Coffee // Dr. Spencer Reid

coffee in the morning

"Welcome to Café Minuit. How can I help you today?"
"Good morning! What are you in the mood for?"
"What can I get you, sweets?"

Three phrases rotated through her vocabulary every morning. It was the same handful of words for the past six years. Repetition bothered most people.

Most people didn't dream of sitting on a stool behind a cash register and serving coffee to grumpy people in the early morning.

Eleanor Walonet was not most people during the morning. Every day, bright and early, she was wide awake and lively, a lovely smile lit on her face for all hours of the daylight. She was a massively happy person. She was also a massive fan of coffee.

Mixing the two had pushed her to operate her own coffee shop in the small town of Quantico, Virginia. She had been successful in the business for six years.

Familiar people came and went throughout the years. Some faces she recognized. Those she saw everyday, she had usual orders drilled into her head. The trouble was placing names to the faces and their orders.

"Michael. Black coffee with one sugar. Comes in with major bed head everyday," she mumbled under her breath as she whisked away to create his order, "and he never leaves without throwing in a dollar to the tip jar."

"Sarah. Caramel frappé, extra caramel. comes in rushing every three days, takes an abundance of napkins, and frequently appears as though she's going to break into tears at any moment."

"Eleanor tries so hard to remember names that she often forgets their regular orders," teased Nora, one of her workers, "and then she pouts for a solid ten seconds before her face starts to hurt from not smiling."

"At least she doesn't spill orders on the daily," laughed Sydney.

"Says the girl who saw a cute boy and dropped four muffins!"

"I told you both to start using the serving tray. All it's done is collect dust since I bought it," sighed Eleanor.

"Maybe because your fat boy won't quit laying on it," said Sydney.

All three women craned their necks behind the counter to look for the black cat. There he sat, on the end of the counter, sprawled out across the serving tray. He meowed innocently.

"What am I going to do with you, Midnight?" asked Eleanor, approaching the cat and kissing his head softly.

"Sell him," said Nora. She stole Eleanor's stool at the register, glaring at the cat all the while.

"We're not selling my old man. He's a hit with the kid's," said Eleanor.

"So is Kermit," argued Nora.

The three women searched the buzzing café to find the black lab. He was padding throughout the tables, placing his head in customers' laps, getting a good scratch, then leaving to seek out another scratcher.

"Midnight isn't out to get you, Nora," assured Eleanor. "He just likes to stare at you."

"Nobody else thinks that's creepy? I feel like if me and him were in a room together, give us three minutes, and I would be dead. He's secretly evil, El, I'm telling you. I worry about your safety every time I leave you alone..."