Her shifts usually start around 10:30, giving her ten minutes to get to the coffee shop from her 9-10:20 Constitutional Law class. Anna's understanding about her class schedule, and she lets Kate work around it and pick up a few extra hours here and there when she can. Weekends she works the full eight hours, though she's been staying later for the past couple of weeks. During the school week, she stays until she has to leave for her class, and then she's back until closing.

It's a lot, but she's got it under control.

Rick comes in sometimes, takes full advantage of the fact that she works in this quaint little shop that's quieter than most, and makes himself at home at one of the back tables.

"Hi, what can I get—" She turns back from the register, comes face to face with the man himself. "Rick, what are you doing?"

He grins. "Checking up on my favorite barista."

She rolls her eyes. "Your favorite barista is working, you know."

"And I'm ordering," he counters, plucking out a ten dollar bill and shoving it towards her. "One medium coffee, extra cream and sugar please."

Taking the money, she puts it into the register and begins counting out his change.

"Oh, no. No change."

"Rick."

"What, it's a tip," he says, ignoring her glare. "You're a wonderful worker."

She huffs out a sigh. "You don't give baristas tips."

"Says who?"

"Says... I don't know, everyone. There's a tip jar over there," she says, nodding to the far left.

She holds out the change, shakes her hand in his direction, but he just shoots her a lopsided grin and refuses to take it. He shakes his head, using his fingers to curl her hand around the bills and shove them back towards her.

"Not taking the tip back, Kate," he tells her, and she blows out a breath. "You can put it in the register or that tip jar if you don't want it, but don't give it back."

With a sigh, she shoves his tip to the side of the counter while she makes his coffee. "So, where are you off to now?"

"Well, Mother has apparently been directing this small play at a children's theater in her off time," he says with an amused smirk. "How they allowed her to do that is beyond me, but it opens in an hour so I'll be watching that unfold. You free?"

She offers him a regretful smile. "No, sorry. I work late today."

He nods. "You always work this late?"

There's a pause where she hesitates. "Uh, sometimes," she says. Sometimes, practically every day, same thing. "Anna's short on staff right now, so I'm just helping out until she hires someone else."

Lies.

Anna's not short on staff. There are actually more workers than necessary, but she can't tell him that. She can't tell him that she's been asking Anna to work extra hours, that she's been staying way past her final shift, that she's been working practically every minute she's not in class or with him.

She's fallen asleep in her morning classes more than once, running on no sleep after late shifts that aren't hers to begin with. Her professors are understanding, know somehow that she's juggling an overload of classes and what's essentially a full time job; no one's said much of anything yet, just that she really needs to get more rest and pay attention, but she knows she can't keep this up.

Even if no one says anything, if they keep cutting her slack because she's usually an exceptional student, she can't keep missing the lectures.

Rick's already throwing tips at her, though she knows he's not doing it because he thinks she needs it, he's just being himself and wants to tip a friend. But if he knew that she was picking up all of these hours because she's trying to make ends meet and get her rent in on time, he'd be concerned. He'd be too concerned, and she knows he'd beg her to let him help.

It's sweet, he's sweet, but she can't, won't, take any more of his money.

She's thrilled to be out of the club, she really is, but she misses the money. Five hundred a night, usually double on busy nights or the nights when Bobby would come in, drunk and on some mix of drugs, sliding twenties into her bottoms instead of singles. The coffee shop is great, and Anna is the quite possibly the sweetest boss she's ever had the pleasure of working for, but nine dollars an hour pales in comparison to her previous line of work.

But it's okay, because she's got it covered. Or she will.

"Here you go," she says, handing his coffee over with a soft smile. "Tell me how the play goes?"

"Oh, you'll get a play by play, don't worry."

Chuckling, she gives a slow nod. "I'd expect nothing less." She pauses. "So, I'll talk to you later?"

"Definitely. Get together after your shift for coffee?"

She laughs. "Maybe not coffee," she teases, gesturing around her. "I'll probably want a break after all of this."

"You make a good point," he agrees with an easy smile. "A walk and some street hot dogs then? I can reenact the play for you in great detail."

She grins, tugs her bottom lip between her teeth. "Sounds perfect."

"It's a plan, then. Don't work too hard, now," he says, tossing her a wink as he turns around.

Once he's out the door, out of sight, she sighs and grabs his tip, stashes it into her pocket. She hates that she's taking it.

