Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

***

“Seattle?” Clyde hadn’t heard Jimmy sound so incredulous since Fish Bang got himself a girlfriend.

“What’s wrong with Seattle?” Mellie countered, not looking up from where she sat cross-legged on the sofa painting her nails. Clyde sat next to her, leaning forward over the coffee table, and Jimmy sat on the floor across from them, holding open a wrinkled map he pulled out from the glove compartment of his truck.

“Nothin’, I guess. Just…Seattle?”

“Might I remind you that it was you who said I needed a vacation,” Clyde chimed in.

“Yeah, but the whole ‘pick a spot on the map and go’ was Mellie’s idea.”

“And it was a good idea,” Mellie said with a defiant pop of her chewing gum. The cinnamon scent of it was making Clyde’s nose twitch. “A little spontaneity never hurt nobody.”

“Don’t people usually go on vacation places like, I don’t know, Hawaii or Florida?”

“I don’t like the beach,” Clyde muttered, feeling as though this whole thing was getting away from him.

Maybe his brother and sister were right. They did know him best, after all. Ever since the heist a year ago he’d kept working hard, maybe harder than before, to keep up the illusion that he was a normal bartender getting by on tips.

Clyde didn’t mind; he liked what he did and he was proud of his bar. He even started thinking maybe, just maybe, he and his siblings had escaped the Logan family curse and he could afford to be a little more adventurous. But for him that meant trying out a new shampoo or whatever quinoa was.

Not…this. Not hopping on a plane by himself and going to some city he barely knew a thing about.

But Jimmy had taken Sadie to an amusement park for a weekend and Mellie and her friends had gone to Nashville, and now it was apparently his turn. Jimmy insisted he needed, deserved, a vacation, and Mellie backed him up wholeheartedly. Even Joe Bang, overhearing the whole conversation from three bar stools away, had thrown in, “why don’t you get out from behind this bar and live a little?”

So here he was, his pointer finger still pressed to the spot on the map where he’d stabbed it. Seattle, Washington. All the way on the other side of the country.

“If you don’t like it you can try again,” Mellie assured him when she looked up and caught his furrowed brow and downturned mouth. “You don’t have to go anywhere you don’t want to.”

“No,” Clyde said after a moment. “I suppose Seattle’s as good as anywhere else. What am I gonna do when I get there, though?”

“Whatever you want,” Jimmy said, shrugging and folding the map back up. “It’s a vacation.”

That was how Clyde found himself on a sunny Monday in May, standing outside of a coffee shop in Seattle, deliberating on whether he should go inside and try some of this coffee everyone went on about or continue his aimless stroll through the city.

After several minutes of internal debate, he reasoned that he didn’t have to stay in the coffee shop, he could take the drink with him on the aimless stroll, and so he took a deep breath and stepped inside.

To his relief, it was late enough in the day that the morning rush of customers grabbing coffee on their way to work or class had passed, leaving it blessedly uncrowded. Clyde didn’t like crowds; they made him feel even more big and cumbersome than usual and he worried about getting his new prosthetic caught on someone’s purse strap or something. But there were only a few people seated around the room and one person at the counter.

He got in line just as the man was ordering.

“The usual, please,” he said cheerfully. The barista smiled and nodded, ducked away for a moment and then returned with a pink bottle in one hand and a small paper bag in the other.

“One pink scone, one strawberry milk,” she said, “that’ll be $4.53.”

The man handed her a five dollar bill and took the bottle and the pastry while he awaited his change. Clyde watched with mild curiosity. Even from behind he could tell this man was…interesting. He was nearly as tall as Clyde but lean in a way Clyde envied. His hair was windblown and bright as a shiny new penny. He wore a blue striped long-sleeved shirt tucked into gray shorts and on his feet were socks with sandals. Clyde wondered if this was how everyone in Seattle dressed, but a quick scan of the room told him otherwise.

Preoccupied with looking at other customers, he didn’t notice the man take his change and turn around. He was startled by something bumping into his chest, followed by a surprised yelp and the sound of something hitting the ground. The something stumbled back just as quickly and as Clyde looked forward again he saw it was the man in front of him, now barely a foot away and blinking at him owlishly.

“Sorry! You were so quiet, didn’t see you there.” he said. He had an accent that Clyde couldn’t quite place and didn’t bother trying because he was too focused on the man’s face, the greenish eyes and a gentle mouth quirked up in a little half-smile.

