#miwau

It's a small cafe, but your coffee is to die for and you make sure there's a warm, friendly atmosphere for everyone who enters. A lot of people like to find a nice booth or table and enjoy the free internet, which is fine so long as they order from the menu or request something to drink.

You're especially fond of the musician that's also an aspiring horror novelist. You know he has a book of short stories out, and you enjoy taking his order when he's in the mood to bounce his ideas off of you. You find him interesting, and he always orders large coffees that are mostly cream and sugar.

You've gotten into the habit of writing little optimistic notes on the side of his to-go cups, which at first you thought was cute but when you really thought about it, might be embarassing.

Still, you've kept it up, and he's never commented on it, so you don't think he minds. Maybe it's a nice pick up when he's getting stressed, you just hope it makes his day a little better.

Your eyes flick to the glass door as the bell tings, brightening as the familiar dark haired man steps inside. He has his bag at his side where you know his laptop is, and his black hair frames his face as he heads towards the counter where you stand, returning your welcoming smile.

"Hey, Waverly," he greets you easily, coming to a stop in front of the brown bar, his eyes flicking to the menu highlighted above you as if he doesn't already know what he wants. "How's business today?"

"Busy as usual." You reply, your painted nails poised above the cash register keys, prepared to type in his normal order. He comes in just about every other day, ordering the same pot of coffee or sometimes he'll surprise you by getting an espresso, although you think it's just to keep you on your toes.

"I'll have the usual," he says after a moment, already sliding you his card.

"A pot or cup?"

"A pot."

"Intend on doing a little writing then?" You ask lightly as you swipe his card on the register before handing it back, noticing the coldness of his fingers as they brush yours; you know it's chilly outside, but he's bundled up in a black hoodie and matching beanie pulled almost so low you can't see his blue eyes.

"A little." he tucks his card in his wallet. "I've hit a bit of a block, so I'm hoping the caffeine will help."

"Well, I'll have it right up for you," you smile at him, a genuine one that he always appreciates. Ricky found this little cafe by accident, but he adored it the moment he stepped inside.

You're an independent woman, who opened her own shop and is no doubt doing well. You're nice, and the smile you give everyone seems sincere, like you're actually happy to see them and want them to feel at ease; it's why it's his favorite place to visit when he wants to write, he always feels like he can focus and you have a wonderful habit of refilling his pot of coffee when it's getting low without his even asking.

You're so attentive.

You're always working, so he's not sure if you're married or seeing anyone, you don't wear a wedding ring --- not that he's looked or anything. He likes talking to you when you have time, when you visit his table to make sure all is well or just to chat. Your input is appreciated when he bounces his morbid ideas off of you, and you don't seem phased by them either. He's been tempted to bring you his book as just a gift, so you can read it and give him some feedback.

He likes writing, about dark and dangerous, morbid and chilling, something to really give someone a shiver down their spine. His newest short story is set in a cafe much like this one, with a mysterious barista that has enchanting coffee that's so good no one can help but keep coming back.

That's all he has so far, he's not quite sure how to spin it to make it darker, but that's what he's determined to work on today.

He makes his way to his favorite round table near the back, out of the way of typical traffic and normally unnoticed. He sits down easily in his chair, pulling out his laptop, settling down and searching for his earbuds. You don't play horrible music, but he just has his own preferences; plus, people don't normally approach if you're listening to music, or at least they think you are.

Half the time he doesn't turn them on.

He glances up from the table, watching as you make his coffee. He's never tasted anything so good, so perfectly balanced that it's not bitter or weak, but perfect. Once he gets a taste of the brew, he knows he's in for a good day, and he misses it when he's on tour or not in town.

It's a few minutes before you bring his pot over, and he notices a little heavier stream of customers compared to usual. You've hired another barista too, and you let them take the orders as you make your way to his table.

"Here you go," you say brightly, sitting the pot on an electric warmer as you place a white cup beside it.

