Americano by twriter12

Rick stood outside Nina's with his hand on the door— pausing a moment to take Michonne in as she walked behind the counter carrying a couple of boxes. As if the sunlight streaking across her face wasn't enough, that beautiful smile brightened her face even more as she interacted with one of the employees. They laughed and he smiled as he watched her do a little dance — just a quick shimmy of the shoulders — before she turned her back and began stocking something on one of the shelves.

When he entered the coffee shop she turned her head at the sound of the bell and, if he weren't mistaken, her smile got bigger. She stopped shelving and stood at the counter, one hand on top of the other resting on the counter top as she waited for him to go to her.

The sound of a piano and a saxophone over the speakers wafted through the air, intermingled with the smell of coffee. He felt more hopeful than the last time he walked in here because this time he knew she didn't have a boyfriend. And this time, he wasn't just taking a chance by showing up — she wanted him back. Soon, she had said. He hoped three days wasn't too soon. It felt longer than that to him. When you think about someone day and night, time drags.

He took a breath — a futile attempt to settle his nerves — and made his way toward the counter but a woman beat him there. He watched Michonne as she gave the woman her undivided attention as if she had been waiting for her. His dad, who had a small business of his own, always told him one of the keys to success was to love the one you're with. And that's what Michonne did as she answered questions about the different blends, but the woman settled on what she always ordered. Something told him Michonne knew that would be the case by the slight smirk on her face.

He was one for simple coffee, whether it was just okay like at Quick Mart or when it was no good like when Daryl made a pot at the station. Which is why he had never heard of Nina's before he got the call despite driving this area often. There were always customers but it was never too crowded. It was a hidden gem.

"Hi, Rick," Michonne said once the customer left.

"You remember all your customers' names?"

She said it with such ease, like she didn't have to think about it. He liked to imagine it simply rolled off her tongue.

She smiled, looked him directly in the eye. "Only the knights in shining armor."

Though he knew that wasn't true, he still felt the heat rise from his chest to his neck and then his face.

"What can I get you?" She asked.

"Um," he said as he and diverted his focus to the chalkboard behind her with the menu and a quote written with blue chalk in neat handwriting. Today's saying was simple — Go for it. Were the gods daring him? That's not so easy, he thought. Michonne threw him. The way she looked at him rattled him to his core. Like she was hanging on his every word and they all mattered. It was like she saw him. Not the badge or gun. Just him — a man. Shit, maybe it was all in his head. But he knew one thing to be sure — Michonne was not like anyone he had ever met. And he didn't know how to deal with that and the feelings it stirred.

"Americano?"

"Are you sure?" She smiled.

"Yes?"

"You sure you're sure?" She smiled and turned her head slightly while her eyes were still locked in on him. "Just kidding." She stared at him with that unflinching eye contact then pointed at him. "I didn't take you for the latte type."

"What?"h

"The latte you ordered last time."

"Oh yeah." He wasn't the latte type and he figured he wasn't the seemingly endless other options offered on the menu. "Well, what type did you take me for?" The timbre of his voice surprised even him. Did he just flirt? He prayed it sounded better to her than it did to him.

"Every drink says something."

"What does Americano say?"

She took a moment and looked up at the ceiling and he took a moment to stare at her. At her neck — long, lean, and elegant. She was in an orange top that wrapped around the neck, exposing her shoulders and arms. His eyes wandered ever so slowly to her mouth as she tapped her finger against those lips he wanted to taste. What did they taste like? Coffee? One of those sweet pastries?

"Got it," said Michonne.

He snapped back to life when she smacked her hand on the counter.

"Strong. Simple, no," she corrected herself. "Uncomplicated, but more than enough. Gets the job done."

"Really? All that from beans and hot water?"

She shrugged. "Never out of style. I like classic."

He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket.

She held up her hand. "Is this going to be a thing? Your money's no good here. How many times do I need to tell you that?"

He remembered what she said, but he still attempted and not as an empty gesture like some of his coworkers who got alligator arms when they went out and the check arrived. He didn't want to be presumptuous or make her think he was taking advantage. So like the last couple of times, he tossed a couple bills in the tip jar.

"I figured an unruly customer was good for two free coffees."

"Jenee," Michonne said to the woman behind the counter with her, "bring Rick's drink when it's done, please."

"Sure thing," she said.

Michonne walked from behind the counter and nodded toward a table. Her arm brushed his and his body reacted — pulse quickened, chest tightened, an audible breath escaped his mouth. Suddenly it was too hot for coffee. They sat at an intimate table in the corner, good for nothing but a couple cups of coffees. No laptops or notebooks. Just room enough for two people to be.

He took a seat then scolded himself for not pulling the chair out for her. That would have been classic.

"So, what's new with you?" Michonne asked as she leaned forward.

Jenee placed his coffee before him and he thanked her then waited for her to leave. He took a sip, to stall more than anything. There was a reason he was here. He didn't just happen to be in the neighborhood. But every time he was around her, Michonne sent him down a path of exhilaration and doubt and he tended to get lost in the moment.

The squawk of his radio interrupted their time together. He stared at her as they heard that there was a robbery in progress. It was nearby; his call to take.

"I gotta go."

"Be careful, Rick," she said as she stood and watched him rush out the door.

He didn't realize until he made it to his squad car that he left his coffee still on the table. "Shit," he said as he looked over at the envelope in the passenger seat that contained the two tickets to the Taste of Georgia food festival. His reason for stopping by was to invite her. Hopefully, next time. He turned on the siren and sped off.