Before Clyde could react the man was already headed to the door. Only then did he remember something had dropped; he looked down to see the beige bag containing the man’s scone.

“Wait!” Clyde said, bending down to scoop the bag up. He nearly tripped over his own feet as he followed the man to the door. “Wait,” he said again, “you forgot – “

The man turned just as Clyde was holding the bag out with his prosthetic hand and immediately flinched. Clyde felt his stomach drop unpleasantly. It had been a while since someone had such a strong reaction to his arm. Sure, he still got the occasional stare or pitying look but for the most part people back home knew him and were used to it.

But the man wasn’t looking at his arm, or at him, or at anything. His eyes were squeezed shut and his mouth was turned into an exaggerated frown and one arm, the one not holding the strawberry milk, was raised as if shielding himself.

“I said I’m sorry! I – oh, hell, not again, wasn’t once enough for the year, you’re even bigger than the last guy…”

Clyde blinked and then blinked some more and then finally realized that the way was holding out his arm looked a bit threatening, more than a bit, and he was quick to lower it and turn his hand palm-up, revealing the rumpled bag.

“You forgot your…whatever this is,” Clyde said carefully. He felt like he was approaching some sort of scared animal, a bird that might take flight if he made one wrong step.

The man slowly lowered his arm, his face relaxing and eyes opening as he grasped that he wasn’t, in fact, being pummeled by the person he’d bumped into in line at a coffee shop. Clyde absently wondered if that was something that happened to this man often.

“It’s a scone,” the man explained cautiously as he took the bag. He looked a bit guilty now, his mouth and nose twitching. It reminded Clyde of the rabbits in his back yard. “Thank you.”

“’s no problem,” Clyde said, staring at the man’s eyes again. The door opened, jingling the little bell above it, and it snapped him out of his daze. He remembered that he was here to order something, not to stare at locals. Clyde assumed he was a local, anyway, if he had a usual order here.

Clyde cleared his throat and nodded sharply and pulled his gaze away from the man, turning back to the counter to look at the menu.

And look...and keep looking... He never knew there were so many kinds of coffees and teas and iced teas and…and scones, and other baked things that went with coffees and teas. The one and only coffee place back home had regular, decaf, sweet tea and lemonade and no one seemed inclined to ask for anything more.

But this menu was made up of four chalkboards, stuffed top to bottom with choices written in bright colors. He had never heard of most of it, and the lady at the counter was smiling at him waiting for him to say something, and would he seem odd if he just asked for a normal coffee please, and…

“Ah, indecisive I see,” chimed a voice beside him and Clyde startled. He looked over to see that same man again, munching on something pink and triangular that must have been the scone. There was a crumb at the corner of his mouth.

“Not exactly,” Clyde said, “I’ve just never heard of half of this stuff.”

The man looked up at him, mouth curving up a little. “You’re not from here, are you?”

Clyde wanted to say he didn’t sound like he was from here either but he decided that might come across as impolite and he didn’t want to scare the man off. He was a regular here, maybe he could help him out.

He shook his head. “I’m from Boone County, West Virginia,” he said matter-of-factly.

The man tilted his head, thinking. “I’m terrible at geography but I know enough to know that’s all the way across the country. You came all this way just to try the coffee?” His mouth was twitching up and down like he was trying not to laugh at his own joke.

Clyde offered a small smile in return. “Not exactly. But since I’m here I thought I’d try some. ‘cept I don’t know what to get.”

“Well,” the man said, looking back up at the menu. “What do you like?”

“…coffee.”

“A straight-shooting, no frills kind of guy. Hmm. Alright. That one.” He pointed at part of the menu that read Today’s Brews. “The Wake Up Blend. That should be your fairly standard cup. Probably too bitter for my taste but maybe you’ll like it.”

“Thank you,” Clyde said sincerely. He walked up to the counter, ordered his drink, paid and turned, looking around for where they kept the cream and sugar. To his surprise, the red-haired man was still standing there, scone long gone, watching him expectantly.

Clyde stepped out of the way of the next customer, shooting the man a curious glance.

“Come on, then.” The man walked past him, motioning with one hand, and Clyde followed obediently to a counter against the wall. Not only did it have cream and sugar, but cinnamon and honey and cocoa powder and a couple other things he couldn’t identify.

“Thank you,” Clyde said again as he put a little cream in his coffee to cool it down, and nothing else. When he glanced over his shoulder, the man was still there, that same look on his face like he was waiting for something. Clyde didn’t mind, he just didn’t know what he was supposed to do.

