Chapter Text
MONDAY
Rey’s heart beat joyfully, adrenaline rushing through her veins as she hopped in the shower, excited about the day ahead: her first day at her new job. She rubbed her hands together, grinning madly as she waited for the water to warm. This was her first real job—one actually related to her degree: Officially a junior copy editor at Resistance Publishing and Advertising.
A barista no more.
She hadn’t hated working in the service industry, no, not at all. It had provided her focus and security for the last decade—and she’d been working since she was fourteen years old. Though it was emotionally demanding, and at times intensely physical, it could be a lot of fun. She enjoyed her regular customers who laughed and tipped well, and the little old ladies who called her dear. Easy graciousness and the milk of human kindness—which she hadn’t had much of in her life—easily outweighed the rude or unreasonable customers who popped up occasionally. It was worth dealing with awful people every now and again to receive happy smiles and the sincere thanks of someone she’d satisfied by doing a job well done.
But as much as she’d enjoyed it, to finally be using her creative talents at a marketing agency made her stomach swirl, like a school of hyperactive fish splashed happily through her middle, leaving the thrill of anticipation in their wake.
The only thing she’d deeply miss about working at the Starbucks on Chandrila Street was a certain customer who’d started coming in about three months ago. Ben S., who ordered a venti black drip and nothing else. Ben S., whose warm, caramel colored eyes sometimes stared a little too long but never twinkled or winked at her. Ben S., with his delicious looking mouth arched in a permanent pout; it never opened to make small talk or flirt while she poured his coffee—no matter how much she smiled or batted her eyelashes or teased.
The conclusion was painful but clear as running water. He didn’t like her. He was there for coffee. And that was fine. Completely understandable, even. A handsome guy like him, always wearing sharp suits, what would he see in a chirpy barista probably ten years his junior? Nothing. So, oh well. He just wasn’t into her. She’d probably never see him again.
Wistful frustration had her lathering her shampoo to a ridiculous degree. The thought of not seeing Ben S. anymore was too bad—some things weren’t meant to be—but who knew? She’d meet new people at Resistance. Even if romance wasn’t on the horizon, it would be great to make some new friends. People who shared her professional interests and dreams. It would be good, right? Nerves ricocheted through her body, pooling in stomach until she felt fit to burst.
Shaking off her excess energy, she cleared her throat as she rinsed the shampoo from her hair.
“Well, it’s-a one for the money, a-two for the show,” she sang, giggling to herself as a wave of comforting memories coursed through her. “A-three to get ready, now go cat go, and don’t ya,” she growled a little, the way Maz had taught her, “step on my blue suede shoes…”
Maz, her last—and best—foster mother had always said Elvis’ music could cure what ailed you when you were anxious, down in the dumps, or carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. And when teenage Rey met Maz, she had been all of the above.
Previous foster homes had neither provided her with adequate nutrition nor worried much about her education. When she’d arrived in Maz’s home at the age of fourteen, Rey was skinny, angry, and illiterate. Maz had helped her conquer long division, master verb conjugation, and introduced her to risotto, tabbouleh, Maya Angelou, and Elvis. Though for a few years there were stormy seas, Maz had shaped her into a human being, capable of learning and so much love.
Then the Agency had pulled funding for the foster program and dumped Rey in a group home on the other side of the state. She survived. Fed and educated, but not loved. Maz’s lengthy hugs, which had irritated Rey on occasion, became fond and faded memories. Once she turned eighteen, she looked for Maz. She never found her. But she also never forgot her.
Rey turned into the stream to rinse, still warbling, “a-you can do anything, but lay off-a my blue suede shoes.” Pausing to allow water to wash over her face, Rey startled to hear a voice pick up the song where she’d left off.
“Well you can knock me down,” sang the voice, a steady male tenor, “a-step on my face, slander my name all over the place.” Rey placed her ear against the tile of her shower wall and gasped in amazement. The voice was coming from the other side. She chuffed out a laugh as she grabbed her conditioner and rejoined the song.
