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Ernol Milirose had entered the coffee shop and wound up in the middle of hell. That had to be it, right? He’d died somewhere between the sidewalk and the door and this was his punishment. Either that, or the combination of Haron’s latest hijinks and Duliae’s favour-related nonsense had made him somewhat sleep deprived. He’d decided to get a coffee, thought he saw Duliae hunched over a table, and decided to get back with some nonsense of his own – only then he’d tripped and crashed into the table, and it wasn’t even Duliae, and he realized it a second too late.
There was a human woman staring up at him in mild horror. Coffee – or tea, maybe – had already spilled all over the table. A lone cupcake sat on a plate, frosting slowly melting from the heat. “I’m –“
“I thought you were somebody else,” Ernol fumbled out, his only means of explanation as to why he would just saunter over to a complete stranger. People were staring at this point. He was pretty certain that if he hadn’t already died, he would now of embarrassment. “A – a friend of mine.”
The human laughed a little. “I hope you don’t greet all your friends like this.”
“No, I – of course not.” Ernol scowled at her until he remembered that technically he was in the wrong in this situation and he hadn’t yet apologized. While he was still struggling with what to do, she got up, the empty cup and the sad remains of her pastry in hand, to throw them out. She made a quick detour to grab napkins and then she was back, making quick work of the mess on the table, all while Ernol stood there.
The words didn’t come out until she had finished with that task as well. “I’m sorry. I…”
“Thought I was someone else, I know.” She gave Ernol a quick grin and started to brush her fingers through her long, pale hair. At a distance, in the light of the shop, it almost looked like Duliae’s violently gold locks, but close-up he could tell it clearly wasn’t. It made him feel worse.
The sweet, “And it’s alright. Accidents happen,” that followed, paired with a gentler smile, didn’t help much either. Neither did the fact that when her dark eyes met his, he could see the strain. The exhaustion. Those things were probably the only things cheering her up and he’d gone and ruined it – but what he said next seemed to surprise them both.
“Let me buy you another one.”
There was a beat where she looked as if she was about to say no – and Ernol was a half-second away from retracting the offer entirely – but then she smiled again. “Okay. Sure. Thanks.”
The two of them got in line to order, saying little to each other as they waited. She thanked him a few more times before they got to the front, which he brushed off each time. They only made him feel worse about the whole thing. If Haron knew – Ernol resolved to never breathe of this incident to another living soul.
He ordered his coffee (large, black) and she ordered her tea (medium, chamomile with honey). He watched her eye linger over the cupcake display and Ernol, biting back his sigh, asked for one as well. Once it was paid for, he handed it off to her, willing himself not to be charmed by the smile she sent his way.
And then they were sitting across from each other, at the same table she had been at before. Ernol was ready to make an excuse if she commented on him joining her, but she didn’t. Instead she took a sip of her tea and sighed, tension melting out of her body. He quickly focused on his own drink as she opened her eyes again to avoid being caught staring.
“I’m Cerelia,” she said after a moment. “Cerelia Hearthwell.”
“Ernol Milirose.” If his name was familiar to her – which it should have been, really – she didn’t say. Instead she put her tea aside and started to remove the wrapping from her sugary treat.
“Do you want some?”
“I can’t eat dairy.”
“Oh.”
Inwardly, Ernol cursed. She didn’t know that, didn’t need to know that, all he had to say was no –
“There’s a really nice bakery down the road that makes dairy-free desserts,” she told him, licking a bit of stray frosting from her thumb. “I’ve been there a few times; it’s pretty good. Not a sit-down place, though.”
“Mm.”
Cerelia, perhaps undeterred by the disaster sitting across from her, continued undeterred. “I haven’t been in the city long, so I don’t know it that well. This place is the only reliable café near where I work.”
That piqued Ernol’s curiosity, if only for the novelty of it. He didn’t work with any and the companies he knew of preferred to hire elves – longer lifespans meant you needed to train less people, after all. “Where do you work?”
“Oh, at a gallery nearby. The curator wanted more human works and wanted someone who was familiar with human art to set it up and do tours and speeches – so, me. What about you, Ernol?”
“Family business.” He didn’t go into more detail than that and she didn’t push, instead focusing on eating.
He was familiar with the gallery. Well, familiar was an understatement, considering that he had a membership. It was where he slipped away to destress whenever he was sick of dealing with everything. Even for those who weren’t interested in art was hard not to know the place, after the new curator announced they would be building a new wing to be able to include more diverse art. His grandfather had nearly blown a gasket. Haron, predictably, was thrilled.
And he was curious. More curious than he would have liked to admit. He wasn’t like Haron – he didn’t throw logic out the window at the mere thought of the Other – but for all he knew about art in general, his education had always focused on the elven – and specifically the Gha’lian – side of things. He found himself asking her questions, first ones that he could brush off as small talk – when the new wing was opening, how she found her job – and then ones that hinted at his knowledge and experience.
“ – but you’d actually be surprised! Most people I’ve spoken to generalize Gha’lian art as some big all-consuming monster that just absorbed the art of the conquered, but I doubt that’s the case. The popularity of a lot of art and architectural movements like romanticism and gothic revival hint at Gha’lian influence, rather than the other way around – but now I’m rambling,” Cerelia stopped to laugh at herself, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t really have anyone to talk to about all this.”
Ernol frowned before he knew he was frowning, spoke without meaning to. “Your colleagues?”
She waved her hand airily. “Busy. I’ve got a few college students working under me but they’re only working part-time and they’re more interested in human art, so I don’t get to ask as many questions as I’d like. Besides, when I’m on the clock, I’m working, so I don’t socialize much.”
He nodded at that. There was a reason Haron kept getting fired from his various jobs, after all. A thought came into his head – I wouldn’t mind talking more with you – that he almost batted away physically until he stopped himself. By then they’d fallen into a comfortable silence.
Or at least they were until Cerelia drained the last of her tea from her cup and placed it on the table. She gathered up her things and gave Ernol another one of those charming smiles. “Thanks again. …It was nice meeting you.”
The sentence had a sense of finality and a very loud part of Ernol (identified as his heart) didn’t want that at all. He bit his tongue and nodded again. “And you,” he finally said, when he realized she was waiting for him to say something.
Another smile. She started to walk away. Ernol felt something sink – and then he got up so suddenly his chair made a loud scraping noise against the café floor. Cerelia turned around – she hadn’t gotten far – with a curious look.
“I wouldn’t mind – “ He stopped himself. It sounded too unenthusiastic. “Maybe we could – “ No, that sounded like a date, which – which wasn’t – he stopped that train of thought and moved a little closer to her, aware of the distance, and lowered his voice.
“I do know a fair amount about Gha’lian art,” he eventually said, framing it like an offer. It was a strong start, at least, follow by, “I’d be happy to talk to you about it.”
The smile on her face blew his worries out of the water. “Sure. That sounds like fun. Hang on, just one second…” Out came a pen and a miniature notepad from her purse as she scrawled down her phone number, tearing away the page with flourish and holding it out to him. “Shoot me a text when you want to talk, okay? Or you can always come by the gallery, if you’re free – I usually take my lunch around one.”
Ernol took the offered paper gently, as if it might crumple away, and slipped it into his back pocket. He would put the number into his phone later, away from people and their attention and their prying eyes, of which he was becoming more aware by the second. Cerelia gave him a final smile and a quick goodbye and then she was gone.
He was confident that he would see her again. The next move was his, after all – and he wasn’t about to let a chance like this slip away.