Emma sighed heavily and looked down at her mug with a frown. This had to be decaf, because even having actually slept last night she was still half-falling asleep on top of her copy of The Canterbury Tales.
Granted, that probably had to do more with The Canterbury Tales than it did the coffee, but still.
Draining the last of the cup, she left her book on the table and walked over to the counter. The barista was doing something intricate looking with an espresso machine along the far wall, so she stared up at the menu for something to do, studying it like she didn't come here every single day. She practically had it memorized, even though she always ordered the same thing anyways.
As if on cue, the barista pushed a button on the machine that let out a puff of steam, and with a satisfied nod turned around to face her.
"Sorry about the wait. What can I get for you, lass?"
Yeah, lass. He called everyone either lad or lass or some strange nickname, and at first she had thought it was just another hipster wannabe being pretentious, calling people names out of the last century, but after coming here almost daily for two semesters, she realized that it was just how he was.
"Can I grab a medium dark roast – and not decaf this time."
"If you thought that was decaf, lass, I think it's time I cut you off." He grinned at her, this twist of a scoundrel of a smile, and shrugged his shoulders like those are the rules, what can I do?
"Oh yeah, I'm sure the coffee police are going to crack down real hard on you." She arched an eyebrow at him and slid her money over to his side of the counter. "I'm serious. I have an exam in three hours, so medium dark roast please."
"I'll bend the rules this time, but only because it's an emergency." He pushed her money back towards her and grinned again. "On the house this time. For luck."
"This had better be one magic cup of coffee or I'm going to fail this exam."
"Better get back to your studying then, lass, instead of flirting with the barista. He handed her her drink and winked, and it wasn't until he had turned back around that she realized what he had said.
"I'm not–" Hold on – Emma Swan didn't need to defend herself to any coffee pouring bastard, especially against something she wasn't even doing. "Why don't you mind your own business."
"Would that I could, lass, but alas, O woman's counsel is so often cold! A woman's counsel brought us first to woe."
"Excuse me?" She drew herself up straighter, and took a deep breath, ready to counsel him on where he could shove his attitude, but he chuckled and gestured over to her book still sitting on the table by the window.
"It's a line from that book you're reading. And if you didn't catch that one then there's nothing my coffee can do to help you pass that exam of yours."
"Rub it in, why don't you." She grumbled, walking back to her table with a scowl at him. It wasn't his fault that she hadn't studied, but it was his fault that he was aggravating her.
Even if the laugh that echoed from the counter stayed in her mind long after she left the coffee house.
"So." A few days later, she was back at her regular table, regular order in front of her, except this was not regular – having the barista out from behind the bar, standing in front of her table, looking at her expectantly like they were the best of friends. "How'd the exam go?"
"Great." She rolled her eyes, then looked pointedly at him. "Though I'm putting a lot of faith in your magic cup of coffee to pull me through it so it'd better deliver."
"I may have to grow more magic coffee beans if you keep this up." He said with the same grin as last time.
"Keep what up?"
"Flirting with the barista instead of studying." He gestured down to her open laptop, and she knew he had seen her "essay" – the one that was little more than a title and the sentence 'Geoffrey Chaucer can bite me.'
"I'm not the one talking to the customers when he's supposed to be cleaning tables." She pointed to the damp rag he was purportedly using to wipe down the table next to her.
"Well done, lass." He saluted her and turned to saunter back towards the counter, saying over his shoulder, "You just talked yourself out of some wonderful company."
She rolled her eyes and turned back to her paper, sighing as she did. She was never going to finish – hell, she wasn't sure she was ever going to start.
"Want a trick?"
She jumped, her head snapping around to see him standing right beside her again – hadn't she just gotten rid of him?
"Listen, you." She started, but bit back her words as he set a full cup of coffee on the table in front of her, taking her old empty mug in one hand and tapping her computer screen with the other.
"Don't write about the whole book. Pick one story – one section of one story, even – and tear it to pieces." Then with a strange, private smile, he turned back around, tapping the handle of the mug he had set down, and said, "Medium dark roast. For luck."
"Hey." Emma leaned against the counter, watching the barista as he packed bags of coffee into a high cupboard. He swung to face her with a wide, easy smile, and her heart leapt into her throat as he leaned out into the void, the only thing keeping him from falling off the counter he was standing on being his grasp on the corner of the cabinet. "Jesus, get down from there or turn back around. I'm not watching you fall off that counter tonight."
"If not that, what does bring you here so late?" He asked, hopping down easily and coming to lean on the other side of the counter, mirroring her position. Both leaning slightly towards the centre of the counter, they were closer together then they had possibly ever been. It was strangely…okay. And that was coming from Emma Swan, who had been told time and time again that she had a personal space issue.
