Chapter Text
Joan didn’t believe in fate, in whatever form it might take, whether a singular god or a multitude of secret signs up to mysterious interpretations. Things just were, and humans happened to be among them. She had written a paper on the positive influences of such beliefs in individuals recovering from trauma in their early adulthood, so, she was not ignorant of the factors that could motivate an individual to turn to such ideas, it was simply a choice that did not align with her personal experience and view of the world. Joan didn’t believe in fate, or God, but damn, if such things did exist, it was out to get her today. It was only Wednesday, and everything seemed to conspire to get in her way. From her favorite plant being infested with pests to her professor dropping her a batch of 54 assignments to grade out of nowhere. She didn’t have time for that, not when the clinic she had been interning since the beginning of the year finally agreed to let her lead a couple of group sessions. She had files to read and articles to search to make sure she was ready for it. She also wanted to redo a part of her thesis that needed to be updated with the new input of her research. She reached for a pink post-it and quickly scribbled “proofread part 3 of section 2B” and stuck it in her planner with more strength than strictly necessary.
“I don’t know what this post-it did to you, but you might want to be nicer, just in case it decides to unstick and mess with your system.”
Joan rolled her eyes, and didn’t bother to look up at her brother.
“Go away, Mark,” she chastised just as he sat in the empty seat facing her. “I’m working,” she pointed out, as if the papers scattered around her weren’t obvious enough.
“Come on, Joanie, I brought the goods,” he exclaimed. She glanced at him with a skeptical raised eyebrow but relaxed when she noticed the coffee pot in his hand. Maybe some kind of deity existed after all.
“Please,” she sighed, handing him her empty mug.
“You okay?” He filled it and cast her a careless glance that poorly tried to hide his worry.
“Yeah, just a lot on my plate.” She took a sip of her drink, ignoring the sting of the burn.
“Speaking of,” he pushed a bagel toward her. “You haven’t eaten anything today.”
“You don’t know that,” she protested while reaching for the food either way.
He scoffed at her and leaned back in the seat. “Considering it’s nearing 7 and you came at 10am, I think it’s a pretty safe bet.”
She simply shrugged, her mouth otherwise occupied. He wasn’t wrong, but it didn’t matter, she had too much stuff to do. Which reminded her.
“Did you book your next check up?”
Mark sighed and stood up. “I did.” She watched him walk back to the counter and held back her own sigh. She didn’t mean to upset him. He served a couple of customers, laughing with this old lady that always came for a blueberry muffin. He was in his element here, she just wanted to make sure he did what he needed in order to be able to keep doing what he liked. She would ask him the time later, she decided, not wanting to press him any further today. She picked up her red pen and turned back to the paper in front of her, dusting a couple of crumbs away. Maybe she could grade a few more before Mark closed for the day. She was fact checking something on her laptop when her pen decided it was done for the day, it’s ink spilling all over her hand and on the table where she was tapping it.
“Oh shit” she exclaimed, quickly pushing the papers away from the crime scene. Her hand was a mess but only a single page seemed to have been touched. “Great,” she mumbled to herself.
With a grunt, she stood to grab some tissues and a sponge from Mark, but walked directly into a man and his newly paid for hot beverage.
“Come on!” she exclaimed again, taking a step back and contemplating her ruined shirt.
“I’m so sorry! I was looking at my phone and you stood so suddenly that-”
“Joanie, you’re alright?” Mark was by her side in an instant, a towel ready for her as he assessed the situation. “You’re not burnt?”
“No, it’s fine” she grumbled, trying her best to evaluate the damage. “But my shirt is ruined.”
“Uhm… baking soda will do the trick.” The same voice as before jumped in. Joan finally looked up and put a face on the culprit. A tall redhead with freckled dusting his nose and cheeks stood in front of her, the picture of remorse and awkwardness. “Vinegar also works,” he added, shifting his weight on his feet. His eyes were piercing, the kind that truly tried to see you. Joan cleared her throat and looked back down at her shirt.
“I guess I’ll try it tonight.”
“I can pay for the dry cleaner if it’s easier for you.” He seemed eager, his voice too cheerful for this endless day.
“It’s fine, thanks.”
“You’re sure? It’s no-”
“Buddy, she said no. Take the hint,” Mark interrupted, stepping between them as if the guy was about to jump on her. She put her hand on his shoulder and felt how tense he was.
“Can you bring me a clean top please? I think I’ll just go,” she said calmly, waiting for him to catch her eyes to smile at him.
“Okay,” he breathed out. “I’ll do that.” He threw a last glare at the man before leaving for the staff room.
“Sorry about him” she mumbled, trying not to stare at the pale green of his eyes.
“No, I’m sorry. I swear, I’m not usually that clumsy.” Joan raised a suspicious eyebrow and the man chuckled. “Most of the time” he added.
She let out a breathy chuckle and finally took the time to look at him closely. The frame of his glasses were thin and she could note some tape on the right branch. His short hair had that slightly disheveled air, like he often ran his fingers into it, probably out of nervousness if their interaction was anything to go by. He was wearing a vest with some logo she recognized as the one of an animal shelter a couple of blocks away. His badge indicated he was a volunteer. No name tagged.
"I'm Owen," he supplied, as if having taken note of her small exam. He didn't seem bothered by her scrutiny, he simply offered her his hand and a kind smile. It was inviting but Joan knew better than to get herself distracted. She acknowledged his name with a formal nod before looking done at herself.
“And you’re a fan of chai tea, I presume,” she deduced from the yellow stain on her shirt and the smell.
