Author's Note:
Disclaimer: An all-human AU using J. M. Barrie's characters.

Written for Lizziebee (TheNextFolchart). I was looking through my docs and found this thing I meant to give you a few months ago. *insert server girl emoji* I have a few more chapters (and by that, I mean one-and-a-half) if you want this fic continued. But you know me – continued doesn't necessarily mean I'll end up completing the story...

PS: Kinda sorta maybe inspired by the Taylor Swift song of the same name. Tbh, I couldn't pass up the pun. And she mentioned coffee in the lyrics so I guess it fits. :)

23 November 2014. Word Count: 731

It all happened so quickly.

Holy Ground

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It all happened so quickly. One minute Tinkerbell was waiting patiently in line at Starbucks for her weekly fix of a skinny-tall-peppermint-white-chocolate-mocha-no-whipped-cream-please but then the next minute she found herself pushed off balance. She toppled over like a domino, and with each passing second, the floor came closer to making a casual acquaintance with her face.

"Oh, shit, didn't even see you there!"

At the last millisecond possible, the person who had spoken snagged her by the waist before she hit the ground. Heart pounding and completely disoriented, Tinkerbell could only cling onto the stranger's black leather jacket and stare dumbstruck up at him.

"Sorry about that," he smiled, eyes bashfully lowered. His sinfully long eyelashes brushed the top of his angular cheekbones.

"You should be," Tinkerbell responded without realising she had spoken aloud.

He smirked and set her back on her feet. "Lost my footing for a moment. It's icy out there." His dark eyes glanced at Tinkerbell's outfit as he gave her a shameless once-over. "You gonna be warm enough, doll?"

Tinkerbell narrowed her eyes and fought the urge to fidget with the hem of her fugly Christmas sweater. Of course he would be the chauvinistic type of guy looking to pick up single girls in a coffeehouse.

"Piss off," she frowned and deliberately turned away from the stranger as she made a grand show of staring at the Starbucks menu (which she had memorised by now from her many visits here, though he didn't need to know that).

In her peripheral vision, she saw him shrug. "Sorry for caring, doll." He resumed his place in line a few people in front of her.

She grit her teeth at his degrading nickname – she wasn't a helpless little doll, God damn it – but didn't engage in an argument because she hated to make a scene even more than being called a pet name by a stranger. Tinkerbell refused to let her eyes glare daggers at his back for the rest of the time she had to spend waiting in line. Christmas was right around the corner; for the sake of holiday spirit and good cheer, she could give him the benefit of the doubt.

(Her left eye was twitching and she hadn't blinked in two minutes but it was all okay because she hadn't looked in his direction even once.)

After a few moments, Tinkerbell realised the line hadn't moved a single centimetre in quite some time. She stood on her tiptoes and tried to see who the git was that was holding up the line. She was rewarded with the glimpse of a black jacket at the front of the crowd. Figures, Tinkerbell huffed in her mind.

It felt like the glaciers had enough time to re-freeze and then thaw by the time Mr. Rude-and-Inconsiderate had finished placing his order and moved to the queue of people waiting to pick up their drinks. Tinkerbell shifted her weight from foot to the other as she continuously checked her wristwatch. She was going to be cutting it close this morning; her work shift started in ten minutes.

She had six minutes left by the time it was her turn to order. Thankfully the barista, a kind elderly woman who told the regular patrons to call her Nana, had Tinkerbell's usual winter drink memorised.

"Thank you so much, Nana," Tinkerbell said with a smile as Nana rung up her drink order. She reached into the back pocket of her black cigarette pants for her wallet but came up short. "I – er –" she stammered out. Tinkerbell stared at her empty hand as if her brown leather monogrammed wallet would suddenly materialise out of thin air. "I don't seem to have any money. I could've sworn my wallet was there when I walked in..."

"Oh, no worries, darling," Nana said. "Your drink was paid for by that charming young man over there."

Surprised, Tinkerbell stopped patting her pockets and looked in the direction of where Nana was gesturing. Mr. Rude-and-Inconsiderate was halfway out the door when he seemed to realise two pairs of eyes were on him. He winked roguishly at Tinkerbell and mouthed the words "You're welcome" to her.

She would've been flattered by his gesture had she not seen her lost wallet – well, more stolen than lost, she corrected herself – peeking out of one of the pockets on his leather jacket.

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