Over-Terry McDermott

"Donna, please...I know it's difficult, but try an' listen to me. I don't want any bloody coffee! What I want is to have a moment's peace to focus and write. I have a deadline hurtling towards me-something I know you are well aware of...what considering it's your husband that so generously imposed it on me!" John Noble grumbled with a surprisingly perfect balance of dramatics and irritation. In actuality, he looked more like a whining child being dragged down the street by his irritated mother rather than a grown man walking alongside his sister.

A deadline was indeed approaching, but truth be told, John had absolutely no desire to write. He was completely, utterly, hopelessly, and every other adverb imaginable that conveyed the degree to which he was blocked at that moment. For a man who had, as his sister Donna constantly called it, a "never-ending gob," he was completely void of words every time he sat down to write. Hours would pass as he just stared at the screen with that antagonizing cursor mockingly blinking in the corner. John had tried absolutely every activity that had entered his mind to spur his creativity-pacing the length and breadth of his flat, recording every thought that popped into his mind, cooking, dancing, taking apart the appliances and putting them back together...everything. And yet, nothing had worked. In fact, his appliances literally didn't work anymore. His muse had officially done a runner, and there was no sign of her returning in the near future.

"Oh just button it, John!" the ginger commanded, whirling around and looking at him squarely, her eyes blazing. "You've been doing things your way for over a month, and you know what you have to show for it? Three broken toasters, a melted coffee maker, and a sprained ankle from doing some sorta samba nonsense. Not to mention, I got food poisoning from your little 'inspirational' cooking escapade! I was in the loo for hours. My head didn't leave the bowl!"

Rolling his eyes, John groaned exasperatedly. "How was I to know that you would have that reaction to the mushrooms? It's never happened before."

"Because those bloody mushrooms came from some bloody park, you twit! You can't just go pickin' random things out of the ground and stickin' them in a pot! Do you know what animals do at the park, John? God only knows what I ingested!" Donna shouted, turning slightly green at the recollection.

"Fine!" he said, scrubbing his face with his hands and then throwing them up in annoyed defeat. "You win! Happy? I'll have a bloody coffee. But do you mind enlightening me on just how exactly this is supposed to help me—other than getting you off my bloody back?"

Those snappish words set Donna's blood ablaze, and in that moment, she wanted nothing more than to whap him upside the head. Summoning every ounce of restraint she had within her, Donna took a slow, steadying breath and held her tongue. Any other time, she would have let him have it in more ways than one, but Donna knew that this wasn't one of those times.

Over the last few months, Donna had watched John's demeanor change, becoming more irritable and discontent. It was that slow, downward spiral that worried her. She was running out of ideas and especially out of patience. Donna loved her brother more than she would ever be able to express, but his stubbornness and her temper were a volatile combination that was creeping towards a core meltdown.

Donna wasn't being daft, she knew that coffee itself wasn't going to fix anything, or any drink for that matter. But this wasn't about any drink-John needed an escape, and this shop was one of the best escapes Donna had ever known. It was one of the few places where she truly felt at peace—almost as if it was a home away from home.

She had stumbled upon that hidden gem one autumn day. After a more than usually fiery disagreement with her then fiancée, Jack, Donna had stormed out of her flat and began roaming the streets, trying desperately to calm herself. She was so preoccupied with replaying their argument and thinking of ways to make his life a slow living hell, that she was completely oblivious to the young blonde woman positioning a Specials Board along her path, and made direct contact with her, knocking the stranger flat on her bum.

Gasping in shock and embarrassment, Donna hurriedly helped the blonde to her feet. "I am so, so sorry! I wasn't lookin'...well, obviously, I wasn't lookin'. I'm just..."

"No worries," the blonde assured her, brushing off her jeans. As she reached for the sign that had also fallen to the ground, her eyes locked with Donna's, and she furrowed her brow contemplatively, her eyes turning warm and thoughtful. "Wanna come inside? Have a cuppa? On the house, of course."

At that moment, Donna was so distraught that she was on the verge of tears. Looking into the kind eyes and warm smile of the young woman before her, Donna nodded and silently followed her into the shop. As the blonde went to make her proffered drink, Donna plopped herself down at one of the mosaiced round tables and put her head in her hands. She fought to rein in her emotions, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't keep her tears at bay. At the sound of a mug being placed on the table, Donna looked up and once again met the warm, whiskey eyes of her new acquaintance. The blonde smiled softly at her. It wasn't a placating or pitying gesture; it was utterly genuine, and Donna welcomed it. The young woman took a seat beside Donna, and with one hand on her own mug and another on Donna's hand, she looked at her and simply said, "Wanna tell me 'bout it?"

The following three hours found Donna pouring her heart out to the young woman. Even though she was a stranger, Donna felt so at ease with her and the weight of her day was gone. At the end of it all, she left having had the best cuppa of her life, her heart lighter, and a new friend. Ever since that day, Donna visited the shop almost every day. Each time, she took in little details about the quaint shop and fell more in love with it and the people who ran it. It was her little secret haven; so the fact that Donna was now taking her infuriatingly yet lovable brother into said haven, spoke volumes about how much she loved him and how desperate she was to help him.

"John, for once, just listen and don't question. Please?" Donna sighed wearily, her eyes more pleading than her words.

On seeing this, John was taken aback. It was not often that Donna implored him as she had just done. He wanted to say something, but he once again, words failed him. Instead, he simply nodded and opened the door to The Cuppa.