Work Text:
10:27 AM on a Tuesday
The morning rush at the coffee shop has slowed down to a trickle. The waitress is wiping down the tables, or more accurately, she’s disdainfully pushing stale biscotti crumbs onto the floor for whomever will be responsible for sweeping today. Probably me , she thinks.
The little bronze bell jingles and the waitress looks up from her rag instinctively. In waltzes none other than Deandra Reynolds herself. Again. For the third time this week. She’s eyeing the cork board off to the side. As if pretending to read fliers for missing dogs and hockey lessons will make her presence any less conspicuous. The waitress knows the conniving eyes behind her pair of oversize sunglasses. She’s not going to let this become a pattern. No chance.
She leaves behind her rag and approaches from behind. She hesitates, even outside of her natural habitat Dee Reynolds is undeniably intimidating. Long elkish legs tucked into street-casual converse sneakers, she towers over the barista. She inhales sharply and goes for it.
“We need to talk. NOW.” Waitress grabs her by the arm and drags her away, not daring even for a second to look at her directly. They both land stumbling into the bathroom. The waitress locks the door behind them and rises to meet Dee’s confused gaze.
“Alright, Dee! What the HELL are you up to?!” It’s confrontational, but lacks confidence. She hopes her nerves don’t betray her. Dee scoffs dramatically.
“What? I can’t get a god damn coffee at my favorite cafe?” She’s playing dumb, leaning back against the door and crossing her arms defensively.
"Don't bullshit me Dee Reynolds! Did Charlie put you up to this?? What is he planning now?!"
"Nothing! I swear."
"Dammit, Dee! I really need this job I am NOT getting fired AGAIN because of his creepy shenanigans!" Waitress digs her nails into her hips in frustration, “Just tell me what’s going on or get the hell out of here!”
"Oh goddammit! Charlie has nothing to do with this! He doesn't even know I've been coming here!!" Dee’s voice is pitchy and strained.
"Then why here, huh? Out of all the coffee shops in Philly, why the fuck do you keep hanging around this one? We don’t even have muffins , Dee! All we have is that rock-hard biscotti crap!"
Dee purses her lips and looks away.
Waitress slams her hand against the door, right next to Dee's head.
"Then what the hell is it you want from me Dee??" The waitress sounds exhausted but her eyes look alive. The space between them feels tight.
Dee shrugs weakly and avoids the intensity of the waitress' glare.
"I don’t know, okay?!" she exhales heavily and hesitantly looks her in the face, "You're just the person I hate the least right now, I guess! god sorry! I guess I can’t just drink some fucking coffee without having all my motives questioned!"
In the pause that follows, it becomes hard to ignore how their noses just centimeters from touching. Dee thinks the waitress smells like roasted coffee beans and regret. She thinks it mixes nicely with her own signature aroma, that of whiskey and poor decisions.
It's quiet for a long time.
"...You swear you’re not up to anything?"
Dee rolls her eyes, "Yep. I’m pretty fuckin’ sure."
Waitress swallows, trying to pretend that their closeness isn’t weird.
"Well... good."
"Good." Dee agrees. She's too late and it's already weird. She should've moved out of the way minutes ago, left the bathroom and gone back to work... she's sure her manager must be wondering where she is.
But something is holding her back.
Dee shifts and their sneakers squeak against each other awkwardly.
"So uh... I couldn’t help but notice that your nails are really... um... they're really nice. Did you do them yourself?"
"Oh, thanks! I, yeah actually, I’m really into nail art, I wanna open my own place." the waitress replies, holding up her mauve nails with ivory tips and momentarily forgetting that the single-stall customer restroom was perhaps not the best place for chit-chat.
Dee excitedly grabs her hand to examine them, filling the waitress' chest with a sensation not unlike the ruffling of feathers. Her touch is tender and firm.
"Damn." she breathes, "I never have the patience for that, you know? I get one hand done and then it's like 'Ugh! Whatever!'."
Dee chuckles at her own joke. Her laugh incites a smile on the Waitress' lips and she nods empathetically.
“If you want you could do me sometime.” Dee paused, “My nails, I mean.” They both redden.
“Sure, alright.” she finally replied, brushing her thumb over Sweet Dee’s palm, “I’d like that.”
The two of them then smiled and shuffled their feet coyly.
“So, um, do you-”
A knock came at the door, surprising both of them.
“Hellow? I gotta use the can…” an unfamiliar voice came through the solid oak door.
Dee whipped around and snapped back, “JUST A GOD DAMN MINUTE, BONER!”
When she turned back around her face was serene and calm, as if she hadn’t just shrieked at a complete stranger.
“You were saying?”
“Y’know, I should probably get back to work… my boss will kill me if he thinks I’ve been slacking off.” The waitress said sheepishly. She took a step backward, no longer boxing the other woman in.
“No, yeah totally. Been there.” It was obvious from her demeanor that she hadn’t, in fact, ‘been there’, “Bosses, amiright?”
Dee holds the door open and they cautiously step out. Nobody is watching or waiting outside. Dee must’ve scared him off. They reenter coffee shop and the waitress situates herself behind the neglected counter.
“Oh! Dee, wait!” She calls out just as the blonde is reaching the exit. Dee turns to face her, perplexed.
Waitress continues, “If you wanna, y’know, hang around the cafe more often… Just you! Not Charlie, of course... I don’t mind.”
Dee replied with a knowing smile, “See you later, then.”
“Later.”