coffee breaks [ Charlie Barber ]

II

It's quiet today.

Not a single person is here except you- it is a late Tuesday afternoon, so the lack of clients is the least bit surprising. You don't mind, though. Your business is stable, your leftover food can always be given to those who need it and, most importantly, now you can read your book.

The novel's been collecting dust on your personal bookshelf, price tag still stuck on when you decided to finally pull it out for a read through. So you grabbed your acetone nail polish remover, got the sticker off and threw the book in your messenger bag, promising yourself you'd at least get one-third of the way through.

And that's exactly what you're doing now, speeding through pages of texts detailing some upstate yuppie's life. The bloody, gruesome bits had your skin shivering a bit, but you could handle it well enough to happily continue.

The familiar ring of the door's bell startles you out of your book-reading trance, and as you stuff away your book and pat your apron you smile to yourself.

Only the mysterious, not-LA Charlie from last week would be large enough to create a shadow that... shadow-y?

You're not sure how much sense it makes, just like how you're not sure how normal it is to remember a customer so well even though they haven't even visited more than one- well, two times now.

As he walks in he raises his hand at you and dear god his hands are big. They look like they'd engulf just about anything they'd hold, including your haaaaaaand oh god control yourself, (Y/n).

You ignore the now gnawing thoughts growing in the back of your head and wave back with a polite smile, right until he's standing in front of you.

It's... empty?

It was overflowing with customers last time Charlie visited. Every chair was filled, every table covered in napkins and pastry crumbs as soft murmuring filled the air.

Today only (Y/n) is here.

Charlie bites his cheek as to not smile like an idiot. (Y/n), the first tolerable person in LA that he's met. Is he a fucking lunatic for already feeling this attached to a barista? Maybe so, maybe so- but that doesn't matter.

What matters now is that the entire place is empty, giving him a chance to actually talk to them.

Charlie feels a lot more nervous than a grown man should when they're about to engage in casual conversation. On the drive over (16:00 on a Tuesday means roads without traffic, which means no walking in the blazing heat) he wondered how he'd start a conversation with them. He still isn't sure what he should say first, how he should say it- if he even should say anything. 

Maybe they don't want to talk? Maybe he's doing it again, assuming that the cute barista would be interested in him in any way, and now he's going to yet again force someone to go along with what he wants.

Maybe the best thing for him would be to simply get a coffee (and a cinnamon bun, because those were worth his while like (Y/n) said), and never return again. Start going to Starbucks or some shit, like Nicole's mom always does. Embrace LA, get a fake tan and cut his hair at a barber's instead of at his ex-wife's home.

Jesus Christ, Charlie's in need of another counseling session.

"Welcome to the Roasted Coven, again," they say cheekily, one hand putting their book away while the other rests on their hip. The urge to shyly scratch his neck like some high school kid is much too strong for Charlie's liking, so instead he fidgets with the keys in his pocket.