“A-do anything that you wanna do, but uh-uh honey lay off-a my shoes.” She giggled and gave a little clap as they finished the verse together. She launched into the second verse and again, they finished in unison.
“Do anything that you want to do, but uh-uh baby, lay off of my shoes…”
Whoever he was, he could really sing. His Elvis impersonation had some exaggerated vocal tics here and there, but his natural voice intrigued her; the sounds were sonorous and delightfully caught Rey off guard. He was fascinating. She ignored the nagging voice in her head saying she put too much meaning into other people’s actions.
She couldn’t help getting carried away by the unexpected. Not a lot of people knew the lyrics to Elvis songs, but she’d found someone who did: someone with whom her voice blended beautifully as the music flowed between them. It was so inexplicably good, almost too good to be true. A talented man with an enticing voice chose to engage with her. Wanted to join in on her fun. And they were showering. It was sexy and wholesome, like a Doris Day film. Rey, overcome by the certainty this was special—that it meant something—wasn’t about to let any doubts stop the surge of positivity singing through her body.
Feeling buoyant, Rey rinsed off, smoothing all the remnants of suds from her skin. She thought about repeating the chorus, but—his steamy voice notwithstanding—she needed to get going if she was going to get downtown by half past eight. Stepping lightly out of the shower she quickly toweled off and wiggled into her pencil skirt before tucking in her camisole. As she buttoned her cute cardigan her mind kept flitting back to her unexpected duet partner. The serotonin from the thrilling surprise put a pep in her step.
Today was going to be a good day, she could tell.
When she stepped out onto the sidewalk, she looked at her apartment, analyzing the layout with a critical eye. The building was old-fashioned: red brick, long, and extremely narrow. Her tiny apartment took up the entire second floor. She didn’t have any neighbors, exactly. Rey’s only windows were a large bay at the front, where she had a sitting area, and a smaller, square glass pane in back, for her bedroom, leading to the fire escape in the alley. The bathroom was in between, across the hall from her kitchen. That was the entire floor plan. Her bathroom was on the east side, and the building bordering that wall was large, modern, and sleek.
Her singing neighbor’s bathroom must be level with hers; perhaps vents carried the sound? From this perspective, they were separated only by her thin drywall, some bricks, and whatever natural wood made up his building’s siding. It was so fancy. Thank goodness her building was rent controlled. Rey sighed deeply and turned to trek to work.
The Resistance office was amazingly within walking distance. A few blocks from her apartment, a footbridge crossed the Naboo River, giving her a beautiful view of the rushing and tumbling of Naboo Falls. The roaring water provided a wall of white noise, calming her nerves as she crossed the bridge, which terminated only a few blocks from her new office. Convenient and a picturesque way to start the day.
She also loved that her new employer was a family owned company; she’d interviewed with Mr. Skywalker, one of the co-owners, who ran the small operation with his sister, Ms. Organa.
When Rey arrived, he greeted her and introduced her to one of the other copy editors, Rose Tico.
“Rose, do you mind showing Rey around?” he asked quickly, already walking backwards. “I’ve got to run into a meeting and—” The rest of his sentence was lost as he turned the corner. Rose and Rey looked at each other and laughed.
The tour wasn’t going to take long. After ensuring Rey knew the location of the restrooms, Rose pointed towards where Mr. Skywalker had disappeared, down the office’s only hallway. “Ms. Organa’s office is on the right there, and Mr. Skywalkers’ is on the left. The only other executive is Mr. Solo, who’s in charge of advertising. His cube is over in that corner, next to ours.” Rose pointed to the far corner, the open floor plan making it easy to see around the space with sunlight streaming in from the bank of windows.
“Got it,” said Rey, making a note of the office’s lovely river view.
“The kitchen slash breakroom is over there; there’s a Mr. Coffee and a fridge, if you bring your lunch.”
