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Prompt: Meet Cute

Double Hazelnut Almond Milk Macchiato

It's seven o'clock on a Monday, and the morning rush is in full swing at The Burrow. Forming a line out the door and around the block are dozens of important, yet fidgety business people with complicated coffee orders, and little patience.

Ron Weasley opens every morning, Monday through Friday, and he handles it well. Most customers are regulars, and he's already memorized their morning joe specifications.

The majority of the morning crowd has been forgiving of the occasional slip-up. Seven years of working the first shift at the family-owned coffee shop means a history of accidental extra-whipped cream, almond milk instead of soy, and finger-slips on the espresso machine, and the customers always return.

Maybe it's because they're too tired to notice their Americanos are actually Flat-Whites. Or maybe it's the hospitable vibe of The Burrow that makes complaining about bad latte art seem as petty as telling Grandma her muffins are dry.

Every now and then, there's a new customer, and Ron has to whip out his earnest, people-pleasing attitude to assure that the newbie sticks around. He'll do what it takes to turn them into a regular, and make them thankful that they chose the local joint over the cookie-cutter corporate shop across the street.

'Take an interest in their day!' his Mum would say. 'Validate their order! Then make sure to ask their name, and use it!'

Monday morning, at seven o'clock, is one of those times.

"Double Hazelnut Almond Milk Macchiato."

"Size?"

"Medium."

The customer is about Ron's age, and probably new in town. She doesn't yet know that at The Burrow, 'Double Macchiatos' are simply called 'Tall Macchiatos', and instead of 'small', 'medium', and 'large', The Burrow's sizes go by their family pets in order of mass: Pig, Errol, and Chudley.

"Great," he says, grinning, "coming right up."

"Make sure it's almond milk," she reminds him.

"Yup."

"And Hazelnut," she adds.

"Yup."

"Double-shot—"

"I heard you," says Ron impatiently. Have a little trust, lady.

"Okay, just making sure!"

"Can I get a name for the order?"

"Hermione."

Ron stares at the girl. Her brown eyes are round and drowsy, her hair is unkempt and wild, which contradicts the clean lines of the business suit she's wearing. She looks so normal. "Can you repeat that?"

"Hermione. H-E-R-M-I-O-N-E."

He hadn't asked her to spell it, and the way she emphasizes each syllable reminds Ron of how adults would read to him when he was a kid. It's condescending.

"Coming right up, Hermione."

"Great."

Ron resists rolling his eyes. He can handle a double hazelnut almond milk macchiato, and if he screws it up, she probably wouldn't even know the difference. Most customers wouldn't.

As Hermione paces by the counter checking her watch, he whips up a medium, double, hazelnut, almond milk ...cappuccino. Just to test his theory, of course.

"Here you go!"

He hands the drink to Hermione and watches as she takes a sip. Her eyes narrow, and for a moment, he's convinced she can tell…

Then her face melts back to a polite grin. "Thank you!"

Maybe she can't. Ron shakes his head as she turns and leaves, turning his attention to the next customer's order.

Hermione returns on Tuesday morning at 7 am sharp. Her hair is pulled back into a stiff, tight ponytail that just barely lassos her wild mane, and she probably checks her watch fifteen times while in line. Ron suppresses a scoff—she can just make coffee at home if she's in such a rush.

"Morning, Hermione!" he says with a forced smile. "Same as yesterday?"

She looks taken aback at first, clearly not expecting him to remember her name. "Um, yes, same as yesterday."

"Coming right up."

"Medium, Double, Hazelnut—"

"Almond Milk Macchiato," he says. "I got it."

"Okay," shrugs Hermione, eyebrows raised. "Then do it."

What's her problem? "Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine," she snaps. "I need coffee, not a counseling session."

Wow. He wants to retort back, but his mother's nagging voice in his head stops him. 'Always be extra-polite to grumpy customers; remember they haven't had their coffee fix yet.'

"Of course," Ron says through gritted teeth, in as polite a tone as he can manage. To satisfy his desire to argue, he whips her up a medium, double, hazelnut soy macchiato, only half-hoping she doesn't notice.

He doesn't get a chance to see if she does, because she's out the door before a single sip.

Her Wednesday return is accompanied by a looming dread in the pit of Ron's stomach. He hates rude people, especially at 7am. Ron spots her impatiently tapping her foot in line, as usual, and prepares himself for their interaction.

"Hello," he says politely, stopping himself before the natural 'how are you?' escapes his lips. "What can I get for you today?"

"Hi," she says with a sheepish smile. "The same as yesterday."

"Which is?"

"Erm," she stammers, her expression confused, "a medium—"

"I'm kidding," he laughs, "I know your order."

"Oh. Thank you."

She pays, and Ron fixes her a medium double caramel almond milk macchiato.

"Sorry about yesterday," she says when she picks up her drink. "You were just trying to be nice, and I was rude."

"Oh," starts Ron, who isn't expecting an apology. "That's okay. Happens a lot during the morning shift."

She smiles and nods before turning around to leave, taking a sip on her way out the door. Ron watches for her reaction, but doesn't catch it.

She seems to be in a better mood by Thursday.

"The usual," is all she says when she arrives at the counter, but this time she's smiling. She looks different when she smiles—pretty. Something else unidentifiable replaces the dread in his stomach. Ron wonders if it's the first time he's seen her smile or if it's just the first time he's noticed.

But based on the tired circles under her eyes, she's exhausted, so Ron prepares her a medium triple hazelnut almond milk macchiato. An extra shot of espresso never hurt anyone, and maybe it'll help her get through the day. Or maybe, she'll experience a coffee crash and have to return to The Burrow later.

Both good things.

"Just so you know," she says as Ron hands over her cup, "it's been a stressful week. I started a new job, and it's not going well."

"I'm—I'm sorry to hear that," says Ron. He looks into her eyes, and for a moment, they soften. There's more to her tough and professional exterior.

"These have made the week just a little better," she adds, holding up her macchiato, before smiling softly and turning to leave.

Of course, Hermione requests her usual on Friday, and Ron is quickly running out of ideas for ways to screw with her order.

In celebration of the weekend, he might be able to pass a large off as a special treat. Other than that, he has to stick to the request—a double hazelnut almond milk macchiato. The first of the week. Better not mess it up.

As soon as he pops the cap onto her cup, it looks empty. He reaches for his marker again and scribbles something else—his phone number.

He's not sure what compels him to do it. Maybe it's because the larger size leaves so much white space. It could be because the grumpy brunette has been occupying his thoughts all week — he's never purposely tried to fuck up someone's coffee five days in a row.

Or maybe, it's because when she walked in this morning, he smiled, and he just wants to learn more about the woman who thinks she knows what a double hazelnut almond milk macchiato tastes like.

She'll probably ignore it anyway.

But later that day, his phone buzzes on the counter, and he scrambles for it faster than he'd run away from a mob of spiders.

The text is from an unknown number, but there's no mystery. It only took five days, but you finally got my order correct!

Ron scowls at his phone. She knew? She was duping him?

Well, Hermione, why'd you keep coming back?

As soon as the message sends, he's impatient, tapping his foot, pacing, and jittery. Just like Hermione every morning.

His phone flashes and buzzes, and Ron almost drops it by checking too quickly.

It wasn't for the coffee…