Disclaimer: The characters belong to Rainbow Rowell.
Even over the Christmas music, Baz could hear the sound of the door opening and footsteps approaching the counter. "Welcome to Starbucks," he drawled with his back to the customer as he wiped down the coffee machine. "I'll be with you in a second." He usually was better at customer service than this, but right now he just couldn't muster up the energy to care. It was Christmas Eve, and while he didn't exactly believe in all that Jesus stuff—one of the many reasons he was no longer welcome at his father's house, for the holiday or really anytime else—he wasn't thrilled to be working today, either. Not that hanging around his aunt's apartment sounded all that much more appealing, but it was the principle of the thing.
His sour mood improved just a smidge when he turned around and found himself face-to-face with the most gorgeous man he'd seen in a long time. "I'd like a peppermint mocha," said the guy, "and a scone, please."
Baz nodded and punched in the order before reading the guy his total. The guy stuck his credit card in the chip reader and then Baz busied himself getting out the scone and making the drink. He hesitated just a bit as he debated whether to write his number on the paper cup. It was such an obvious move, and the guy was standing right there; it wasn't like there were several people waiting for drinks and he was writing everyone's names on their cups. The guy would literally watch him write his number down. After a couple of seconds, though, he decided to go for it. Even if it went nowhere—which was by far the most likely outcome—it wasn't like today could get much more pathetic.
"I didn't give you my name," said the guy when Baz uncapped his Sharpie.
"That's true," said Baz, writing his phone number.
The guy glanced over his shoulder. There were only a few other people in the shop. The guy leaned forward, bracing his hands on the counter, nodded at the cup, and said, "You mean that in, like, a non-platonic way, right?"
Baz rolled his eyes. "Has anyone ever meant that platonically?" he asked, handing over the drink.
"Okay, cool," said the guy, blowing on it. "So like, this has gotta suck, working on Christmas Eve and all. Unless—maybe you don't care about Christmas. Maybe you're an atheist or Jewish or something. Sorry, I shouldn't assume."
Baz shrugged. "I grew up Christian, but I'm not really anything right now. I'd still rather not be working on Christmas Eve, but, you know, what can you do. Gotta buy textbooks somehow."
"Oh, you're in school? So am I! Where, Watford University?" he asked before taking a huge bite of scone.
Baz nodded. "Yep, English and music double-major with a classics minor. My aunt tells me I'm gonna be stuck doing this barista thing for life. How about you?"
"Math," the guy said. Then he took his first sip of the mocha and smiled. "You're good at making these."
"I should hope so. I've been here for two and a half years," said Baz. "Got the job right before I started classes my first year."
"I'm a junior too!"
"Cool," said Baz, a little unenthusiastically. This guy had a lot of energy, and Baz wasn't even going to try to match it. "What has you here talking to me on Christmas Eve, anyway?"
The guy looked down, some of his energy draining away. "My best friend is spending Christmas with her new boyfriend, and I don't have family and my last girlfriend dumped me last spring, so . . ."
"Wait, okay," said Baz, trying to piece things together. "You asked if I gave you my number platonically and said 'cool' when I said no, but you date girls?"
It was the guy's turn to roll his eyes. "You have heard of bisexuality, haven't you?"
Baz's dominant hand twitched with the urge to smack himself in the forehead, but he resisted. "Sorry. Yeah, I have." It was quiet for a few moments, and then Baz said, "Look. I get off in an hour. Would you like to hang around until then and maybe get dinner or drinks after that? I'm not sure what's open, given the holiday, but I don't think I'd mind walking around with you a bit looking for somewhere to go, even though it's cold. I mean, if you don't mind either."
"I don't," said the guy. "Mind, I mean. That sounds good. Better than what I'd planned to spend the evening doing, at any rate. I can check what's open on my phone, though, if you want me to. Might mean less time in the cold."
"That sounds good," said Baz. "And can I get your name?"
"Oh," said the guy. "Yeah. I'm Simon." He glanced down at Baz's nametag. "What kind of a name is Baz? Sorry, that came out wrong. I just—haven't met someone with your name before?"
Baz sighed. "It's fine. It's short for Basilton. My father's family is English and they really go in for the ridiculously fancy names. 'Posh,' I guess they'd say."
"Huh," said Simon.
The door opened and another customer came in, approaching the counter with long, quick strides.
"Hang around for an hour?" Baz said quietly, looking from Simon to the new customer and back.
"Sounds like a date," said Simon, winking before he headed to a table.