"Thanks. You seem busier than usual," he gestures at the line growing at the counter as you pour his cup full, adding a few cubes of sugar and half the cup full of cream, just like how he likes it; he didn't realize you knew him that well, or he was that predictable.

"Oh, yes. The newspaper did an article on the cafe, so we've been getting some good business. I've had to hire a few more people to help out." You say, glancing over your shoulder, strands of your soft hair falling from the messy bun at your nape. "Do you have anything nice planned for the day?"

"Not really, just to try to work on this some." Ricky shrugs his black clad shoulders, propping his pale chin on his hand. You know your other customers steer clear of him most times, considering he's also covered in tattoos from neck to fingertips. You don't mind, it works well for him, and being in a band you suppose they also have an aesthetic to keep as well.

You yourself only have one tattoo, and it's of the planets running up your forearm. You love astrology, anything to do with the planets and the stars --- your dad even bought you a telescope as a child and you two would always look up every night, trying to find a shooting star or a new constellation.

He's gone now, but it was his love of coffee that made you want to open your own shop, and so far it's been working out.

"Hey, let me ask you something." Ricky says, getting your attention. You look at him, seeing his focus is on his computer screen. "If you were to put a secret ingredient in your drinks, what would it be? I mean, that makes the customers keep coming back?"

You blink at him, not quite sure how to answer. "Oh, I don't know. Extra pumps of vanilla chai maybe?"

Ricky chuckles. "Let's say you were a witch, and you have to do something to make your coffee taste so good. What would it be?"

You purse your lips thoughtfully, crossing your arms across your plain blue shirt, a black apron tied around your waist.

"Well, I imagine I would brew the coffee in the back in a big cauldron and chant over it," you say jokingly, shrugging your shoulders. "Maybe with a pointy hat and everything."

Interesting.

He can make that work.

He just nods his head, his fingers suddenly moving swiftly across his keyboard, so you take that as a sign to leave. You shake your head as you make your way back to the counter, seeing your new girl starting to look a little panicked.

You take over, quickly ringing up orders and giving smiles. An hour passes and your favorite customer is still furiously typing away at his work, not even noticing when you bring him a new pot of coffee and a bagel on the house; you figure he has to be getting snacky at this point.

It's another thirty minutes before he decides he's done as much work as he can, ordering a to go cup for the rest of his drink. You slip the lid off of the plastic cup, writing your favorite quote on the rim in black pen before heading to his table, hoping he leaves before he even notices the note you leave him.

"Here you go," you pour what's left of his coffee into the cup, making sure to top it off and add the cream and sugar how he likes. "I'm sure I'll see you tomorrow?"

You don't mean to end it on a question, but you like seeing him come in. Your heart sort of jitters, and it's not due to the fact you're around caffeine all day, either. You have a silly little coffee shop crush on him, your favorite regular, and it's not just because he's good looking in a sort of dark and exhausted type of way, either.

He seems nice, and he's friendly to you and your staff, leaves them good tips. You've never seen him be ill towards anyone, and though he has a more serious demeanor, it's nice to not be around someone silly and draining all the time.

"You know it." Ricky closes his laptop, stifling a yawn behind his tattooed hand. "I'll be here. I have tour coming up in a few weeks, so I'm going to be missing this place."

"Oh really? Where are you going now?"

"Europe, I think. We'll be there for a month or more, I can't remember."

"Do you want me to airmail you some coffee care packages?" You tease him lightly as he stands, your hands going to your hips. "I'm sure my coffee will still be warm when it makes it's way to you."

"I would drink it cold, it's that good. It's like you pour magic in it."

"Just a lot of love and sleepless nights," you reply with utmost honesty, reminded of how hard it was opening up a coffee shop in a city with so much competition. You were just determined to do well, and your positivety kept you moving forward until you were successful before you knew it. Words have power, and if you'd been negative, you're sure you wouldn't have done well --- people don't realize the heaviness of their own words, so you always try to be careful in what you say, despite when you might be feeling down.

"Oh I understand that. Artists never sleep." Ricky shuffles his things together, his hands closing around the warm cup as he turns to face you. "I'll see you tomorrow, Waverly. Save my table for me?"