She had always thought of it more as an I-don't-want-idiots-in-my-face-issue, but semantics aside, she really didn't mind the distance between her and the barista. Granted, it wasn't the same with him as it had been with some of her exes. They had been…relationships. They had been going into things with all the expectations that came with boyfriend and girlfriend, but this barista was just…there. As long as she had been coming to this coffee house, he had been here, and she supposed she had just gotten used to seeing him. And now, apparently, to talking with him.
"Celebratory drink." She said, and threw her finished essay down on the counter – her finished essay with a big red 75 at the top. "I took your advice."
"My coffee must be magic after all." He grabbed a mug from below the counter and grinned at her. "Medium dark roast?"
"Nah. I don't drink coffee at…" she glanced down at her watch. "…Jesus, one thirty in the morning…if I can help it."
"What will we be celebrating with this evening, then?"
"I don't care. Surprise me."
His eyebrows shot up at that one, followed by a smile that unfurled so smoothly it was already splitting his face before Emma realized it was there. "As you wish, lass."
"Speaking of one o'clock." She said, turning so she was facing away from the counter as he made her drink, fiddling around with syrup and the espresso machine. "Doesn't this place ever close?"
"Aye." He said. "We're open till one on Fridays. I was stocking for tomorrow when you walked in."
"You forgot to turn your open sign around." She pointed out, glancing over her shoulder at him with an arched brow. "Hell of a way to close up shop."
"What can I say?" His voice was muffled as he dug around for something in a low fridge. "I'm dedicated."
"Or, possibly insane."
"Possibly." He reappeared, holding a can of whipped cream, and put a swirl of it on whatever was in the cup. He squirted some casually into his own mouth, and took the cup to the opposite counter, busying himself with something Emma couldn't see, then turned back to her with the drink in hand. "Voila."
"What is it?" She asked, regarding the cup as he handed it to her. He looked at her sadly and shook his head.
"Hot cocoa." He said, flashing her a winning smile. "With cinnamon."
"Interesting." She looked at it again, then back at him, and laughed at his expression. "Don't look so wounded. I'm going to drink it."
"Don't have to look so affronted about the whole prospect." He muttered. She bit back her laughter and took a hearty gulp of the drink – more to please him, almost – but her eyes widened as she tasted what she had made, then drifted shut.
"Okay, I take it back. Your coffee isn't magic – this is."
"So now we like the cocoa." He threw his hands up in the air, but she could see the happy tilt to his eyes. He had wanted her to like it.
"How did you even…" She wrapped both hands around the mug. "That is not fair."
"What's not fair?"
" You can handle Chaucer, you can make…some kind of godlike drink, you look like that, and…" Her words cut out, her mouth gaping like a big, stupid trout, because she had not just said that.
"Look like what now?" He asked, his pleased smile telling her he knew exactly what she had meant. And of course he knew. He would have had to have been blind not to. He was tall, probably a head taller than she was, with dark brown hair, a beard that was halfway between scruff and deliberate, and the bluest eyes she had ever seen.
"Neverm—" She could feel the red blush drain straight from her cheeks as the door to the coffee house opened and he walked through the door. He, the ex-who-must-not-be-named, with a whole group of his idiot friends and the ridiculous, slutty, idiot, but God hotter than I'll ever be girl he had cheated on Emma with. Publically. Repeatedly. She turned back to the barista, and she knew he saw the frantic look in her eyes, and hissed, "Pretendwe'redating."
"What?"
"You. Me. Dating." She whispered quickly, right as Walsh sidled up behind her, breaking her personal space rule a thousand times as he cut in front of her to reach the counter."
"Hey." He said easily. Casually. Like he hadn't dated her for two years and suddenly decided she wasn't good enough.
"And fuck you." She said pleasantly, smiling wide without a hint of goodwill, and looked over his head to lock eyes with the barista. Please play along please play along please – "So tomorrow at seven's still good?"
"It's great, love. Pick you up at yours?"
"Yup." She smiled at him, and that one was 100% genuine.
"Oh, please." Walsh cut in, looking between her and the barista. "You're not serious."
Oh, was he jealous.
Emma shrugged. "More serious than I ever was about you."
"You liar. You—"
"Hey." That was the barista, and his voice sounded like steel. "I'll thank you not to talk to my girlfriend like that, and I'll ask you to leave because we're closed, mate."
Walsh sputtered for a moment – he couldn't ever take being said no to, and apparently that hadn't changed – and Emma just smiled at the barista again, waving a casual hand at Walsh as she left.
Saved her grades, and her evening. Maybe that man really was magic.
