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It was 5:30 AM. The sun was barely peaking through the coffee shop’s recently wiped windows.
As early as it was, there was already a line snaking inside the shop. The line was a mix of students and teachers who were all sleep deprived and in desperate need of coffee.
You had just arrived a few minutes ago and saw the line. You honestly wondered how your co-barista survived without you. He was a miracle worker sure, but he still had a breaking point. Much like your customers. And if you failed to get your ass moving, there was no doubt that you’d be facing pissed and grumpy customers instead of sleep deprived ones soon.
Three days. You shook your head as you scooped coffee grounds in the coffee maker. It’s just been three days.
Yet, you found yourself elbows deep in coffee grounds and steaming milk. Order after order was being called out. You barely had the time to breathe in between making a latte or a cafe mocha.
How could people have that much to do?
Albeit your disbelief in the power of college being able to wear you down, you still had enough sympathy to shut up about other people’s struggles. They may not all have the same weight in your eyes but everyone was going through something and their suffering was still worth acknowledging and worth a cup of coffee. ASAP.
“One hot mocha. Extra five shots of espresso. Make that six!”
“Brewed coffee. Strong. Scratch that. Extra strong.”
“Two doppios!”
“Three lattes. But … hold the milk? Sir, would you like an espresso instead? Ah, no, no, I, y/n, you get it.”
God, you huffed as you prepared a latte, reveling in the smell of aroma beans to calm you down, They’re going to kill themselves. Heart palpitations. Anxiety, Diarrhea. But ok, that’s their choice. I’m just here for the money.
“One latte for Peter!”
You called out, leaving the drink momentarily on the counter to grab some tissues.
When you turned back, however, you saw that Peter was frowning. If the creases on his forehead were any deeper, you swore no amount of foundation would hide those lines.
Oh shi-
“Yeah. This does not taste like it has three extra shots of espresso. Look, I paid for those shots …”
The man rambled on.
That was the right order. You zoned out from the one-way conversation. I made the right order for Peter. Unless …
You scanned the room and looked for another customer - another Peter. You were so sure you got the drink right that the only explanation for this Peter not getting his drink right was because it wasn’t for him in the first place.
It took a few seconds for your eyes to jump from one customer to another until they landed on a boy wearing a checkered blue polo underneath an unzipped jacket hoodie. He was standing within a foot radius of the rambling Peter. He had a guilty look on his face.
You both locked eyes.
Gotcha.
“Sorry, sorry, sir.”
You cut Peter number 1 off, knowing full well it’ll piss him off even more. But at this point, you didn’t care. The faster you “corrected” his drink, the faster he’d be out of your sight.
“Allow me to make another one with three shots of espresso this time. I promise I’ll be quick.”
“You better be!” He bellowed as you scrambled to prepare his drink.
Right after you added the third shot into the shop, you hear him say out loud, “Can you believe this girl?”
You didn’t bother to look at who he was talking to. You deduced that he must’ve spotted the other Peter and decided he needed the support and validation for the way he was behaving.
This was old news for you, of course. Rare but old news.
Of course he’s going to agree. Customers love playing the blame the barista game.
“That was actually mine.”
The other Peter spoke in a soft voice. Steady yes, but soft. Like he was unsure of himself.
You weren’t surprised though. This was the first time you’ve ever encountered a customer who chose to side with you.
“What?”
You didn’t have to look over your shoulder to see the face of the first Peter. You could practically picture his raised eyebrows and dropped jaw.
“Yeah. I think that was supposed to be for me. I like my latte with one shot of espresso. I’m a Peter too. What are the odds right?”
“Yeah. Yeah. What are the odds?” A puff of breath. “Look, I’m sorry man, I didn’t mean to-”
“-honest mistake. Can happen to anyone.”
You noticed that with every retaliation the second Peter had to the first one, Peter’s voice became clearer and much more assured.
He’s just like espresso. Deceivingly weak but when put under pressure can sure be strong and pack a punch.
“I owe you a drink man-”
“It’s all good. You don’t owe me anything man. But her, you owe her an apology.”