She steels herself once more, turning back to the counter and the next customer with a bright, slightly tired smile.

"Hi, what can I get for you today?"

She collapses onto the couch the second she steps into her apartment after work. It's only seven but she's exhausted, having been in class early this morning and on her feet all day afterwards, and she could really use some sleep.

But she got a slew of texts from Rick earlier, his promised play by play of his mother's show, and they served as a steady and welcomed distraction.

Apparently there were costumes that fell apart, children who couldn't pronounce what they were supposed to, and hilarious stage directions, but overall it wasn't bad. He even seems to be proud of his mother and what she's managed to do with the elementary school kids.

Proud and a bit—or extremely—amused.

They're supposed to meet up in an hour to go for that walk and those hot dogs, so a nap is out of the question.

Instead, she peels her eyes open and drags her body into the kitchen to turn on the coffee machine. She knows she said she'd want a break from the coffee after working in a coffee shop all day, and she does, but she also knows she needs the caffeine to keep her functioning.

She really should regret all those years of depending on the stuff. Maybe if she hadn't, she'd be able to ward off exhaustion without using it as a crutch.

It finishes in a few minutes and she grabs the mug, curls her fingers around the warm ceramic, and pads back into the living room. She sinks into the couch once more, leaning back against the cushions as she cradles the coffee to her chest. Her feet come to rest on the coffee table, and she wiggles her toes, stretching out her legs and pointing her feet to stretch them.

Sure, standing on her feet brings some pain along with it, but it's nothing compared to the excruciating pain that came with standing—and dancing, twirling, gyrating—on six inch stiletto heels all night.

Her poor toes, scream as they might, have definitely seen worse.

She finishes off her coffee and leans over to place the mug on the table, and then pulls her legs up until they're beneath her body. She has to come up with a game plan, she decides, a plan to get everything back on track.

In her head, she makes a list of it all. She has to pay her rent, which she'll be able to do with the money she's getting from all of these extra hours. Her father's rehab is completely paid off now, thanks to Rick, and her school isn't too much of a worry at the moment. The account she's been using to pay for her father's rehab, originally meant for her schooling, still has enough money in it to get her through for a bit longer.

The only real issues are another bill or two and the daily expenses; without the extra money she's so used to from the club, it's been tight.

If she cuts back on the takeout and buys a few groceries she can make last, it should be fine.

Yeah, she'll be fine. She has it all under control.

She wakes to a shrill ringing in her ear. Her eyes peel open and she blinks a few time before she bolts up, running a hand down her face.

"Shit," she mumbles, shaking her hair out.

She fell asleep. She doesn't know how, has no recollection of it happening, but she managed to fall asleep.

Her fingers fumble with her phone and she moans when she sees the time—9:00. She was supposed to meet Rick an hour ago.

She takes a breath, waits a beat, and then answers. "Hi," she says quietly, voice still rough with sleep.

"Kate," he breathes. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, yeah," she mumbles, squeezing her eyes shut. "I'm so sorry. I fell asleep. And I thought I was doing such a great job of staying up, too."

"No, it's okay. I'm just glad you're alright," he tells her, and the knots release in her chest. "I tend to get concerned when a usually punctual friend of mine doesn't show up and doesn't answer her phone."

She groans. "Sorry, Rick," she says, but he's chuckling in her ear. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing, nothing," he gets out. "You just sound really adorable when you're tired."

Her eyes roll as she tugs her legs back up to her chest. "Oh yeah, so adorable," she echoes. "Why don't you come over here and I'll show you just how adorable I can be when I'm tired."

It's supposed to come off as a light hearted threat, a joke, because she gets grumpy when she's exhausted, but as soon as it leaves her mouth she realizes the possible double meaning.

"Is that a promise?" he asks, voice low, and she can practically see the waggling of his brows.

Okay, yup, definitely took it somewhere else.

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, suddenly very glad that he can't see her.

"You're a child."

He laughs, throaty and rich. "Don't look at me, you're the one who brought it up."

"I didn't bring anything up. That was a threat."

"Your threats fall flat when you're tired," he states matter-of-factly.

She lets out a huff of a laugh and pushes herself off of the couch, holding the phone to hear ear as she heads into the kitchen. Tossing her mug into the sink, she swivels on her heel and makes her way towards her room.

"I can still meet you for that walk," she says then, rifling through her closet. Her clothes are wrinkled from her impromptu nap and, not to mention, it's her work uniform. "I just have to change."