"Only if you're here early enough." You give him a smile as he leaves, lacing your fingers together in front of you as you lean back on your heels. You wonder if he's noticed the little notes you leave him, if he pays them any attention before tossing the cup away.

He does.

At first, Ricky was a little confused at the black ink staining his fingers, but he quickly found the little notes you were leaving him and loved them. He's a little curious if you do that for all your customers, but you can't possibly have the time for that.

It warms him a little you'd do it for him, though.

Stay faithful to the stories in your head, he reads, and his lips twist into a halfsmile as he walks down the crowded city street. He looks forward to finding out what you're going to write him next, and his eyes flick back to your little coffee shop.

Waverly's Cafe glows above the doors in bright red letters, a coffee cup with steam wafting upwards decorating the wall. It's quaint, kind of small, but that's what he likes about it. It has an intimate atmosphere, but it's not dark, and you even have a free book section in the corner for the customers to browse through if they like.

You understand the important part of life is when you can just be comfortable, just relax with a good book and something warm in your hand.

He's going to miss the coffee on his trip, but he's kind of going to miss seeing your smiling face every day too. He's been coming here for a few months now, on a regular basis, and he's been debating on seeing if you'd want to go out sometime --- maybe not to get coffee, but to a movie or dinner or... just something.

He knows you like cats, you live above the shop in the brick apartments above, and you talk about the feline sometimes. He knows your dad inspired you to open your own place, and that you're allergic to bee stings --- mainly because a bee got in once and you wouldn't go near it.

Your favorite color is pastel blue, you could care less about politics and sports, and you're not interested in fame and fortune; you're happy where you are, serving smiles and hot drinks to people who need them.

He's even seen you give out paper bags to the homeless people meandering by, their grateful looks as you give them something warm to eat and drink for the night. You're a caring person, sweet, kind, pretty to look at, and he wouldn't mind dating someone who smells like a coffee shop.

