A Million Reasons – Amélie - Widowmaker (Amélie /Gerard)

"You're gorgeous."

Long, thin fingers tug at the porcelain handle of a teacup, adjusting it slowly until it rests at the desired angle. Amber eyes dart to the empty space beside it, noting something still amiss. Amélie's lips purse as she moves, rifling through drawers behind the counter. The pads of her fingers finally land on their intended target and she pulls a small name card from the drawer. "You're annoying," she finally replies, pulling out a pen and scrawling out the name of the morning's daily tea special at Café Mélange.

She can feel him looking at her, his eyes half lidded as he leans over the counter, a lazy smile on his face. He's doing his best to be charming, as always, and as obnoxious as it is, it works. He is charming, and she can't stand it. "Don't you have someone else to bother?"

He's full on grinning now and she's doing her best to glare, but there's no heat behind it and they both know it.

"My darling, there is no one for me but you," he says, finger dancing along the rim of the displayed cup. It drives her crazy, thin fingers swatting his away as she checks the angle again. It's unchanged, but she frowns nonetheless as he reaches for her hand. He's quick, but she's faster, her index finger jabbing him between the eyes and pushing him backward. The speed, precision, and strength are all startling, unexpected, but it makes him burn hotter for her.

Amélie moves to a different corner of the café, making the final adjustments to the displayed cakes on the top of the glass case. She should kick him out. She's tried before but he just comes back, buying up sweets and trying each unique tea blend she has in stock. It's no secret why he does it, and that alone should be enough to shoo him away, but he's a paying customer just the same and she can't bring herself to get rid of him. She supposes it could be worse….

A short puff of air ghosts between her lips as she cleans his fingerprint from the otherwise spotless dessert case. "If you insist on being a pest, Gerard, at least make yourself useful and turn the sign."

It's time for her to open, to let the early morning risers get a warm and relaxing start to their day. Gerard had been one of those customers, hand running through dark strands of hair as he yawned his way through sunrise. He had come in on a day when a young man stood at the counter, Amélie running late and calling in a favor. The tea was the perfect flavor and temperature, a blend of hibiscus and honey. His fruit tart was flaky and only mildly sweet, flawless, as if it had been created to suit his personal tastes. He gave his regards to the staff, but the other man refused to take credit away from the real artist, the owner of the café.

Gerard came back the next day in hopes he could meet this so-called artist, the perfectionist that had crafted such endearing sweets. He wasn't disappointed. Amélie stood at the counter, all legs and sharp angles. Her long black hair was swept up in a tight bun, a pastel feather clipped to its side. Her gaze was piercing, eyes glowing warm in the sunlight. Her lips were painted a light pink, rosier in the center, as if she'd kissed a raspberry. She was the picture of beauty, and he imagined her as sweet as her craft.

Amélie asked if she could help him and he took her hand and brought it to his lips. Her hand was soft in his, just as delicate as it looked. However, the exchange had ended with him flat on his back, blinking back stars from his eyes.

Two months later, having shown up every morning since, he's setting the sign of Café Mélange to 'open'.

He sits down at his usual table, a chocolate croissant already waiting for him. Amélie brings his tea next, the daily special, as always, today a crème brûlée blend. The smell of toasted sugar fills the space between them, and Gerard's eyes briefly close, a small hum of appreciation leaving his throat. An eye cracks open, catching the tall woman watching him with a bit more interest than annoyance. He smiles, "you always take such good care of me."

Her reply is as swift as her turning away from him. "You are my customer, I care about the money you put in my pocket and that is all." They both know it's an inconsequential amount, and she hardly needs his patronage, but saying it aloud gives the first part some weight. That part is true; he is just a customer.

Her back is to him, but his hand still reaches for hers, large palm wrapping around lithe fingers. "It doesn't have to be," he says, his hand warm against hers.

Just this once, she listens. It sounds so unlike him, the soft and questioning tone. She's used to his confidence; the egregious use of compliments, too obnoxious to be flattering. It's familiar and this isn't, this is very different, very new. Amélie can't help but wonder what other sides of him she hasn't seen.

The bell rings as the front door opens and Amélie quickly retreats to the counter. It's safer here, a new customer between them to focus her attention on. She'll waste no more time on Gerard.

It's 4pm and Amélie is closing up the Café, the key sliding out of the door handle after a satisfying click of the lock. It's been a productive day, the mild chill of autumn helping to drive people toward warm atmosphere and warmer drinks. She pulls her knit scarf tighter around her neck; nose already blushed pink. She hears his footsteps and hesitates, she could get away if she wanted, but instead she checks her watch and attempts to look surprised to see him. "Really Gerard, flowers?" She asks plainly, not quite a greeting, but close enough.

He's carrying orchids, a vibrant violet against his tanned skin and dark mustache. "They aren't for you; just hold them for a moment."

Amélie flushes, taking the flowers and holding them carefully. She's curious who they're for and maybe even a bit jealous. He motions for her to walk with him and before she really thinks about it, her feet are moving, keeping pace with him. The more she looks at the orchids, the more she has to admit they're beautiful. "Who are they for?" she asks.

Gerard doesn't respond, not until they're in front of a restaurant and their noses are filled with the smell of fresh bread and cracked pepper. He inhales and sighs with a smile, turning to face his confused companion. His hand reaches behind her and pulls the pin from her bun. Her hair falls into a ponytail, wavy and inky black. It's a brazen move, but tonight is just that kind of night. "They're for the woman I'm taking to dinner tonight. I haven't really asked yet, not properly at least, but I think she'll say yes."

Amélie isn't sure if she's more irritated or impressed. It's ridiculous, and sweet, and so very Gerard. There are a million reasons to say no.

So she says yes.