Based on the prompt "I tell my friends I come to the cafe you work at because they have the world's greatest milkshakes but i love the little notes you leave me scrawled on napkins every time you take my order and you smile at me like the sun from across counter tops". For Clare.
Black as night, hot as hell
She likes this place. Really, she does. Cozy armchairs, good coffee, wobbly old tables and a quiet ambiance. She likes this place and she's here to work, damn it. She's here to write, and it doesn't matter if the place is so comfortable, she should get a grip and finish proof-reading this article before sending it to her editor.
She hears him before seeing him.
"Your usual?"
Regina looks up, and – oh. He's already here with a trail, full of – coffee, and pastries, and deliciously-looking goodies.
She smirks, doesn't resist. "I was told you should take an order before actually bringing the food," she tells him. Cheeky.
"Oh, it's not for you," he informs her. Points to a table, not so near. "It's for that lovely group of lovely old ladies."
"It's a shame I'm not old nor lovely, then," she points out. He just grins, before asking her again if she wants the usual.
.
.
The first note comes like this, during that afternoon in late summer. It's scribbled on a napkin, just right under her cup of tea. (Yes, it's September and it's time for tea. Autumn red tea, smelling of fruits and strolls in the woods.)
It says You're not old, but you surely are lovely.
She blushes – she can't help it. Glances up – he's turned towards the alcohol bottles, neatly aligned on the back of his counter. She smiles to herself, then rushes to look down before he can actually spot her face.
.
.
They keep coming, the notes. The next one is served along with a pancake (it's cherry jam and vanilla ice cream, this time.) It says Cherry to sweeten a hard day?
And she thinks it's weird, because he's always so… professional, around here, and she wonders if he writes notes to all the women who come here.
He laughs, when she asks. His smile, the only answer.
.
.
It's been a crappy day – her umbrella has broken on her way here, when she enters she's soaking wet – not in the good sense – and a bit snappy. He brings her hot water with lemon, offers some whiskey for curative purposes, and goes away before she has the chance to read his note.
It can't rain forever.
She rolls her eyes, but the corner of her lips tugs up.
.
.
One day, Emma insists on accompanying her to the bar – she's not so enthusiast about it, because she has come to think of it as… her place, somehow. A quick swirl of anxiety comes, when he approaches their table – Emma goes for A coffee and a piece of cake, with more chocolate as possible, please, then proceeds trying to find the toilet.
And Emma misses the brush of his fingers on Regina's hand, when he leaves with their order – the cake and Regina's almost shy Just a tea, today, thanks.
But Emma has the sneaky hands of a thief, because she takes the note he brings with a monstrous velocity.
"I have to admit, it's weird to see you with someone. But even if she'll pay more than you, you're still my favorite customer. Oooh," she grins, like the Cheshire Cat. Regina brings one hand up to her forehead, thinking that she might die of mortification right now, and it wouldn't be enough. Oh my god, I'll kill him barehanded.
"Regina, you have a suitor," Emma says, stating the obvious. "It's so mushily cute."
"It's embarrassing, not cute," she cuts in. "Now eat the cake, and hush."
"Has he asked you out?"
"Emma."
Her friend lifts an eyebrow. "For how long has this… notes-thing continued?"
Regina frowns. "Three months?"
Emma's eyebrow rises even more. She takes the fork, starts poking at the Sacher. "You know what to do, then."
.
.
When the first snow falls, she does it. Before the courage abandons her, rips out a page from her Moleskine, scribbles her number on it, and folds it. Then gets up, gathering her purse, and nears the counter.
She hands him a handful of changes, with the little paper, and runs away before he can even start opening it.
She's just around the corner – trying to envelop her wool scarf around her neck – when her phone rings.
