Chapter Text
August 31st, 2026: Monday: Reader POV
The smell of cooling air fills your nose as you step out into the nippy wind, fighting to keep the door from hitting your messenger bag on the way out. It's the last Monday in August and you're starting your first graduate semester for criminal psychology. It was a long road to get here. Your undergraduate education being interrupted by health issues that demanded a few gap years. You spent those years in your childhood home, figuring out how to live in your body.
But, you finally made it. You're here. Like many post-grads you work a menial job to keep the lights on through your schooling. You, luckily enough, found a job at a local cafe a few blocks from your studio apartment. It's a cozy little place. Decorated with books and plants maintained by the fastidious owner.
You enjoy working opening shift. It's nice to get there before the sun rises and make yourself your favorite beverage. There's a moment of stillness in the dim light, surrounded by the smell of roasted coffee, watching the rays of sun illuminate the space. A moment of peace before the storm of the day. You're the only one out front in the mornings, the small business not requiring more than one barista at a time. Seth works in the back: stocking, washing dishes, prepping beverage ingredients. Mabel, the second shift barista, arrives around 10:50am to let you off.
Double checking your lock, you begin your short jaunt. The cafe itself is twenty minutes away from campus, which means you're not responsible for keeping the whole student body caffeinated. Thank god. You shake your head at the thought of being one of those frantic baristas fulfilling hundreds of online orders for students every day. No thanks. You work at a slow pace most mornings, providing vital beverages for your community members who themselves are often commuting to campus.
You feel so lucky to have wandered in for a coffee when you first moved here. Being autistic means needing time to adjust to new surroundings, so you moved in the first week of July. Students were still around but your college didn't have a booming summer population. You started exploring when the air was still hot and muggy, it clung to your skin the second you stepped outside. You started with the coffee shop around the block and found they had delicious pastries and decent iced coffee. So, you found yourself back on their doorstep nearly every morning. One fateful day a sheet of paper was taped to the door reading: position available- barista- morning shift 6am-11am Mon-Fri.
The idea of a new experience felt daunting. You'd never been a barista. But you love the morning ritual of caffeine, and you need the money.
An apron was tied around your waist in no time.
Passing the halfway mark to the shop, your thoughts drift to more recent memories. You hope you see her this morning. The older woman who first graced your life a few weeks ago…
—August 17th, 2026—
The door gently chimed and you glanced up from the milk you were frothing for some grad student's machiato. Your eyes locked on the middle-aged woman gently shutting the door behind her, cheeks ever so slightly flushed from the cold. She exhaled the last of the cool dawn air and soothed her lungs with the rich coffee scented warmth. She delicately tucked strands of silvery hair behind her ear and moved to find the menu. Her dark eyes narrowed behind black rectangular glasses as she started reading. She stood confidently with her thumbs tucked in her pockets and a purse slung over her shoulder. She wore all black professional attire: short heels, wide legged slacks, and a sharp fitted blazer. A blazer that opened to display a wine colored silky shirt underneath, the top two buttons undone, allowing the elegant gold chain draped over her collarbones to be admired. You had to tear your eyes away from her. Gently scolding yourself for your lapse of attention, you finished the coffee at hand, handing it off with flushed cheeks and a quick call of, "you're welcome! Have a nice day!"
Your inhale hitched ever so slightly when you shifted your gaze to her. She stood at the counter, ready to order. You subtly wiped your palms against your legs and repeated your script.
"Good morning! Welcome to Brewsters, what can I get for you this morning?" The heat you barely managed to cool rose to your face again as you got a closer look at her. Grey hair framed her face beautifully, gently curled and stopping just past her shoulders. She wore small gold hoop earrings and very light make-up, the most prominent element being the crimson tint of her lips. The corners of which raised when she met your gaze, offering a friendly smile.
"I'll have a large black coffee with minimal sugar"
Nodding, your fingers skimmed over the tablet placing her order. "Will that be all today?"
You made eye contact again as she hesitated, brows drawing together in an internal debate with herself. She glanced at the glass display of pastries and asked,
"…. How are the pastries, honestly?"
"They're really good! We have an overnight baker who makes them for the morning rush." You were incredibly surprised by that fact. Most coffee shops don't make their own pastries now a days. You knew how hard it was to find halfway decent baked goods.
"That's a relief to hear," she began. Leaning her upper body closer to read the small label cards describing the pastries, a hint of a smile began to develop on her lips again. "If my local shop had bad pastries I would be devastated. A good pastry can turn a bad day around."
