Mini. AU/AH. Caroline's coffee shop gains a new customer.
"I have to say... this looks much more like a flower shop than a coffee shop, love."
Caroline taps a nail against the orders-pad she is holding.
Once.
Twice.
"Do you, though?"
A bemused expression wrinkles the lines of Klaus' face.
"Have to say it," she clarifies, more than a little annoyed at her new customer. 'Pardon My French Roast' is her baby, having opened the quaint coffee shop only a couple of months prior, right in the middle of New Orleans. "Has no one ever taught you not to judge a book by its cover?"
His cover is pretty impressive, truth be told—curly hair and deep eyes and plump lips surrounded by a light layer of stubble, necklaces dipping into the v-neck of a t-shirt doing nothing to hide broad shoulders and strong arms, and! that! accent!
"You're obviously British, anyway," she adds, and could swear he's grinning at her, now. "Aren't you, like, supposed to be all ugh, coffee, give me my proper cup of tea?"
He chuckles wholeheartedly at her atrocious imitation of his voice.
She has to bite down on her bottom lip in order not to join him.
When, at last, he regains some composure, there's the hint of a challenge sparkling bright in his stare that is locked on her only.
"Perhaps, love, I am not here for the coffee."