Loki had met back up with him after Pitch left. He gave him a very brief tour of the house. He knew Loki had to seriously regret inviting him to stay. It was only for a month and then Jack would be out of their hair. He could gather enough money in that time to get an apartment—he didn't have any credit history at all, which would be a problem. He could think about that after he handled the most pressing issue: getting a job. He really needed one.
Loki gave him directions to the busiest area of town, which he said was actually very close by.
Leaving the house, his feet start walking, and following Loki's directions, he finds himself quickly turning onto Main Street. Seeing a 'Help wanted' sign in two windows—one for a Halloween themed 'All Hallows' Café, and the other in the frighteningly cheery 'Christmas Café'. He takes his chances with the lesser evil. The door handle is a familiar antique brass with an attached thumb latch. When they built this town, Jack reasoned, they must have installed the same type of doors everywhere.
Jack gripped the handle and pressed down on the latch, pulling outwards. The door is old but strong and feels like the pressure of the wind had the door vacuum suctioned to the frame.
It's taking a lot more effort on his part to open the door than he thought it would. Was the shop closed? Was this door actually just locked? A quick glance through the large shop window reveals that this is not the case. The window is tinted, but not enough that he can't make out the many figures inside. The place is packed, and a line of customers is standing just a few feet away from the entrance of the store.
A sudden push on the other end of the door catches him off guard and sends him straight to the floor. From his seat on the hard sidewalk, Jack stares dazedly at the bulky man standing in front of him. He's a short and stocky man with eyes so dizzyingly blue they distract from the blonde bird's nest framing his heart-shaped face. A soft hand reaches out and Jack is reminded of the little pieces of stone currently pressing into the palms of his hands as he still lies sprawled on the concrete. Quickly, he gathers himself and reaches out to accept the offered hand.
"Thank you so much—er, for opening the door and, um, helping me up." Jack is awkward. beyond awkward. His hand finds the back of his white hair and scratches at his scalp, an act to alleviate the need to wring his hands from the sheer embarrassment of the situation. He could see that all the customers in line behind this now open door were either looking at him unabashedly or trying to look at anything but him.
The man at the door smiles brightly and nods before turning directly on his heel and walking towards the back of the café.
Stepping inside the café the shop is almost dead silent, aside from the clicking of a laptop from somewhere further in. The door clicks loudly behind him as it settles back into the door frame. The line to the register runs horizontally across the room, as the register and barista set up are situated to the far right of the store.
With a small and unsteady breath, he takes a few steps to the left and moves into place at the back of the line, behind a smartly dressed woman who is doing her best to act like she didn't just see him make a fool of himself. Jack feels the hot flush on his face and is seriously contemplating just walking back out the door and going across the street to that 'Christmas café'. The only thing that keeps his feet in place is the idea of having just as much trouble pushing the door open as he'd had pulling it.
Taking a deep breath, he glances around the shop. It's got a very modern design. The front part of the restaurant is separated by dark velvet-covered dividers, and he can see through the opening that there are several tables and seats on the other side. The lighting is easy on the eyes—dim but not too dark—several light fixtures hang above the tables, and he can make out flickering from inside. They're candles! Talk about keeping with the aesthetic.
The line moves forward slightly, and stepping forward gives him a better view of the dining area. There are about 3 tables currently occupied, one of them being taken by his blonde savior from the door. He's sitting with his chair against the wall in the furthest left corner. Jack couldn't even see the man until he got closer to the opening of the dividers. The dividers were in no way see-through. How had he...?
The man must sense Jack's eyes on him and glances up from his laptop, his fingers stilling for a moment. Jack hurriedly peels his eyes away from the man and directs his gaze to the front. His eyes trailed each person on their way to the register. It's not a very large line, but Jack can tell that this is probably the busiest time of the day for the shop. There are about 5 people in line ahead of him and… Pitch Black, Loki's uncle, is behind the counter.
Maybe it's not too late to leave. Why bother with the door? Jack might actually just throw himself out of the window.
Jack didn't think Pitch had noticed him yet. This could... this could work in his favor though. He could pull the whole "Hey if you really want me gone, you can employ me." He supposed people really wanted long-term employees though, maybe something more along the lines of "Mo' money for me, less problem for you?"
He wasn't exactly in interview attire, what, with his wrinkled white shirt- the collar all messed up from being grabbed on by the owner of this shop...
Blackmail? The amulet burns and Jack is genuinely not sure if the amulet led him to that conclusion or if the amulet was asking him if that was what he had decided on.
Either way, it was not a horrible solution. Like maybe horrible in a moral way, but the ends justify the means and all that? Jack nods to himself and looks up, only to realize the line had moved all the way up while he was lost in thought. Pitch was staring right at him expectantly, narrowed eyes looking at him through a pair of thin glasses.
Had he just been seriously contemplating blackmailing this brick of a man? The oddly skin-toned man had the most angular jawline he'd ever seen. It could probably stab him to death, god damn. And those eyes... those eyes were looking at him. directly at him.
"Can I help you?" Pitch drawled, resting his hand on the counter.
"Job?" The word fell from his mouth, and Jack nearly screamed.
"I mean, hiring, you're hiring?"
