This is warning for my usual readers; this story is femmeslash ( female/female) romance. I will post this story fairly rapidly, depending on interest etc.
Pairing; An older Rosalie and a thirty-something Bella.
Chapter One.
The coffee shop called Time Out was situated on Sunset boulevard. It was heaving with customers every day and I was a nervous wreck. It was my fifth shift in this job and I was still a bundle of nerves at the start of each day. This definately wasn't how I'd imagined LA to be and this wasn't my dream job, not the one I'd come here to find. Oh no, this was the dreaded stop gap job. The one which you were forced into out of necessity.
I sure as hell wasn't a barista! But here I was, working 9 to 5 in a job which barely paid my rent and bought food. It had been two weeks since I'd landed in LA and I felt completely out of my depth. I was more terrified than I could ever remember feeling before in my life. Here I was, a thirty-five year old divorcee who had run away from her entire life to follow a dream. I was terrified that maybe I'd made the biggest mistake ever. Maybe Scott had been right. Maybe I was just a naive idiot.
With a sigh I drew shaking fingers through my long, dark and unruly hair to tuck it behind my ears. I could do this. I focused on the task at hand. I repeated a mantra in my mind; ignore the masses, pour the coffee - don't spill the milk ...again. I threw myself into serving the queue of customers, silently counting the hours until my lunch break. Time Out was a tiny, trendy coffee bar all but hidden by the larger buildings around it. It had been making a name for itself lately for having the best coffee for blocks as well as the lightest, crumbliest pastries ever. The owner, Margaret Bell, was a rather sour, eagle eyed woman in her sixties who had garish red hair and more tattoos than a biker. She watched now, as I worked, sweating, behind the small counter. Her gaze was like a physical weight. I worked faster, feeling unbelievably intimidated. I needed this job desperately and she knew it.
Three hours in and I was in robot mode; take payment, make coffee, hand it over with a smile. Check, check, check. One hour to go until lunch. I was a mess of sweat and nerves. I handed a very smart looking man his mocha latte with a forced smile and turned to the next customer. I froze. It was a woman, smartly dressed, with short blond hair, perfectly full lips and arresting blue eyes. Her hair was artfully messy, it framed her face like a halo. She was the most beautiful person I'd ever seen. I smiled, this time it was genuine.
"Can I take your order?" I asked, clearing my throat slightly.
Her eyes took on a gleam of interest when she heard my accent. A British accent was impossible to hide in downtown LA. She smiled and I was speechless. It was like her face was back-lit with this extraordinary glow. Like a goddamn angel.
"Yes please, can I have plain black coffee?" Her voice was soft and somewhat husky and it hit me directly in my solar plexus, leaving me decidedly breathless.
I blinked in surprise at her order. Usually every single person to come through this shop wanted syrups, foams, milks and loads of sugar. She was the first to ask for plain, simple coffee. Just the way I liked it. I sent her a quick shy smile as I took her payment card. After swiping it, I handed it back.
"Coming right up." I replied, getting to work.
It took only moments before her cup was done and I handed it to her feeling inexplicably disappointed. She was going to leave, and for some reason, I didn't want her to. It was unlikely I'd see her again. In a city this size seeing the same customers was a rarity. The woman took the paper cup from me, her gaze fixed on me with bone melting intensity. Had I done something wrong, I wondered, surprised at her scrutiny.
"You're not from around here." It was a statement.
I could barely hold her gaze. I found her intimidating - and I liked it.
"What gave it away?" I joked, wiping the counter to distract myself from my insane reaction to her.
The stranger smirked, I was mesmerised by the way her perfectly defined, full, pale pink lips curved as she did so. There were laugh lines around her eyes, they only added to her allure.
Her cell phone rang and she glanced down as she pulled it from her tasteful, understated clutch purse. She paused before answering the call and looked back at me from under her thick, dark lashes. I knew I was staring, quite possibly with my mouth hanging open, but I couldn't stop myself. My belly flip flopped and I was viciously assaulted by psychotic butterflies.
"I have to take this." She told me as a way of excusing herself.
There was that tug of disappointment again, I felt bereft, as though I'd been denied a treat, which was beyond ridiculous because I'd only just met her. I watched as she left, admiring her long sleek legs and perfectly coordinated suit. She was so put together she could have stepped off the cover of a glitzy magazine. The next customer stepped forward, rattling off a seemingly endless list of things she wanted in her iced frappuccino. I had to concentrate, while forcing the fake smile back onto my face.