Hatchetfield.

you like yours bitter, i prefer sweet

Paul doesn't liken himself to a coffee connoisseur, as his favorite type is whatever the hell Charlotte brews in the break room, but even he can tell Beanie's fucking sucks. He always gets a simple black coffee and immediately regrets it. It's not the worst he's tasted, since he's drunk his fair share of burnt or day's old coffee out of desperation to stay awake, but he has some standards.

Ted orders a chai tea strong enough to send a bull into cardiac arrest, backing up the long line and lunch rush to flirt relentlessly with the uninterested barista. She's pretty, sure, but at least a decade younger than them and probably still in college. Paul would rather date within his generation, thank you very much.

An unwilling witness to this trainwreck of an interaction, Paul waits beside the sugar counter, one hand in his pocket, the other wrapped around his black coffee. He rocks back and forth on his heels. If he left, maybe he'd make it back to CCRP before Ted even noticed. It's not that he hated Ted, as he had some redeeming qualities, but most of them were drowned out by his sleaziness.

Another barista appears from the back, carrying a tray of pastries. Her head is filled with an ungodly amount of bobby pins to hold her brown hair in place. She looks his age, tan skin with a scowl so deeply engraved in her face Paul assumes anger is her default expression. As she tosses the pastries into the display, she glances at Paul through the glass.

His heart does a double take. Her eyes are like arrowheads, sharp and dangerous and piercing right through him. He looks away and pretends like he wasn't checking her out, taking a sip of the borderline burnt coffee.

The unfamiliar barista doesn't seem new, as she moves around the small space with familiarity, but Paul would remember if he'd seen her before. She's beautiful.

When he spares a glance back at her, she's looking away in a hurry, tossing old coffee grains into a garbage can. She doesn't even look embarrassed when their eyes meet for a second.

The entire walk back to their office, Ted croons over the college girl, calling her a tease. Paul's mind is elsewhere, though, and it stays there for the rest of the day.

★・・・☕︎・・・★

The following Monday, when Ted offers Paul to tag along to Beanies, he agrees rather quickly. Ted seems surprised. That wicked, sleazeball grin tells Paul that whatever excuse he makes isn't going to work. So, he doesn't say anything at all.

"I knew you'd notice her eventually," Ted says, tossing an arm around Paul's shoulders as they stand at the light a block down from Beanie's. "I was starting to think you were celibate or some shit."

"Because I'm not trying to hump everything that moves like you?" Paul awkwardly wriggles away from Ted, rubbing where he was touched.

"Well, you've never taken interest in anybody in the office, even though Melissa has an obvious crush on you. You should jump her bones, man. I bet she's a freak in the sheets."

He shudders at the thought. "Ew, dude."

"What? I'm just saying. Or go for Bill, since you two are so close. Whatever floats that boat of yours."

Paul dodges Ted's attempts to tackle-hug him and stumbles into Beanie's. The folks in the line glance at him, and he fails to play it cool.

"Look, I'm just here for some coffee," he says with a scowl he's developed just for Ted.

"Uh huh, uh huh. Your secret's safe with me, Matthews." Ted winks and gets behind Paul, poking at his spine. "Don't worry. I'll be your wingman."

"Please, God, no."

The line moves sluggishly forward. Paul ignores Ted's advice and focuses on trying to predict which of the two baristas will get his order. Not like he cares. Except he does.