"If this, is you asking for a job in customer service, you are most definitely not selling your communication skills." Jack flushed, the red bright against his pale cheeks.
"Well, you're different from a customer. How do you expect me to speak to you normally? " Jack defended, realizing that was definitely not what to say as the broad-shouldered man's eyebrow raised even higher.
"You're right, I am different from a customer—I'm your boss." He reached under the counter and threw an apron at Jack. It hit him smack dab in the face, and he looked up at Pitch in awe.
"For real?"
"Please get back here before I regret all of my decisions in these past 24 hours." Jack grinned and threw the apron on over his head. It was a sweet apron with white lettering on the front that read 'All Hallows' in a dainty script. He imagined this might have actually been Pitch's handwriting.
Pitch was a hard ass. In fact, the Pitch that he had met in the house that tried to strangle the life out of him was a completely different man from the public persona he put on in his shop.
"Don't we need to do like paperwork or something?" Jack asked as he ground some coffee beans. The shop was almost empty now except for the blonde man in the corner. After the morning rush, only a few customers came in, and usually no more than one or two at a time. The menu was delicately written on a chalkboard behind the register, and it was surprisingly brief. Did Pitch make enough money here to justify that fancy house he lived in?
Pitch paused and looked up sharply from the clipboard he was using to take inventory. His golden eyes rolled so hard that Jack was afraid that they might just fall out.
"Jack, when you left your home yesterday, did you think to grab any sort of identification? Any I.D... Your birth certificate, maybe your social security card? No? Just how exactly did you think you were going to get a job anywhere but here? " Pitch looked back down to his clipboard and checked something off before adding,
"You're lucky; I'm even paying you above the minimum wage." Wow. Jack poured the ground coffee beans into a clean jar and labeled it "Dark Mocha." He sat it down and peered over at Pitch.
"Soo, exactly what am I making?"
"Nine dollars. It's tax-exempt since the government doesn't exactly know you're working here. " Jack genuinely hoped he meant nine dollars an hour, and not just nine dollars. He wouldn't exactly put it past Pitch to pull something like that.
Jack felt eyes on him and looked around, meeting the blue-eyed writer's gaze. They both looked away immediately. The man hadn't gotten more than the one cup of coffee that was still sitting on his table, most likely empty by this time. Jack wondered how long he was going to stay there writing. Pitch hadn't looked the stocky man's way once, so he could assume that this man was a regular.
For never holding a job before, Jack felt like he was doing a pretty good job. He had easily caught on to the menu, especially since it was a small menu, and most of the customers coming in all ordered pretty much the same things. Some of the people were obviously regulars and had specific orders, but for the most part, they were patient in explaining what exactly they wanted.
It was around 2 pm when Pitch walked over to the window and pulled the 'Help Wanted' sign out of it.
"We close at 2:30. I've got to run to the back and check some of the stock back there before then. If you need anything, do try and use your brain a little before you come to me. "
Pitch had only been gone ten minutes when the writer approached the front. Jack was surprised at first because he hadn't even heard him get up, and the pitter patter of the laptop had only stopped just moments before he noticed the man standing there. Jack sat the broom he was using against the counter and waited to see what the man would order.
It was silent for a few more moments before the man pointed to the sign and moved his hands around rapidly.
"Oh, you're using ASL?" He said and signed out as well.
The man lit up like a firework, nodding fervently.
"Awesome, I had to learn it for my sister..." He trails off and looks distractedly at his now motionless hands before turning back to the counter to make the latte the man ordered.
Before starting, he turned around and signed out.
"By the way, this is my first day, so you're probably not going to get any cool foam art if that's what Pitch is usually into with these things." The man just smiled, bigger than before.
A moment later, Jack handed the man his latte—the foam looking not unlike the Stay Puft Marshmallow man from Ghostbusters. He was thankful nonetheless, and before taking the coffee from the counter, he told Jack his name.
"Sanderson? That's a unique name. Do you write novels? I bet that would be a cool name to see on a book. " He was just taking a guess; the man could have been doing anything on his laptop all day, but being a writer in a coffee shop sounded like a pretty cool guess.
Sanderson flushed pink and nodded.
' I write children's books,' Jack went to respond to him, but Pitch came from the back.
"Jack." His tone was short. He placed a hand on Jack's shoulder, pulling him back further away from the golden man.
Go ahead and put your apron up. It's 2:30. " He placed a hand on Jack's shoulder, pulling him back further away from the golden man.
"Sanderson." He nodded to the man, who then took his latte and went to gather up his laptop. Jack folded up his apron and placed it back underneath the counter. He didn't say anything about Pitch's interruption, as something in the man's tone set him on edge. This wasn't Pitch's public persona. That was most definitely a hint at the vicious Pitch he had seen the night before. He wondered briefly what kind of history the two men had.
What could be going on that he would let the man write in his shop all day and then be so cold to him? The man writes children's novels, how bad could he be?
Sanderson walked out of the shop without so much as a glance back, and finally, Jack looked over to Pitch, who was still watching the door.
"You'll be needed here every day from 7:30-2:30, except Wednesdays. We are closed on Wednesdays." Pitch looked over at him with a smirk.
"Oh, and you shouldn't have any issues with the door again. The wards should let you in now." Jack nearly screamed as Pitch shooed him out of the door.