Chapter 1
With you, there’s no pretending
You know me, you know me
And I might know you too
Come to me ready
(You make me wanna) go dancing
(You make me wanna) try on feminine
(You make me wanna) go buy a new dress
(You make me wanna) slip off a new dress
— Juna, Clairo
James always despised his Saturday morning shifts. His father, Fleamont Potter, owned the cafe and only promoted James to manager after he completed university and worked for a few years. Being a manager, James found, wasn’t as fun as he had imagined. For the last month, he’d been scheduled every Saturday morning, in addition to Monday through Wednesday shifts.
Lily Evans, the other manager, worked the other days. Alongside Fleamont and Euphemia Potter, the four kept the cafe up and running with the help of baristas—mostly Lily’s friends from college and local students in the area.
James arrived at Pot of Coffee cafe at 5:30 a.m. sharp, ready to get coffee brewing and bakery items in the oven. Mary, the barista scheduled that morning, was scheduled to come in at 6:30—James didn’t want her to have to wake up as early and found that only regulars came in within the first 30 minutes.
But, this morning, James was in a particularly bad mood. With autumn approaching, he had felt increasingly lonely around his two best friends, Sirius and Remus, who were dating. The couple owned a tattoo shop a few streets over from the cafe. James gave them weekly free coffees, Sirius and Remus gave James a free tattoo every few months, and after 6:00 p.m., they often hung out together at James’ flat.
The night prior, Sirius and Remus went out—which James received several videos from the comfort of his own bed—while James tried to disappear into his bed while watching Gilmore Girls. Now, all James wanted to do was put on sad music and sit on his couch, but he had no choice but to blast Clairo on the speakers at the cafe.
By the time 8:00 a.m. rolled around, James and Mary were in a routine groove. James ran the register mostly while Mary made drinks—James had two coffees already and was feeling more chatty than he had before. When James took a break from the bathroom and returned, Mary had a mischievous glint in her eyes.
“What is it?” He asked, tying his apron back on.
“You’ve been single for a while,” Mary stated with her eyes wide, trying to hint at him.
James internally groaned. “Thank you for that reminder, Mary. I definitely needed that reminder.”
“Your exact type is here,” she whispered.
“I don’t have an exact type. It’s kind of hard to encompass all genders into a singular type.”
Mary pursed her lips. “No, you do have one. You like the ones who are always brooding, sassy, and difficult. You love when they’re mean to you, too, and I bet you would get on your knees instantly if the man by the door was mean to you.”
James’ head whipped around. Mary was right; in the corner was a man with shoulder-length black hair hunched over his book. James could see a stack of pencils out of his bag—naturally, he was instantly intrigued. The man was pale, focused, and most importantly, James’ type.
“Fuck, Mary.” James muttered under his breath.
Mary smugly smiled. “I know.”
James continued to stare at the man in between greeting new customers. The man had barely moved at all; he still was solemnly scribbling on his page. His legs were now crossed under him on his seat, making him more focused on whatever he was doing.
James had an idea—a fleeting one—but it was risky. Sirius and Remus were probably just waking up, so he quickly texted them in his downtime.
SOS, he typed. hot guy in cafe. do i drop off a free coffee?
yes xx, replied Remus almost instantly.
Sirius responded just as fast. bring me some instead!!!!
fuck. ok. James sent, putting away his phone. He studied the mysterious man a little more before deciding on what coffee to make him. He seemed like the type of guy who liked just a pinch of sweet in his coffee, James thought. So, he made a hot coffee with oat milk and a splash of vanilla and lavender, hoping that it would woo the man.
Mary, who watched him intensely consider his options, smirked. “You’re using your favorite mug. Bold.”
It was true; James’ favorite indigo mug was filled with the surprise coffee. James swallowed his anxiety instead of taking the bait. Flashing a cheeky smile, he said, “What can I say? I’m a romantic.” Carefully, James approached the man, making sure to not spill the cup. He gently set it down across from the man, whose head was slowly peeking up with narrow eyes.
As if asking a question, the man raised his eyebrow.
“It’s on the house,” James explained. “You seem focused. Can’t forget to hydrate, too.”
“What’s in it?” The man asked, pulling the mug toward him.
“Our house-made roast, oat milk, vanilla, and lavender,” James rattled off.
The man slowly took a sip, staring at James the entire time. His facial expression gave no hint as to whether he enjoyed it or not. “You think I’m an oat milk person?”
James rubbed the back of his neck—a nervous tendency. “A lot of people like oat milk these days. I wouldn’t want to cause stomach pain.”
“Do you like oat milk?” The man simply asked, eyes narrowing.
“I—of course, I do. I drink almond and coconut, too, but oat milk is my first choice.”
“You like all milk… Are you currently drinking one?”
James stared back in confusion. “I have a coffee in the back, yeah.”
“You have one at home?” A mischievous glint was in the man’s eyes.
“I have an espresso maker at home,” James immediately responded. The man let out an obvious sigh. “You’re not talking about coffee anymore, are you?”
“That would depend on your answer,” The man said, taking another sip.
James sat down across from him. “Let’s trade. Your name for the answer. I’m single. And queer.”
“You can call me Reg.”
“Short for Reginald?” James grinned.
The man, Reg, rolled his eyes. “Not telling.”
“Mhm. What are you drawing?”
“It’s for class. Not ready to be seen yet.”
James was intrigued. “Are you an art student?”
“I’m double majoring in art and computer science,” Reg responded. James’ mind rushed with questions for the man in front of him.
“A tech wiz and an artist? That’s so cool.” Another customer’s entrance into the store reminded James where he was. “Listen, I have to get back to my shift, but we should keep talking more. If you want.” He searched Reg’s eyes for any sign, but the man was unreadable.
“Maybe I’ll return,” he responded. “But, James, next time, make me a miel.”
James grinned, unable to contain his excitement. He flicked two thumbs up before returning to the counter, where Mary was raising her eyebrows expectantly.
“He’s a college student,” James whispered to her. “Art and computers, Mary. He’s so smart. So talented, too, I bet.”
Mary rolled her eyes but smiled. “Did you get his number?”
“Not exactly? He implied he’d be back, though.”
“Simp,” Mary teased. “Now make me a coffee.”
James turned his back to the door, fixated on making Mary the best blended coffee she had ever had. She loved sweet drinks and had recently been into blended ones more than iced. Mary was saying goodbye to a customer, her voice more cheery than usual.
When he turned around, Mary was looking at a sheet of paper on the counter. Reg wasn’t in his seat, nor was he in the coffee shop at all. James turned the sheet of paper over, only to see a drawing of… himself? It was a sketch of him with a cup of coffee, hand on hip with his apron on. Reg must’ve been looking at him for a while for the picture to be so detailed… James desperately wanted to know more about the man. Below the picture of him was a phone number, scrawled out with the words “xx, Reg.”
James spent the rest of his shift imagining what Reg was like, keeping him way more excited to customers than what he should’ve been.