Rey nodded and heard a loud, clattering bang in the direction of the kitchenette. Rose looked at Rey in alarm and they both took quick steps in the direction of the noise.
To Rey’s surprise, a man with a British accent spoke. “Easy on the hardware, Solo,” he laughed, his upper class accent rich with teasing condescension. “Why are you fussing with that machine anyway? Don’t you get your coffee from a shop? I thought you wouldn’t be caught dead drinking the… the ‘office swill,’ I believe you called it?”
“I’m not going back there,” a deep, petulant voice rumbled in response and a chill shot down her spine as she and Rose poked their heads through the break room door.
“Why ever not?” asked the Britisher, a tall ginger with flashing blue-green eyes. “You patronized that shabby Starbucks religiously for months. Couldn’t even convince you to try Café Chique with me, and they roast organic beans in-house.”
“Things change,” came the gruff response. Rey’s mouth fell open. That rich dark hair, those shoulders— even from the back she could recognize—
“Ben?” The question slipped out before she could stop herself. “Ben S.?” His name flowed easily from her smiling lips, as it had every weekday morning for the past three months.
The man in question abruptly turned at the sound of her voice, the overfull mug in his hand spilling coffee over the countertop and splashing onto his shirtfront.
“Shit, shit,” he hissed as the hot coffee sloshed over his fingers. Delicately taking the mug in his other hand, he set it on the counter, more of the warm brown liquid running over the sides as he did so, dripping down the cupboard drawers and onto his shoes. “Jesus. Fuck.”
“Oh my god,” Rose said in concern, at the same time Rey asked, “Are you all right?”
Ben Solo’s face was red as Hawaiian Punch and his lips were pressed in a thin line. “I’d be better if people didn’t sneak up on me in the break room,” he muttered, his eyes wide as he stared at Rey.
Figuratively knocked sideways, a confluence of emotions swirling around her chest, Rey gasped. It was Ben S. This was wonderful. But no—this wasn’t wonderful. This was terrible. Ben S. was Mr. Solo in charge of advertising. Last week he’d been a customer she’d had a crush on, but now he was a coworker. A cranky coworker who’d made it clear it was her fault he’d spilled coffee on himself. Unfair. Her spine stiffened and she could feel her face falling into a frown.
Leaping into action, Rose and Hux spoke overly loudly, handing Ben paper towels and making light of the situation to cover the awkwardness while Rey hung back, her arms crossed lightly, holding her own elbows while feeling unnecessary and underfoot.
Within seconds Hux returned to ribbing Ben over something unrelated to his coffee mishap, while Rose had latched onto Rey’s elbow and steered her back towards their large, shared cubicle.
“So, Rey,” Rose asked while Rey got herself logged on to her new desktop. “Tell me about yourself. Anything interesting going on right now?”
“Oh me, no,” Rey demurred before righting herself. “Let’s see. I was a barista...” Her eyes drifted towards the cubicle wall they shared with Ben, but she quickly refocused. “But I’m happy to be here. I can’t wait to get to know everyone and learn all about Resistance’s business.”
“Do you drink?” Rose smiled animatedly. “We like to grab a beer sometimes after work. Maz’s Cantina has karaoke on Fridays—”
“I love karaoke,” Rey interjected. “I mostly sing in the shower, though,” and she laughed as Rose’s eyes lit up. “Any excuse to break out my Elvis’ greatest hits album. This morning I was singing—”
“Let me guess, Jailhouse Rock?” Rose laughed and Rey laughed along with her, giddy to be making a new work friend.
“Blue Suede Shoes, actually—” The resounding bang of something being dropped in Ben’s cubicle—the sound of ceramic scraping against a laminate desk—interrupted Rey’s story.
“You okay there, Ben?” Rose called. When no response came, she turned back towards Rey. “Maybe there’s something we can sing together. Do you do duets?”
