Chapter Text
You counted the recyclable plastic cups on the counter for the twelfth time this morning, but the number never changed. The sigh you felt in your bones didn’t leave your mouth, not when there were a few customers seated, enjoying their coffee and pastries. This cafe wasn’t part of a big chain, but that didn’t mean it offered anything of value.
The cheapest coffee imaginable. Dispensed at the press of a button, no fancy machines around here. None of the pastries were handmade, really. Factory produced and frozen dough products, all you did was put them in the oven, set a timer, take them out.
You didn’t care, though; you never did.
It wasn’t like you had grand ambitions of owning your own cafe, or working in one at all. This job was available when you were looking, the pay was decent, and it didn’t seem like too much of a pain. A good enough deal.
Some of the regulars you recognized by now, and the small talk came over your lips easily. You knew they cared as little about your day as you did about the junk you fed them.
They hoped for a discount or a free cookie if they were nice to you. You waited until they were satisfied and left you alone.
The bell at the door chimed, and you expected another elderly woman to come in for her breakfast — but instead, the woman you saw was about your age. Maybe a bit younger, maybe a bit older. It was hard to tell.
She had this youthful look to her — no wrinkles, no bags under her eyes, no tiredness of having left your 20s and realized this was all life was going to be anymore.
At the same time, she seemed perfectly professional and capable in a way that was natural for someone who’d been at their job for at the very least a decade.
She radiated a natural confidence that left no room for doubt in herself — that’s the impression you had.
‘She’s perfect,’ you thought to yourself.
You knew you wouldn’t see her again, though. She wasn’t a regular; she had never come into this cafe before. You wouldn’t forget this woman with pale auburn hair if you’d seen her before. Odds were, she wasn’t going to return.
“Good morning,” she greeted you with a smile as she studied the selection that offered less than 20 options.
Her voice was as smooth as that smile, and neither carried any genuine emotion. Her golden eyes were striking, with crimson rings in her irises almost hypnotizing.
No way you saw her before in your life, you definitely would remember.
“Good morning,” you returned the greeting in your perfect customer service voice.
Your smile mirrored hers — not genuine at all, but friendly enough that it was easy to brush that aside. Nobody cared, after all. Everyone just wanted to see a smile to be at ease.
“One medium coffee. Black, no sugar.”
‘Yeah, that checks out.’
“Of course, just a moment.”
You turned to the machine, but just when you were about to reach for a plastic cup, you faced the customer once more. That smile never left her face.
“I’ll drink it here,” she said before you could ask.
“My bad,” you apologized with the most sheepish smile you could muster to hide your indifference; smoothening over the almost-blunder of assuming she wanted it to go. “I figured you’re probably on your way to work, or on a short break. People in suits are normally in a rush.”
“I’m not.”
She sounded friendly, but the small talk ended before it could start. Normally, you didn’t mind silence. Quiet customers were the best. Normally.
But something about her made you nervous. Maybe it was those eyes, you could swear you felt them burn holes into your back. Or it was this smile that faked a kindness that wasn’t truly there.
No, none of that really mattered to you. Those were simply the most obvious reasons to feel discomfort around this woman, welcome excuses.
In truth, you just wanted her to talk to you more. She drew you in, it was simple as that.
Not because she was pretty. That was a plus, but that wasn’t it.
You realized it the moment she entered the cafe — perfect. This air around her, one of undoubting flawless confidence, unrivaled dominance, and a smooth talker to beat. This was the type of woman you wanted in your life.
This was the type of woman you wanted to give your life to.
You placed the cup of coffee on the counter, black as she asked for.
“Can I get you anything else?” You asked, perfectly routine. “It’s on the house.”
This was bold. You never added any pastry for free, no matter how much customers sucked up to you. But you wanted this woman to know. To have an inkling of how you didn’t want your interaction to be over after today, just yet.
“I’ll have the cheesecake, then.”
She took the coffee and moved to a table in the room’s corner. You didn’t need to be told, she expected you to bring the cheesecake to her.
It was as if this woman understood what you wanted and gave it to you so casually, as though this was the most natural thing. Your heart started beating just a little faster, you got your hopes up.
Even though you knew, this was nothing.
Once she left, you would be back to a life that’s nothing but exhaustion. You were tired of living life; tired of every single choice you made. Picking clothes for the day, deciding on a meal, doing chores… It never stopped. You wanted a break.
Someone who would take care of everything for you. Someone who told you what to do, leaving your only responsibility to follow. Head empty. No pressure. Obey and please. That was the life you wanted; not the life you had.
If that woman knew, she’d be disgusted.
Not that you’d tell her. You enjoyed the taste of this life you couldn’t have while you could, eternally grateful this woman gave it to you at all.
You brought the cheesecake to her table, setting it in front of her. You didn’t usually bring orders to tables, that wasn’t your job. You called out to customers. But for her? You wanted to make the extra effort. To show her — even if she wouldn’t understand — that you wanted to do as she wished.
“Thanks.”
“If you need anything else, I’ll be here.”
Her eyes followed you as you returned behind the counter. You spared the mysterious woman a glance every few moments, careful not to meet her gaze directly. Although you felt watched — you could swear her eyes were on you as soon as you turned your back on her, and it made the hair on your nape stand up, which felt nice — you never caught her looking at you.
You tried your best to keep yourself busy. Cleaned mugs, wiped the counter. In that woman’s presence, doing nothing felt like an offence. Not that the other customers felt the same; besides some minor gossip, the woman garnered little attention. But she had all of yours.
Especially when you went around to collect the empty mugs and plates from the abandoned tables; when it felt like leaving your safe haven behind the counter and entering that woman’s domain. That feeling couldn’t be explained, it was like a primal instinct.
You worked on auto-pilot, conscious of the woman to the point that you zoned out everything else. Up until you heard a loud clatter from right in front of your feet, and realized a mug had slipped out of your hands.
“Shit,” you swore under your breath, immediately kneeling down to pick up the shards to collect them on a tray.
Your boss wouldn’t care, but this blunder happening in front of her made your heart drop. You messed up. Now she thought you’re a klutz. Useless.
“Careful, the edges are sharp.”
In front of you, the woman crouched low. Her eyes were focused on you, and she took your hand into hers. You noticed then you were bleeding.
“It’s fine,” you said. “It’s not that deep. It doesn’t even hurt.”
“Is that so?”
You nodded, and gently pulled your hand out of hers. You wouldn’t forget how soft her hands felt; but you weren’t going to sully her with your blood.
“I’ll just clean this up.” You took the tray with the collected shards, and brought it into the backroom, before returning with a broom.
The woman stood next to the remaining shards, too small to be picked up. She still watched you as you swept up the rest with that broom.
“Show me your hand,” she demanded just as you were done.
Smile and soft voice, yet you felt as though you had no choice. You didn’t want a choice. You appreciated the excuse to believe you didn’t have one.
You reached out your hand, the small cut still bled a little. The woman pulled a bandaid out of her pocket — plain, standard. She peeled the wrapper casually, then pressed the bandaid against your skin. Gentle, but enough to make it stick to your skin.
Her fingers lingered on your skin just long enough to make your breath catch, though you knew this wasn’t any special. She administered the bandaid like anyone else would. And yet…
The gesture — insignificant as it was — got your heart beating faster.
Your blunder was forgiven, that’s how it felt. You would do anything for her forgiveness. You would do anything for her. You wished she would take you as hers; you knew she’d be just the woman you wanted to dedicate yourself to.
But she didn’t.
“I like the coffee here,” she said as she picked up her coat, not breaking eye contact.
It was a message — she was planning to return. And you couldn’t wait.