"No, Kate," she hears, and she pauses. What? "You're exhausted. We can take a rain check on the walk."

Sighing, she sits on the edge of her bed. "I'm sorry," she repeats.

"You really need to stop apologizing. It's not a problem."

"What about the hot dogs?"

Truth be told, as tired as she may be, she really does still want a hot dog from one of the street vendors.

He laughs. "You can still have a hot dog."

"Not if we don't go on our walk to get them," she tosses back. "Can't have what I don't actually go get."

"Sure you can."

She crosses one leg over the other. "And how would I do that?"

"By opening your door."

By—what?

Standing from her bed, she strides through the living room and towards the entryway. "Rick... Where are you?" It's a dumb question, one she's pretty sure she already knows the answer to, but she asks anyway.

She gets her answer as soon as she opens the door, comes face to face with a familiar smile.

"Right here," he greets, hanging up the phone call and holding out a bag. "Hot dogs?"

Twisting her mouth to the side, she leans against the door frame, crosses her arms over her chest. "What are you doing here?"

"Bringing you hot dogs," he says, as if she should know this. "And you've just confirmed that you still want said hot dogs, so..." His voice trails off as he holds the bag higher, waves it around until she rolls her eyes, grabs it from him.

She scoffs, but moves out of the way, gesturing for him to follow. "I've gathered as much," she says over her shoulder as she makes her way towards the kitchen. "I mean what are you doing here. At my apartment. Right now."

"Ah," he says, his nose scrunching up. "Well, I was already out when you finally answered, and since you fell asleep right after work I assumed that you hadn't eaten and would be hungry, so... hot dogs, as promised, delivered to your door."

"That's actually really sweet," she says, a soft smile on her face as she opens the bag. "Thanks, Rick."

"You sound surprised," he grins. "But I'm happy to help. I know you have next to nothing in this apartment pretty much always, so I can't let you go hungry now, can I?"

She chooses to ignore his dig at her eating habits and food supply. Mostly because he's not wrong.

"Oh of course not," she says seriously. "How would that look for your chivalrous persona?"

"Persona? Kate, this is not a persona," he says, a hand over his chest in mock offense.

She just laughs. "Either way, I thank you for this late dinner." Once she's grabbed hers, she takes his out too, placing all of them onto the counter. "Sit."

"Oh, that's okay, you're tired. I was just going to drop them off and head home, let you get some rest."

Kate shakes her head, pulling out a chair to sit. "I'm awake for now, and I don't want to eat these hot dogs by myself," she tells him, giving a pointed look and then nodding towards the other chair.

"You sure?"

"I would've kicked you out already if I wasn't sure," she teases. "Now sit."

"Sitting," he salutes, taking his seat. She slides his hot dog over to him and he grabs it with a smile. "How was the rest of your shift?"

She shrugs. "Not bad. Gave people their coffee, their pastries, you know, the usual. Not all that glamorous a life," she laughs. "Some guy did come in and order 'two venti mocha lattes and one tall pumpkin spice latte' though, and I had to inform him that he wasn't, in fact, in Starbucks."

Rick laughs around a bite of his hot dog. "You hear about people going into Starbucks asking for small, medium, and large drinks, but you don't hear the opposite."

"I know," she nods. "He seemed genuinely confused when he realized he was just in a normal coffee shop."

"He was on a bluetooth, wasn't he."

She narrows her eyes. "Yeah..."

"You can just tell," he explains at her look, and she huffs. "They're always the ones talking super loudly, making comments like 'I need the briefing on my desk now, Maureen!' or 'This script is so bland, I need substance, I need some real talent!' while completely ignoring their surroundings."

He's making hand gestures, contorting his face into a ridiculous expression as he mimics these businessmen and she can't help but laugh, indulge in it.

"I can't say that you're wrong," she decides.

He grins. "Because you know I'm right," he says confidently, pausing for a moment while they both continue to eat. "How are classes going? You have a break soon, right?"

She doesn't let it show on her face, the way her stomach lurches at his question, the urge to bypass his innocent curiosity. He's only asking because he's just genuinely interested, but she was hoping it wouldn't come up.

"Uh, they're fine," she says slowly. Not exactly the truth, but not a lie. They're fine. It's her lack of sleep that's causing a problem. "And yeah. It's not much of a break, more like a long weekend, but it's a few days. Why?"