As the last of her sentence slipped from her lips, she looked back up at you. Her smile deepening when she found where your eyes had wandered to. Your eyes, which had acted of their own accord, were studying the new sliver of shadowed skin revealed when she leaned over. The beginnings of her cleavage burned into your mind. The full curves of her breasts hidden under smooth wine colored fabric, but the full picture wasn't needed. Your cheeks burned when you realized the situation. Mortified, you slowly met her eyes.
She looked… amused. Your brain sputtered. She smirked.
"I'll take a 'pain au chocolat' as well." She said nonchalantly, like she didn't just catch you peeping down her shirt.
"A-absolutely!" Your voice betrayed you on the first syllable, not that your flustered state was hidden in the first place. You quickly added the pastry to the order, frantic energy building from your embarrassment.
"Cash or card?" You muttered quickly.
"Cash." She stated back, you swore you could hear the smirk in her voice.
"That'll be $10.20" You said, trying to keep your voice out of its higher range. You dragged your eyes up and watched her gracefully lined fingers search for the bills, in the process her glasses slipped down the bridge of her nose. Soon a $10 and $5 bill were being handed to you, her eyes finding yours over the top of her glasses.
"Keep the change, dear." She winked at you, raising her hand to push the fallen spectacles up.
Your brain froze again. The term of endearment filled your mind, hushing all your thoughts. The wink slithered its way down to your gut and settled there, heavy and warm. She looked infinitely pleased with herself then. And you didn’t know what to think about that.
"Tha- thanks so much! A name for the, the order please?" You barely pushed out.
"Emily" She replied smoothly.
"Emily" you whispered as you typed it in and completed the order with a tap. When you looked up, you couldn’t remember if the faint pink in her cheeks was there before or not.
"Alright, you're all set! I'll get started on your order now," you mustered one last smile and gently nodded before busying yourself getting her cup.
As you prepared her order, she stood off to the side and quickly typed into her phone. She took her things to-go that day but other mornings she stayed to eat them. She'd been back every morning since.
She always tipped you and the terms of endearment kept coming as well. The first time she called you honey you thought your legs were going to collapse. When she called you sweetie, she learned just how red your ears could turn.
Each flirty interaction you have together adds more data to your picture of the mysterious woman. Shes confident, but not cocky. She holds herself like she knows what she's capable of, and she's proud of it. Some mornings she's more tired. The purple hue under her eyes doesn't make her any less stunning, and on those days you make sure she gets enough caffeine in her beverage. Adding a little extra coffee or making an extra espresso shot to split between the two of you, not that she's aware. It's the least you can do for her generous tips.
A few times she took a call while waiting for her drink. Her professional tone much different to the kinder, often teasing, tone she used with you. It's deeper sharp rumble became another undercurrent of noise among the coffee machines and warming ovens. You can tell she's important. The way she talks and the length of her answers. She seems to be the one asking questions or making statements for others to listen to. She sounds like she holds power.
Her attention on you is always focused, but soft. Ever since that first day you can't hide the excitement in your eyes, or the flush on your face when she walks in. You know she sees it. Her lips curve when you stutter on a syllable. During small talk, her eyes pin you down as she provokes round after round of blushes to bloom over your face and neck.
You've learned a few facts about her over these past weeks too. Namely her undying love of pastries. She told you she grew up bouncing around Europe and spent a lot of time in France where her love of pastries bloomed. Hearing that had brought one thought to your mind, she's rich. As you think about it now, one foot falling in front of the other, bits of evidence collect. She always tips, and not just a dollar. She lets you keep the change. Even if her order is $5.45, she'd give you a $10 and tell you to keep it. Then, there's her clothes. Made of expensive materials, too perfect not to be tailored. Her elegant jewelry and designer bags came to mind too. Shes definitely rich.
You can't help but wonder why a woman like her is entertaining your attraction? You try not to think it's just a game for her. It can't be anything actually serious, you know that. And you don't even know what you want from her. Yet, thinking the woman is playing with you and might not even find you attractive, just leading you on because you're younger and obviously affected by her. You didn't want to think that. She didn't seem like that type of person. When she looked at you, there was a warmth in her eyes. And sometimes, when you smiled genuinely, you'd be rewarded with the barest dust of pink on her cheeks.
Now as you see the cafe in the distance, what feels like anxiety erupts in your stomach. But, you know its partially excitement as well. Along with your thoughts of Emily, the swell of nerves grows because today is your first class of Crim 2005 Psychology of Violence & Aggression. Your taking it as an extra class with your first semester curriculum, something you've been able to handle before without struggle. It starts at noon so you'll have just enough time to pass your shift to Mabel and walk to class. Apparently, the Professor is some big shot in the FBI and the fact that you even got a spot in the elective among the second-year students baffles you.
Reaching the front door of the cafe, you slide your key in the lock and shuffle your feet on the mat before stepping inside. Time to start the opening routine.