Rey burst into a huge smile. “Yes. And it’s so funny you ask, because that’s exactly what happened this morning—” Within seconds she had Rose in equal parts laughter and amazement as she relayed the story of her singing neighbor.
“So intriguing,” Rose commented. “What do you make of it?”
“I’m not sure. It… made me happy. He had an amazing voice. Rich, warm, inviting—” At Rose’s slowly raised eyebrow, she laughingly admitted, “Okay, so he sounded very sexy—”
Ben’s head popped up over the cubicle wall. Rey caught him peeking and he instantly disappeared again, his dark hair fluttering as he vanished. There was another clatter of dishware against the desk.
“Damn, shit, fuck,” came Ben’s mumbled voice. The thump of a mug and papers shuffling accompanied his litany of curses. “Shit, fuck,” he repeated.
Eyebrows raised, Rose spun around and stuck her head in Ben’s cube. “You okay—oh my gosh—it’s everywhere. I’ll get some paper towels.” Giving Rey a pointed look, like what are you gonna do with this guy? Rose ran for the break room.
There was a moment of silence; Rey tried to breathe as quietly as possible but the tension soon became too much to bear. “Everything alright?” she meekly asked, still sitting in her cubicle chair.
“Spilled my coffee,” came the grunted reply. “S’fine.”
He sounded forlorn; her heart squeezed in her chest. Her months-long crush on tall, dark, and handsome Starbucks customer Ben S. came roaring back. Unable to resist, she poked her head around the corner of the cubicle wall.
He sat at his desk as he’d often sat at the Starbucks counter waiting for his order: shoulders hunched, tilted at an angle, his lower body twisted as he rested one foot on top of the other, as if to take up as little space as possible. But no matter what he did to disguise the breadth of his shoulders or the length of his legs, he was impossible to ignore. He still had that Byronic profile, those dreamy lips, and the romance-novel-esque raven-black hair of a rakish privateer who was actually a Duke in disguise.
She sighed.
“Can I get you some coffee?” The words slipped out almost automatically.
“You—what?” he sputtered. He seemed shocked and dismayed to see her in his space, his long face seeming to grow longer as he frowned.
“Well, you know,” she tried for a cheerful, conciliatory tone. “I used to be your barista, so it’s sort of my fault you don’t have your regular coffee today and—” she gestured vaguely at the puddle of coffee, noting with mild horror Ben had managed to spill it everywhere. It flowed over the surface of his desk, drenching papers. It dripped from his shirtfront, soaking everything from his tie to the tops of his thighs. He held excruciatingly still, in an effort to not make his predicament worse, while simultaneously curling in on himself, hiding, pulling away.
She tried not to take it personally.
Ben’s face tightened unattractively and he rolled his chair slightly back, away from her, avoiding the mess of coffee.
“No thank you, Rey.”
Her heart, stupidly, still went out to him. She knew it sucked; she’d spilled coffee on herself a dozen times. It burned, then went so uncomfortably cold. It felt awful. “Really, it will be no trouble, I'd be happy to—”
“I said no thank you.” He turned away, fingers clenched into fists.
Abashed, Rey ducked back around the cubicle wall as Rose arrived with a hand towel and a stack of heavy duty napkins. She heard the two of them go about soaking up the pool of coffee, Rose’s happy chatter interspersed by Ben’s grumpy grumbles. Rey dared another peek; Ben dabbed ineffectually at his tie and pants with the napkins, his double chin adorable as he scowled down at himself.
Eventually, he dried off enough to pull on his coat, grab his keys, and grunt he’d be back shortly. Nobody said anything in response and Rey watched him go, a lump forming in her throat and settling sadly in her stomach.
She had to face facts: He wasn’t into her. He’d never flirted with her at Starbucks, hell, he’d never even smiled at her. She pursed her lips, tried to convince herself it was okay he didn’t return her crush, but she couldn’t, because that wasn’t the worst of it. The worst thing was that for no discernable reason the man of her dreams really disliked her, metaphorically stepping all over her blue suede shoes.