A/N: Written for writer's month 2021 day 2 - word: cold/setting: coffee shop AU.

I have zero idea how coffee shops work. I never thought I would write a coffee shop AU and I am terribly versed at this. So you get the American terms and the Bulgarian way of functioning. Enjoy my attempts at mixing and matching those things.


Now that the morning rush had subsided, the purple-haired woman drew the eye of everyone in the coffee shop like a centerpiece they'd put in. Even a couple passersby stared her way though the window as entranced by the sight as Faragonda herself was.

The woman's booth was covered in papers – less scattered now that the pile of finished documentation had grown tall enough to obscure her from Faragonda's direct line of sight. She had to play Twister between orders to witness the woman's eyes moving so fast over the pages that Faragonda's head was spinning after a few seconds. At least it kept her from staring like a creep. That and the relentless line of customers walking in with no regard of her time and how she wanted to spend it. A terrible fate to befall her now that she finally had an answer to that question herself.

Choking was the first sound coming from the woman after her husky voice had settled into Faragonda's mind along with her order – black tea with no sweeteners. If the coffee shop wasn't still bustling, she might have been able to hear the rustling of the papers and the pen scratching against the sheets. If she'd strained herself.

She sent away her latest customer and rushed towards the stifled coughing. Not the opportunity for introductions she'd daydreamed about. "Are you okay?" She reached to pat the woman's back but her hand froze midair from the glare she hadn't thought someone could muster in the process of suffocation.

"It's freezing cold!" The woman gestured to her tea on the table, the appeal of her voice sunken like a ship in the depths of the volume. "How did you make it? Froze hell over and brought me an iced flame?"

"It was steaming hot when I made it... two hours ago." It'd scorched her fingers while she'd been staring at the woman's eyes that were like little suns she'd taken off the sky to keep close to her heart. "I have a burn in support."

The golden irises slid over the spot on her finger that was still red and heated. The woman didn't blink or scowl, just nodded and turned on her heel to gather her papers as if Faragonda had snapped her fingers and undone the magic of the place that had grounded her for hours. Faragonda herself nearly choked on the bitter notion.

"I could make you another tea."

"I don't have time," she didn't glance at a phone or a wristwatch, or even the clock on the wall but the haste swept her away. It threatened Faragonda's heart with bursting once the chime at the entrance announced her departure.

"On the house." She'd consider the logistics later when there were no deft fingers stroking the pages as if the letters on them could feel and no view of the woman's breath rushing in and out of her excited chest.

The woman stiffened. "Why would you do that?" The golden light was hardly streaming through the slits her eyes had become. She was ready to breathe fire to protect her hoard and Faragonda was too tempted to see wings for her own good.

"Because I've been thinking of reminding you of your tea for the last hour and a half but I was wary of disrupting your concentration. So it's also my fault your drink is cold." Griselda would huff at her for her foolishness to take responsibility in the wrong context.

"So you've been watching me?" The woman tilted her head, studying her. The tension in her body changed. She wasn't facing a greedy intruder but an opponent of her own caliber.

Faragonda's heart leapt in her throat where her pulse was sure to draw the caress of the golden eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bother you." She raised her hands in front of her in surrender. "I was just admiring the passion with which you were working... Hoping it would inspire me." The ground refused to open but she would force her own downfall through it.

The woman smirked, like she'd clicked her teeth in the delicate underbelly of a crocodile and pried it open. "What's your passion?" She burrowed herself in Faragonda's very core with a simple hook.

"That's a mystery I'd like to solve." She picked up the tea cup worming her way around a waterfall of purple hair to get behind the counter. The woman's presence followed her like an echo of her nonexistent attempt to run. "I've been looking for something to spark my eyes, well, the way yours were. And here I am – a barista that people yell at first thing in the morning." Nobody cared about her voice–not her boss and not even her family–only for the work she could put in for them.

"I'm sorry," the woman twisted her fingers on top of the counter to pull the ground from under her feet. Faragonda was flying on the wings of the steam coming from the brewing tea.

"It's fine." She'd barely noticed the woman's outburst before. She'd been busy taking in the rest of her.

"You don't have to say that." Purple spilled over the woman's shoulder when she looked down for where to put the tiny smile she'd offered. She pushed the stray lock behind her ear, the motion decisive despite its delicacy. She complemented herself so tantalizingly that Faragonda was gulping down shot after shot of self-confidence. Half of them were borrowed from her strange lady but the fullness of her aura never wavered.

"You didn't have to say anything either," Faragonda put down the new tea. She hadn't been fishing for an apology, only for company.

"I don't say anything unnecessary." A ten replaced the cup of tea on the counter as the woman drank the scalding drink like it was life itself. Her reaction to the cold tea made more sense now.

"There's no need," Faragonda slid the banknote back to her, relinquishing from her body the anticipation of their hands touching as quickly as her breath abandoned her lungs. "It's with complements from the barista."

"That's your tip." She more than paid for the tea.

"That's very generous for someone who didn't even want the drink." Faragonda pushed gently to avoid piling up her discomfort on the other woman.

"For a drink maybe, but not for a cause." The woman's grin didn't let air inside Faragonda's mouth, let alone the protest against handouts that was pushing out of her pride. "If you get fired for handing out drinks, how can I help you find your passion?" The shine of her smile blossomed in Faragonda's heart like a flower of light. "I love a good mystery and I'm sure there's a lot in you to discover."

A purple thread ran through Faragonda, holding all of her layers together like a book to wrap and give to her new friend.

"What's your name?" Her throat was parched but only the answer to her question could quench that thirst. Her employee discount on drinks was good for nothing in the wake of a stranger's impact on her life.

"That, Faragonda," a smirk echoed the sound of her name from those lips, "is a mystery for you to solve."

Finally a job she could do with pleasure.


In case you're wondering, Griffin did definitely keep her name a secret from Faragonda but Faragonda saw the logo of a college on one of Griffin's pens. She looked up the college hoping to find some clue as to who Griffin is and she found out that Griffin is actually one of the professors teaching at the college.