"Well, I was thinking," he starts, and she raises a brow.

"That's dangerous."

"Ha ha," he deadpans, and she grins, waving a hand for him to continue. "As I was saying, I was thinking that we could do something."

She blinks. "Do something?"

"Yeah," he nods. "You know, hang out."

"And here I was thinking that we already hang out," she teases, wrapping the remainder of her hot dog back up and leaning her elbows on the counter.

His eyes fall to the table before lifting back to hers and oh, they're especially blue right now, sparkling in the dim lighting of her kitchen. It catches her off guard, has her breath catching in her throat.

"I thought maybe we could hang out in a restaurant," he says slowly. "Maybe with me in a suit and you in... well, anything really, because you look incredible in whatever you put on."

She can feel a blush rising to her cheeks under his words, his gaze.

Oh, is he... he is, isn't he.

"Are you asking me out on a date?"

"No," he says, and now she's confused. "I'm not asking you on a date."

"Okay," she starts, but he holds up a hand.

"When I ask you on a date, you'll know," he grins, and one brow arches. So he does plan on asking her on a date? But he's not doing it now? She's not sure what's happening. "I'm asking to take you out somewhere nice. You're my best friend, Kate, and you're working yourself ragged. You don't think I see it, but I do."

Her heart jumps in her chest, but she shouldn't be all that surprised. It's not too difficult to deduce; working long hours, falling asleep and forgetting to meet him. She's sure she looks as exhausted as she is, too.

But that's all he knows, she tells herself, letting the nerves settle. He knows she's working a lot, doesn't know why. It's fine.

"So," he continues, and her eyes lift back to his. "You deserve a night out. Not a night out like in the club, just a nice night where you can relax, get dolled up if you want or just go in sweats and a t-shirt if you're more comfortable, and you don't have to worry about anything. A restaurant, a spa, whatever you want. Let yourself get pampered for a change."

Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, she dips her head. This is so... him. She doesn't even know what to say, so she continues to look at the counter top, and then she rests her chin in her palms.

A night out, with Rick, just so she can let her hair down and relax.

"You don't have to do that," she says first, but he doesn't look deterred.

"I know, but I want to. You deserve it, Kate." He reaches over, lifts her chin, doesn't speak again until she's looking at him. "So what do you say?"

What does she say? What can she say when he's looking at her with wide, hopeful eyes and a genuine desire to give her a real day off.

"I'd—yeah, Rick," she smiles. "I'd like that."

"Excellent," he beams at her, eyes crinkling around the edges. He stands then, rounds the table and wraps an arm around her waist, tugging her off the stool. "Now come."

She twists, turning to look at him with furrowed brows. "What are you doing?"

"You can barely keep your eyes open," he laughs, and she goes to protest but he makes a noise of disapproval. "Go, get changed, get comfortable."

"I have to put away—"

He shakes his head, ushering her into the hallway, in the general direction of where he assumes her room is. "I got it. I'll put everything away."

She watches as he gives her a smile and one last nudge before heading back into the kitchen, putting her hot dog back in the fridge and the other containers back onto their respective shelves. After a few seconds of observing, she makes her way into her room and changes quickly, throwing on a pair of sleep shorts and a t-shirt.

"All done," he says upon her return.

"Thanks, Rick."

"It's nothing," he waves her off, but she just rolls her eyes, hesitating for a second before she pushes onto her toes and wraps her arms around his neck. "But you're welcome, anyway," he laughs into her hair.

When she pulls away, she notices that he has his jacket in his hands.

"I'm gonna head out," he says, and she nods. "I know you'll be at work or class bright and early, but get some sleep, okay?"

"I'll be out in half an hour, I'm sure," she assures him, and she's not entirely sure she'll even make it to the thirty minute mark. If he wasn't standing in front of her, demanding her attention, she's sure she'd pass out right here.

"Good. And we'll talk about that 'Kate finally relaxes' day later?"

She lets out a small huff but nods. "Later."

"Until tomorrow, Kate," he says, tossing one last grin over his shoulder before he makes his way into the hallway.

She says goodnight and closes the door behind her, shaking her head at the way the corners of her lips tug upwards.

Ridiculous.

But ridiculous as it is, the smile doesn't leave her face even as she slides beneath the covers and drifts off into some much needed sleep.

Thank you everyone for your sweet comments, and your patience. You're all incredible.