Chapter Text
William Darcy knew coffee.
He knew his Konas from his Sumatran. His light roasts from his dark. He felt that Starbucks had discounted the elegant beauty of the café au lait, a travesty, and their calling a latte macchiato a macchiato was blasphemy. He knew that good espresso was best when it was lightly marked with milk.
But William Darcy was tired when he stepped into his old friend Stuart Gibson’s new coffee house just after 6:15 am on his way home to shower and change clothes before returning to the office. He wasn’t even thinking when he ordered a large “quadruple latte.”
“Now, I don’t want to be presumptive, but I don’t think that you actually want that drink,” the barista replied.
“Excuse me?” he grunted.
“No one orders a quad latte because they like it. They order one because they are exhausted.”
He looked up at the barista. There was something about the way her eyes sparkled and were made even more blue by her auburn hair that he might have appreciated if she would only stop talking and make him his coffee.
“Trust me. I know all the signs. Rumpled clothes. Red eyes behind your glasses. You, sir, have pulled an all-nighter and need something to get you through the day.”
He was too tired to argue. He just shrugged and grunted an affirmation.
“You see,” she continued as she poured and tamped and frothed, “most people think that the darker roasts have the most caffeine—and espresso’s the darkest that you can get—but it’s actually the opposite.”
He watched as she deftly moved her hand, perfectly creating a fern in the foam at the top of the cup.
“Here you go. One café au lait with a double shot of espresso and one espresso macchiato.”
“But I didn’t order this,” he said, pointing to the small cup.
“Yeah, but you need the caffeine, and this is the only way to truly enjoy an espresso.”
“Thank you,” he muttered as he downed the shot of espresso marked with milk and hurried to the door without another look.
“My pleasure,” she called out, her voice laced with sarcasm as she rolled her eyes in his direction.
As the door shut behind him, he sipped his café au lait and sighed with exasperation. Because she was right. And his drink was perfect.