Frerard Oneshots

Coffee Shop Romance

"Let me guess." I chuckled as a very regular customer stood opposite me to order his coffee. He was a very exact man, he was neatly dressed all the time and he was here at 8:45am on the dot, Monday to Friday every week without fail. The only thing about him which was remotely messy was his hair, the bright fire truck red hair that stuck out from his little beanie reaching where his scarf was wrapped around his neck.

"I can safely say I'll be disappointed if you can't." He laughed with a daring smirk. But I would understand him taking offense actually, because I worked full days on weekdays, from 7am until 5pm, most days I was his barista when he came in. Actually In the two years I had been working at Starbucks, he had been in every weekday and in the recent months I had actually found myself wanting to be his barista, because there was something about him I really liked.

"Regular Mocha Latte with a shot of Vanilla?" I asked already typing it into the till, the only time he hadn't ordered that was when the pumpkin spice latte first came in. I remembered it specifically, he had asked me what my opinion on it was, and I had told him that honestly, I really liked it, but did think it was a little overrated. He had decided to try it anyway, but he hated it, he had actually come back and given it to me, requesting that I took it as a thank you for being the only barista who ever spelt his name correctly.

"You know your stuff cutie." He laughed nodding and handing me a five dollar bill over the counter.

"I just know my favourite costumer." I chuckled handing him his change before I started preparing his hot coffee. It was fairly empty and there was nobody behind him in the queue, I had no reason to be in a rush, so whilst waiting for his coffee I, as I often did, wrote his name on the cup and under it a little message. I did it every time I had a second to spare, only for him, and I had no idea if he ever noticed that they were there, maybe he just binned the cup and never knew, but if he did I hope it made him smile.

That day was my favourite to date actually it was a pretty nice quote; "Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up." Pablo Picasso. That was the quote I scribbled down onto his cup that day, hoping it might make him smile.

I had no idea what he did for a living, where he worked or what he did with his life, but the very limited knowledge of him that I had I rather liked. His name was Gerard, two R's, not three and certainly not one and never ever an L. Just Gerard. He was awfully polite and had a great sense of humour, often with seasonal twists and sometimes political ones too. He was never in a rush, but never early either and he almost always smiled especially at me.

Ask anyone who works behind a till, every now and again there's one really sweet costumer who puts an undistinguishable smile on your face, brightens your mood and makes your day. It doesn't happen every day and sadly you also have costumers who do the polar opposite and ruin your day, but from time to time there's someone who just says something or just stops to chat for a few minutes and you turn around and smile. He was that costumer.

Every day he was so polite and he asked me how I was, some days he'd simply say hi and ask how I'd been, other days he'd tell me a joke or we'd laugh about something recently in the news and sometimes he'd compliment me. He'd say something about how I looked, or spoke, or what I actually said and it would make me blush.

I was never ever witty enough to say much back, or just quick enough to say whatever I had in my mind to say, but I always felt I owed him something back. I think that was probably why I had started writing little bullshit quotes on his coffee cup.

I don't reckon many people would notice to be honest, I mean you watched as some people didn't even spare a glance for the cup, just drank their drink and then binned the damn thing, but I liked to believe he did. He seemed like the kind of guy who might notice some of the little things the average person just ignores. But at the end of the day I was just a barista who wasted two minutes a day scribbling down a little quote somebody else had said fifty years ago.