Spencer breathes in the smell of freshly ground coffee as he waits patiently in line. This hole-in-the-wall coffee place looks like another other on the block, but they've earned his recurring patronage through their ability to consistently avoid burning the coffee beans. Also, they're one of those places where the staff make a concerted effort to memorise the names and orders of the regular customers, which he finds inexplicably appealing.

"Hey, Spencer," smiles the girl behind the counter when he gets to the front of the line.

"Hey, Darcy," he smiles back. She's not wearing her name badge today, but with an eidetic memory it's not like he ever needs anyone to wear a name badge more than once. "The usual, please."

"Grande latte and a blueberry scone. You're in luck," she says as she retrieves the scone from the display cabinet with a pair of tongs. "It's the last one."

There's a soft sound of disappointment from the person in line behind him. Spencer turns to see a pretty girl in a navy sweater with a rose design near the shoulder.

"Did you want it?" he asks.

Her fingers go to her lips like she wished she could retract the sound that just escaped her, and she starts to shake her head.

"Yeah, sorry, Jemma," Darcy says, leaning to the side so she can see past Spencer. "A dude came in before and bought like a dozen of them, so we ran out early today."

"It's fine," Jemma tells Spencer. "It's all yours." She's smiling politely, but that little nose scrunch tells him she's just being polite.

"To have here, or to go?" Darcy asks as she rings up his order.

Spencer gets out his wallet. "Can I actually get that scone cut in half? One half and the coffee will be to have here, and the other..." He turns back to the girl. "Here or to go?"

"Well," a flattered smile tugs at her lips as a light blush creeps into her cheeks, "I was planning to have it here, but you really don't have to do that."

Spencer passes Darcy his card and does his best to emulate even a hint of Morgan's charm. "You said it's my scone. I can do what I like with it," he says over his shoulder, his mouth quirking.

Darcy smirks as she runs his card through the machine and hands it back to him. "Smooth," she commends him. She slides a table number across the counter to him and he takes a seat at a small table nearby.

Jemma automatically shuffles into the spot he just vacated, blushing a little harder now.

"I'll just go ahead and put your vanilla latte on the same table number," Darcy tells Jemma pointedly as she takes the pile of coins from Jemma's hand. "Now go and talk to the nice boy while I take a really long time to make your coffee," she says, throwing Spencer a conspiratorial wink.

Jemma approaches his table. She still looks a bit unsure about the whole situation, despite the small intrigued smile gracing her lips. She starts to pull out the other chair.

"You really don't have to do that," he says. There's no question he wants her to—she's pretty and seems sweet, and he appreciates what Darcy's trying to do, but the last thing he wants is for Jemma to feel at all pressured.

"Perhaps just until our orders are ready?" she suggests, slipping into the seat.

"Sure," he agrees pleasantly, and then considers having a heart attack because he's sitting in a cafe with a pretty girl. Things like this don't happen to him.

"So, Spencer, was it? What do you do?" she asks.

Morgan has told him repeated to just say he's an FBI agent and leave it at that, but Spencer can never stop himself from providing a little more detail. This has historically proven to be a terrible idea, but Jemma seems intrigued, not repulsed, by the nature of his work, and it's not long before they're deep into a conversation about entomology and the hatching rates of various forms of larvae in decomposing tissue.

Darcy doesn't actually take that long with their orders, and Jemma stays even after her coffee and half a scone are brought over. They chat until they reach the bottom of their lattes, and somehow it's not even that awkward, except perhaps right at the end when Darcy spots them exchanging email addresses and starts doing some kind of victory dance behind the counter.