Tom Holland Imagines

Tropemas Day 3: Coffee Shop AU

A/N: On the third day of Tropemas, my writer gave to me: kids having coffee, Enemies to Lovers, and a cliche "One-Bed" storyyyyyy!

Every time he walks in, I can't help but stare at him. I like the way the sunlight hits his hair from where he always sits in the corner booth. It's right by the window and I like the way the glare makes his brown eyes look suddenly like they're made of gold, too. I like everything about him.

He always orders the same thing: a small Italian Machiatto with extra cream. I don't even have to ask his order anymore. He simply comes in and smiles knowingly at me, then finds his way to his little table by the window.

Today, he came in through the side door, shaking the fluffy New York City snow from his equally-fluffy hair. I couldn't help but grin to myself. Does he ever stop getting cuter? It was getting late...we only had about a half hour until close and there were only 3 people in the shop: an older lady on a business call across the room, the mystery boy, and myself. The older lady had already finished her drink and, I assumed, was only hanging around to finish her call. I'd be alone with Mystery Boy soon.

I wish I knew his name. He never came in with friends, so I could never catch even the first letter in conversations he may have been having. He just sat there with his nose in a book, barely ever turning the page. Perhaps he was dyslexic.

I picked up a napkin from beneat my timecard under the counter and removed the pencil from behind my ear to finish the sketch of him I'd started yesterday. It felt creepy to be drawing a stranger from behind the cappuchino machine, but he was just so beautiful and in case he ever stopped coming in, I wanted to have his face forever. I sketched a few more details, including the snow that peppered his hair, then flipped over the napkin in case someone walked by.

I quickly made his order just the way he liked it, drawing a small heart in the coffee foam just for kicks. Then I quickly grabbed the complimentary biscotti and a napkin from the counter and moved over to where he sat in the corner.

"Here you are!" I said cheerfully, placing the order in front of him. "Your usual." Mystery Boy looked up and smiled at me.

"Thank you, Y/N!" He chuckled when I looked confused, not realizing my nametag had given it away.

"Oh," I laughed insecurely. Then, in an attempt to recover in a smooth (yet hopefully flirty) manor: "So we're on a first-name basis?"

"I'd like that, yes," responded Mystery Boy, an adorable rose-colored blush heating his cheeks. English. He was English. His voice melted me.

"In that case, what should I call you?"

"Tom," he responded. "Tom Holland."

"Tom. I like that name." I couldn't keep the grin off my face as I turned to walk away. But just as I thought the interaction was ending...

"Hey, did you draw this?"

I stopped dead in my tracks, my heart in my chest as I realized what had happened. I'd grabbed the drawing off the counter thinking it was a clean napkin.

"Erm..." I responded, whirling around. "I, uh..."

"Because it's really good!" He was smiling? He was smiling!

"You...you think so?" My heart was beating so fast in my windpipe that I found myself winded by a bout of asthma.

"Yeah! You got my nose just right. You've got immense talent." 

"Really?" I melted further into my shoes. He liked my art?

"Do you mind...it's silly...do you mind if I keep this?"

"I mean, I'd be honored," I stammered, a goofy smile splitting my face as the blush crept up my neck.

"There's only one thing missing," Tom told me, waggling his eyebrows from beneath reading glasses.

"Oh?"

"A signature?" He offered me his pen. I shook my head, then bent over to sign the napkin. "You still haven't finished it."

"What do you mean? That's my full name!" I started to hand back the pen, but he pushed my hand towards me again .

"If the artist consents, I'd like her number, please." He looked at me hopefully. Was this happening? I bit my lip to keep the smile from unzipping my face and scribbled down my digits. 

"I, um, look forward to your call," I told Tom honestly.

"Me too."