The Writer and The Café

Chapter One

Alfred locked his apartment door behind him as he walked down a flight of stairs and headed for the street to wander around his new surroundings. He moved to London because the second book was going to take place in the United Kingdom and his editor thought it would be best to experience it personally. As he reached the sidewalk he began to look around at the small shops that were close to his apartment complex. He was thankful that his brother Matthew, who is also his editor, was able to find this place for him. He was in London, but it wasn't right in the middle of the busiest parts of the city, it was more of a small town. There were a few one lane roads that would have a car pass by you every minute or two, but the best way to travel was on foot or by bike.

Taking his phone out, Alfred began to take pictures of the road and the small shops he was passing by so that he could possibly use them as a reference later on. He had been walking around the area taking pictures for about half an hour when something caught his eye. It was a small cat that had an orangish-brown spot covering part of its face, a similar colored tail and the rest of its body being white. Bending down to pet the cat Alfred took a quick picture of it before running his hand over its head and listening to it purr from his touch.

The cat lightly licked his hand before it walked down a side street and began to paw at a closed door wanting to go into it. Alfred walked over to the door and saw that the word "Café" was written onto it, and he looked down to the cat and saw it staring back up at him. Chuckling at the cute cat, he opened the door and entered the building and quietly closed the door behind him. The room he entered was bright and welcoming, unlike the small damp street he had to walk through to get to it. To his right was a display full of pastries and sweets as well as a counter with a few machines unknown to the American, on his left were small tables and chairs to sit and enjoy your drink and food as well as large windows with the view of the street.

"Hello," called a voice from his right behind the counter. Alfred turned and found a blonde man who was a bit shorter than him, with bright eyes with a matching smile. "How can I help you?"

"Oh," Alfred murmured as he began to stare at the Englishman. "Well, I'm actually new around here and accidentally found this place. A cat was trying to get in so I opened to door for it and came in."

The Englishman sighed deeply as he began to look around along the floor as he muttered, "She needs to learn to stay in the apartment rather than coming here."

Alfred did his best to stifle his laugh as he said, "So 'she' was your cat, I'm sorry I let her in if she wasn't allowed to."

The worker looked up at him and shook his head. "Don't worry about it, happens often," he said as his eyes widened a bit. "I'm sorry I haven't asked your name yet." Smiling, he held his hand out and said, "Its okay dude, my name is Alfred, Alfred Jones." The Englishman smiled back and took Alfred's hand and shook it, "Arthur Kirkland, I own this café."

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Arthur told Alfred to feel free to look around the café as he hunted for his pet cat and that he would serve him in a moment. As he looked around he noticed that there were a few people scattered about drinking tea, Alfred found a bookshelf and walked over to it and scanned the titles looking for any of his favorite works or anything new from authors he liked. As he got to the second shelf a smile was brought to his face as he pulled a book off of the shelf and opened it. The book was his, the first book he wrote and had published, it had become very popular and well known in many countries.

"Have you read it?" Alfred turned to find Arthur beside him looking at the book in his hands with a smile on his face. With a nod, he closed the book to place it back on the shelf but the Englishman had taken from his hands. "Its one of my favorites honestly reminds me of Sherlock Holmes, just much more modern," he mumbled as a light blush dusted onto his cheeks.

"Really?" Alfred asked with a knowing smirk. "I can see where you're coming from but I would have to say that Bear is nothing like Sherlock, for the main character like him he is much more hero like, going around and saving people."

Arthur nodded his head as he placed the book back onto the shelf and went behind the counter waiting for Alfred to come over. "So is there anything I can get for you?"

"Well, may I asked what hours this place is open?" Alfred asked as his eyes continued to wander around the room.

"All week, from 8 am to 7 pm."

"Do you make coffee?"

Scoffing, the Englishman shook his head. "No, just tea. And not your American tea either." Alfred looked at him with his head slightly tilted to the side confused. "How did you know I was an American?"

"Your accent you git. It's easy to tell," he said as he rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. Alfred chuckled as he poked between Arthur's thick eyebrows, "No need to be grumpy." Arthur swatted his hand away and glared at him, his eyebrows furrowed in anger.

"If you don't need anything you can leave," Arthur nearly growled between clenched teeth as he pointed towards the door. Alfred was going to retort but his stomach growled loudly and his face became flushed with embarrassment as he saw the smile that flashed onto Arthur's face.

"Maybe I'll buy a snack," he muttered as he looked away from the café owner and looked at the pastries. "I'll have whatever is your favorite." Arthur wasn't the biggest fan of sweets so he chose a small cake that was popular with the customers and his employee Francis.

Arthur placed the cake and fork in front of Alfred and asked, "Anything else?"

Alfred smiled and looked a bit guilty as he asked, "Well, may I have a glass of ice water?" Sighing and running his fingers through his hair, Arthur nodded his head and went back to the kitchen and fixed the American a glass of water. "That'll be £3.76 Alfred." He paid and made his way to an open table and sat his snack and water down. Alfred went back to the bookshelf and grabbed 'his' book and sat down.

A few minutes of skimming through the book and reading the side notes that someone wrote in it Alfred felt eyes on him but before he could look around to find them, they came to him. Alfred looked up as Arthur sat down at his table and looked at the American curiously and asked, "May I ask you a question?"