“Go on,” the man said, nodding to the coffee, “try it! I want to see if I was right.”

Ah. Alright, then.

Clyde took a big sip, trying not to visibly flinch as it burned his tongue a little. He lowered the cup with a firm nod. “Yeeup. That’s a cup of coffee alright.”

The man beamed. It lit up his whole face. “That’s good, right? You like it?”

Clyde liked it well enough, he just couldn’t taste much difference from the stuff at the diners back home. But he didn’t want to disappoint this guy when he’d helped him, and when he seemed so excited, and so, “yes I do. Thank you again for your help.”

The man bounced a little on his feet, still grinning. “It’s my pleasure! I work in sales, you see. Pinpointing what resonates with people is my calling. The more I look at you the more I can tell: that right there is a dark roast with a splash of milk kind of a guy.”

Clyde wasn’t entirely sure what that meant but the way the man said it made it sound like a compliment, and so he smiled again.

“Well I appreciate the help. Any recommendations for things to see around here?” It occurred to him then that he might be pushing his luck.

“I was hoping you might ask that!” The man looked around. “Why don’t we sit down over there?” As he spoke he was already heading toward a table by the window and again, Clyde followed.

“Don’t you have anywhere to be? Work or somethin’?”

“It’s your lucky day,” the man said as he dropped into a seat and began opening his bottle of strawberry milk. “It’s my day off. Nothing to do that can’t wait. I’m Stensland, by the way!” He offered his hand.

Clyde had never met someone with that name. He wondered if it was his first name or last name but, like the man’s accent, he wasn’t sure it would be polite to ask when they’d known each other such a short time.

“Clyde. Clyde Logan.” He took the other seat and shook his new acquaintance’s hand.

It was then that he realized, other than when he thought he was going to be punched by it, Stensland hadn’t given his left arm an odd or pitying look even once.

*

They ended up talking for over an hour. It started with Stensland going on about the best and worst parks, the best and worst frozen yogurt places, the best and worst times of day to go up in the Space Needle if that was something Clyde was interested in…

It quickly turned into taking turns at being appalled at things the other had and hadn’t tried.

“You’ve never seen 10 Things I Hate About You?”

“You’ve never played cornhole?”

“You’ve never been to a musical?”

“You’ve never been fishing?”

Clyde learned that Stensland was from Ireland, that he’d moved here after his mother died, and that he worked at a furniture store. In turn, he told Stensland he had a brother and sister and a niece, that he’d been in the military, and that he was a bartender. That last bit seemed to momentarily throw Stensland off but he bounced back quickly, recounting a tale of a bartender he’d met in college.

For the first time since he arrived early that morning, Clyde felt at ease. Usually that wasn’t the case with new people, but something about Stensland’s openness and eagerness was infectious. It helped that Stensland clearly enjoyed talking, while Clyde tended to prefer listening, a quality that came in handy when bartending just as it did now.

Stensland’s current topic, the year’s strange weather so far, was interrupted by a noise from his pocket. He stopped mid-sentence to pull out his phone.

“Past noon already? I’d better get going, those errands aren’t going to do themselves…”

Then he looked up at Clyde. If Clyde didn’t know any better, he’d think he seemed disappointed. Clyde couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed himself. With their impromptu meeting over, he’d have to go find something to do with himself. Oh well. At least now he had some ideas.

“You’ve been a lot of help,” he said to Stensland as they stood and headed for the door. Clyde politely held the door for him and he could have sworn the other man’s cheeks flushed.

“Like I said, no trouble at all. I feel a bit like a local ambassador. Maybe if furniture sales doesn’t work out I could go into tourism…”

As he talked, it crossed Clyde’s mind that he could ask for the man’s number, in case…what? In case he got lost, or needed some more recommendations? No, that would seem creepy, probably, he shouldn’t…

“Tell you what,” Stensland interrupted his train of thought. “It’s up to you, this being your vacation and all, but tonight I’m having some friends over for a game night. You’re welcome to drop by if you don’t have plans.”

Clyde didn’t have plans. He didn’t have a single plan past getting off the plane.

“That sounds fun,” he said before he could overthink it.

“Excellent! Here’s my address.” Stensland darted to the counter and snatched a pen from a cup beside the register. He scribbled on a napkin and handed it to Clyde. Not only his address, but his number too.

“Seven o’clock, or whenever you can make it. I’ve got snacks and everything, so just bring yourself!”