“No, it’s just green tea, actually, and some vervain,” he corrected with a shrug and a scratch of his temple. “It’s rather soothing when consumed in a more traditional way.”
Joan snorted and looked up just in time to catch his smirk of pride at his own bad joke. Mark came back before she could provide an answer.
“Here, Joanie, you can change in the back.” He gave her one of his tee-shirts with a random cartoon on it and a cardigan of hers that she had forgotten about. He turned to the man - Owen , a small voice in her mind supplied- as he crossed his arms on his chest. “You can go to the counter and get yourself another drink.” The offer was kind, an adequate commercial measure in order to acquire a new customer. But it was obviously done reluctantly. Owen wasn’t fooled and he shook his head, taking a step back.
“It would probably be pushing my luck, I’ll just go.” He waited a second, looking before the two of them before running his hand in his hair and smiling again. "Again, I’m sorry about the mess.” He walked to the door and turned back briefly to send them one last contrite smile before leaving. His silhouette gone, Mark finally got out of his uselessly overprotective mode and went to grab a mop. With a sigh, Joan shook herself out of her stillness and went to change. She would have to add an orange sticker on her planner with “buy baking soda and wash shirt”. She didn’t even like tea.
***
Saturday found her back in her brother's café, grading the same batch of assignments with an empty mug. She felt like she would never see the end of those papers and it was driving her nuts. Her empty coffee mug wasn’t helping. She looked around to signal Mark for a refill but found him leaning down on a table, talking to none other than Oliver, of course. With a sigh, she stood and went to the counter. She smiled upon seeing Caleb at his shift.
“Hi, Dr. Bright,” he greeted her, already reaching for her mug to refill it. “I’ve been trying to up my latte art game, wanna see?”
His enthusiasm was sweet, so she indulged him, taking a seat at the counter. “Impress me,” she dared. The boy smiled brightly at her before focusing on his task, pouring the milk with a steady hand. She watched him curiously, leaning over to guess what he’d draw.
“Uhm, a fat exclamation mark?” She proposed weakly. The boy laughed loudly with this freeness so typical of teenage years, not really naivety, not only nonchalance. She had instantaneously taken a liking to him since he had started working here several months ago. Still in high school, he brought youth and fun in the shop, along with teen drama and existential dread.
“Come on, who would draw a fat exclamation mark on a latte?” He gave her back her cup, and she tried to inspect it more closely.
“A fat interrogation mark?” she tried again with a shrug.
“Now you’re just messing with me.” He rolled his eyes at her and went to serve a new customer, leaving her briefly. “I don’t think latte foam art has a category for punctuation.” He remarked when he came back pushing a plate with a donut for her. It was one the ugly ones, slightly burnt on top with an approximative purple icing.
“That’s a pity,” she declared, putting the money from her order in the tip jar, knowing most of the food she had was on the house. Perks of being the sister of the owner. “So, how did your McBeth presentation go?”
The boy winced and she felt a wave of empathy toward him. He hated oral presentation and though they had worked on it together, she knew it must have been painful.
“I got a B minus,” he said, skilfully bypassing the point of her question. “Adam did great, it was kinda interesting in fact. He analyzed a bunch of verses, and the teacher loved it.”
Joan had to bite the inside of her cheek not to smile too widely at the mention of the other boy she had yet to meet. “Did he?”
“Yeah, though Brice was a complete dick to him afterward.”
“Caleb,” she chastised automatically.
“Jerk, whatever. You know what I mean.”
“I do, I’m sorry he’s still bullying him.”
Caleb got that troubled look, cleaning the counter distractedly. “Yeah, me too.” The silence settled between them as he ruminated on his thoughts and she ate her snack. High school sucked, it seemed to be a general truth and it pained her not to be able to protect Caleb from it. She was about to ask him about football when a new customer arrived.
“Welcome to Bright Morning, what can I serve you today?” Caleb bounced back easily into his waiter duty, though she could see in his dark eyes that his heart wasn’t in it.
“Hi, I’ll have the green and vervain tea please, to go.”
Joan looked up at the familiar order and found Owen already smiling at her.
“Hi,” he said again while paying for his drink, putting some dollars in the tip jar.
“Sugar?” Caleb asked, but Owen shook his head and took the offered beverage, thanking the boy with a generous smile.
“Did you manage to get the stain out?” he asked, hovering by the stool next to hers, obviously hesitating. She nodded and he smiled again, sitting at her side.
“I did, you were right, baking soda was good.” She had even done her groceries ahead of schedule, which turned out to be a good gain of time.
“Good, I’m relieved.”
He sipped his tea and she sipped her coffee, and it should be awkward, but it wasn’t, not really. It was comfortable somehow. Today, the tag of his vest had his full name -Owen Thompson- but she didn’t recognise the logo. It didn’t specify “volunteer” this time, and he had a small backpack with him. He looked rather put together for a Saturday. Which reminded her of her own work waiting for her. She stood.
“Well, I have to get back to my work,” she declared, keeping her warm mug against her chest. Owen also stood and she realized his tea was in a to go cup.
“Me too,” he smiled. He smiled quite a lot, she hadn’t decided yet whether it was cute or annoying, she gave him the benefit of doubt. “I’ll see you around?” he asked tentatively, adjusting his green scarf around his neck. His fingers twitched, like he was resisting the urge to pass them through his hair.
“I guess so,” she agreed casually. And of course, he smiled at her. “Don’t spill your tea,” she added and he chuckled before walking out.
“Don't spill your beans.” He waved at her before leaving and as she sat back at her table, picking up her new pen, she decided that all that smiling was rather cute.