You're a dream, really.

~~~~~~~~~

You so tired, but you're determined to get the coffee shop opened on time today, despite being short staffed. You're a bit miffed two people called out this morning, but you suppose it'll just be like old times, you and one other barista doing your best.

It's still early, you've only been open for a few minutes and half the chairs aren't off the tables just yet. The warm scent of espresso is wafting throughout the small store, soft music playing over the speakers you find yourself humming too.

You hear the door open, and you greet the customer without turning around, trying to take care of the chairs. You glance over in surprise as someone lifts one down for you, and you smile at Ricky automatically.

He's come in quite frequently lately, more so since you know he's about to leave for tour; you're not quite sure when, but you suppose when he doesn't show up, you'll know.

"Good morning! You're here early," you comment, watching as he starts helping you with the chairs. "You don't have to do that, that's alright."

"Oh, it's fine, you've got your hands full." Ricky doesn't mind helping. You notice he doesn't have his bag with him today, and he's dressed a little more together, not in a slouchy hoodie and jeans.

"Do you want your usual?"

"Times six, actually."

Six?

"In need of that much of a pick up?" You ask lightly as you head for the counter, seeing your employee busy making an older couple some macha tea. Ricky joins you after another minute, already holding his card out.

"I'm leaving for tour today, thought I'd bring the guys some of your coffee." He replies as he hands the plastic card over, seeing you hesitate for just a moment before swiping it.

"Oh, well, I hope they enjoy them." You say, a little put out he's leaving today. You expected it, but you'll miss seeing him and bantering back and forth. "You're not gone too long, are you?"

"No. Worried your business won't survive without me?"

"You do drink a lot of coffee," you chuckle, starting on his drinks.

"Just a month or so is as long as I'll be gone." He offers, crossing his arms as he leans on the counter; it's early enough there's not a lot of people, so he's not holding up anyone. He watches patiently as you swiftly start making his order, impressed. "Didn't you mention one time you'd send me care packages?"

"I'm not sure I could get one to you quick enough."

"I'll pay for express mail."

You send him a look, your hair loose and framing your face today. You look tired this morning, but it's early, so maybe you just haven't caught your wind just yet. He hopes you leave him a little note on his cup like you usually do.

"Are you excited about tour?" You ask, trying to make a little conversation as you work. You've never heard any of his music, you think it's probably a little more hardcore than what your taste is. Still, he must do well.

"Not really. I'd rather stay at home with my cats." Ricky says honestly with a shrug. "It's tiring. When I was younger, I enjoyed it more."

"You say that like you're ninety."

"Might as well be. I'll still be coming here for my addiction, though." He adds, earning a smile from you.

"Oh really? You sure you won't find somewhere else in all that time?"

"Nothing beats coming here to see you." He shakes his head, and you blink, glancing at him under your lashes as you start putting lids on the coffees.

Coming to see you?

Didn't he mean for your drinks?

"Keep my table reserved for me while I'm gone. Don't give it away to some other poor sap with a coffee addiction." He says as you start putting the coffees in a carrying tray. "I've staked claim."

"You can have your table back when you come back in." You tell him, disappearing behind some of the espresso machines, where he could only see your pretty eyes as you look down. "So I expect to see you the moment you're off tour."

"You can count on it." He slowly walks down the counter, keeping pace with you until you reach the curve where you normally set the to go drinks. He waits there, watching you work. "Are you guys staying pretty busy now?"

"Only when my employees don't show up."

He thought there was some missing. "I'm sure they'll show up."

Ricky lingers at the counter, trying to figure out how he can ask you out. At least if you tell him no, he'll be gone for a month and maybe you'll forget about him --- but what if you say yes, too? Will being gone a month make you change your mind?

He supposes he just has to ask and find out.

"So, I'm back in town next month," he hedges as you turn around to face him, sliding his coffee across the smooth counter in his direction, "would you want to, uh, grab dinner or something?"

You blink at him.

"Dinner?"

"Well, I didn't think you'd want to grab coffee."

Your cheeks grown pink, and you look down a moment, twisting the lid of one cup between your nervous fingers. Is he asking you out? to dinner? Oh, you should say something!

"I --- well, I don't see why we couldn't." You decide, biting your lower lip. "If you want too, that is. I mean, I'm pretty busy with the shop until six or seven most days, and ---."

"I don't mind." He says hastily, instantly pleased; you do want to get dinner! He likes how you blush, your eyes suddenly focused on the drinks in front of you. "It can be a late dinner. Or not even dinner, if you just want to grab something quick, or maybe a movie --- just anything. We can really make up our minds when I'm back."

"Okay." You hate that he's leaving now! Not only because you like his business, but --- oh, should you really agree to this with a customer? None of them have ever asked you out before though, and you do like him... "We can do that, there's no rush."

"Exactly." Ricky replies, glancing over his shoulder as he hears the door ding, noticing your other regulars are starting to line up. He turns his head just as you cap your black sharpie, tucking it back into your apron pocket. "You're busy, I'll let you get back to it. I'll see you later."

"Have a safe trip!" You tell him, lacing your fingers together as the black haired man starts to leave. You wait until he's gone, the door closing behind him before you exhale heavily, unaware you'd been holding your breath.

Ricky walks down the sidewalk, holding the drink tray in his hands, pleased with himself. You said yes! He has an entire month to figure out where to take you on your first date together, and he's going to make sure it's good.

He wonders what your favorite food is, maybe he should have asked. He could just text you and --- oh man. He didn't even get your number, he just sort of grabbed his drinks and left.

Maaaan.

He sighs, but it's not like he doesn't know where you work. When he gets back, he can just immediately drop by and correct that mistake.

He glances down at the cups, finagling one of them out of the carrier, starting to take a sip before he notices the black ink against the lid.

He hesitates, his lips curving.

Clever girl.

Your number, he assumes, is written neatly across the rim of his cup.

You really do think of everything, don't you?

You're smart, pretty, you own a coffee shop --- you're perfect.

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