C'est Toi • Shawn Mendes (Coffee Shop AU)

Chapter TWO

Thursday - January 10, 2019 - 12:31

I went back to the coffee shop yesterday. I decided that I was going to be more brave. Put myself out there more. So I went back in between class to do some studying. I pushed the door open and softly closed it. When I turned around I saw the Irish guy and him. His eyes were already on mine.

—

"McLane!" He shouted my name and waved both hands above his head.

I stopped closing the door and whipped my head around to stare at him. He remembered my name.  And he seemed so happy––relieved. A small smile tugged at the corner of my lips as I felt the bundle of nerves making me feel more nauseous with every step I took toward the counter. He had on a black shirt again, but this time it was short sleeved. And he had more than a few more tattoos scattered across his skin.

He grabbed a yellow cup and was already writing my name, "Another latte?" He was looking at me as I nodded in response. His eyes held a certain depth to them, they were welcoming, like a warm cup of coffee on a rainy day. Whenever we held eye contact I felt like I could spill any secret to him and there would be no judgement. But like his smile, they held a bit of mystery to them.

"More studying to do?" He walked to the other end of the coffee bar to the espresso machine. I followed him as he bent down to get the milk from the fridge. As he measured the amount of milk in the silver frothing pitcher.

I took notice of an empty table right next to the espresso machine and set my bag down. There was a loud grinding sound of a machine, and when I looked back, I saw that his back was facing me as he tamped down the espresso in the puck. Through his black shirt, I could see the outline of his back muscles.

Breathe.

He then walked over and locked the puck into the machine, but not yet pressing the button to make the espresso. He grabbed a clean cloth and wiped the steam wand a few times before he turned the lever handle that controlled the wand on and off a few times, getting rid of any old residue, before sliding the wand into the silver frothing pitcher. Once the wand made contact with the milk, it made a loud screech that had both of us cringing, before he adjusted the steam handle until there was just a low hum.

He made espresso drinks for hours on end each day, so these movements came naturally with ease to him, but I was captivated by every move of his muscle.

"A bit yeah."

Say something else, I scolded myself, keep the conversation going.

"How––How has it been today–Here?" With every word the pitch of my voice got higher. If he noticed it, he didn't make any mention of it.

He shrugged before tilting his head toward the ceiling, squinting an eye trying to recall today's events, "Uneventful. Bit slow actually."

"That's not very fun," I stammered out.

He took his free hand and quickly touched the side of the tin pitcher with his fingertips. His touch was fast, as he didn't want to burn himself, but the touch was still delicate. He seemed satisfied with the temperature the milk was at and took down a shot glass and touched a button. With the button being pressed, the espresso beans were pressed into a hot liquid that silently fell into the glass beneath it.

Chuckling, he turned the lever a few times to the opposite side and the low hum faded away.

"So, seeing you walk in has been the highlight," He had said it so nonchalantly, an offhand comment, that made my heart stop but simultaneously spiked its rate.