You didn't tell me your name."

"Oh…" she replied, embarrassed. She glanced down at her hands nervously. "Mitchie…my name is Mitchie."

A/N: I can't decide whether I'm going to leave this as a one-shot or turn it into a multi-chapter, so…it'll probably just stay a one-shot for awhile, unless I come up with an actual plotline.