The words were like honey to your ears. What made it even better was the way he delivered it. He said them like they were a command, like the first Peter had no choice but to obey.
Taking advantage of the timing, you turned to face him once more.
“Here you go sir. One latte with three espresso shots.”
Instead of being greeted with bared fangs, the man spoke to you like he was scolded puppy.
“Hey, uhm,” he quinted to read your name plate, “y/n. Yeah, y/n. I apologize. I’m cranky when I haven’t had my coffee yet. I’m sure you understand.”
You gave him a curt nod.
He, on the other hand, was relieved. Before leaving, he awkwardly laughed and lifted his drink in salute.
Oh, you’re welcome for redoing you drink sir and for paying the drink that wasn’t yours in the first place.
You shook your head in disapproval. Customers these days.
Speaking of customers, it was time you handled the order of the other Peter who was simply standing by the counter. His arms were crossed but his face was anything but angry.
“One regular latte. Right!” You jumped and left him to prepare his latte.
Once you were finished, you took a good amount of sugar packets and tissues and shoved them into a paper bag as a way to say thanks. But it was also your consolation of sorts for the lecture you were about to give.
“Look-”
“Sorry about it a while ago.”
His apology quickly tamed your thoughts like milk and sugar does to coffee. No one had ever apologized to you. Moreover apologized to you for someone else’s rude behavior.
“I-why are you apologizing? You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I did. I didn’t step in earlier. You could’ve avoided that.” He said, his tone firm.
“It’s fine. The morning rush and sleep deprived faculty and students aren’t really a good mix. It happens to me all the time.”
You found yourself going off and to a stranger more so. There was something about him that made you want to sit and have a cup of coffee with him.
“Sure. But it doesn’t mean people like me can’t help prevent that.” He smirked. “If more people stood up for the little guys, acknowledged the ‘invisible’ ones, the simple heroes of every day - like the ones who make our morning coffee - we’d all have a much better day.”
You drank his words like they were your morning coffee.
“Y/n? What’s the holdup? People are waiting!”
You sighed and leaned over the counter to check out the queue. People’s eyebrows were beginning to furrow. If you didn’t act soon, you’d have several Peter no 1s by the counter.
“I gotta-but thanks.” You smiled at Peter. “Like a lot. What you said, that was … really nice. Makes me feel appreciated. But seriously though, you don’t have to make the effort to stand up for me.”
“Force of habit.” He shrugged and smiled like he had a secret.
He took the latte with his right hand and with his left, dug for some bills which he promptly shoved into the jar right by the counter.
“See you around y/n.”
And Peter did make it a habit to see you especially when he came around which was every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday morning.
In fact, he did more than just see you. He made small talk and during less hectic mornings, carried on a shortened conversation about college and your lives during the brief moments you handed him his coffee and he rummaged his pockets for something to tip you with.
He was the highlight of your days.
That’s why, when he disappeared for a week., you couldn’t help but look for him.
He’ll come back. He’s just busy. You consoled yourself but didn’t hope too much. After all, customers come and go, that’s what made this job easy despite the hectic mornings.
You were about to give up hope completely until one Friday night.
You found yourself closing up shop. Your co-barista had left early to study for his exam. And you being a writing major, decided to pick up the slack for one night since you were already finished writing your midterm essay.
I wonder what Netflix show I’ll watch tonight. You thought as you tied your hair right after changing your clothes in the employee’s bathroom.
Once you were all ready, you grabbed the keys that lay on the sink and headed out to lock the door. That’s when you heard …
Ting. Ting. Ting.
The wind chimes echoed
But instead of being scared of a possible robbery like a normal person would be, you groaned because of two things: one, no one would dare rob a small coffee shop near a college, and two, it’s most likely a stressed student who got their brains fried from all the exams.
“Hello?”
You called out from the bathroom’s doorway.
When there wasn’t an answer, your heart skipped a beat.
Ok, maybe it’s not a student or a faculty and I actually just gave away my presence to a robber who could kill me.
From your periphery, your eyes caught the sight of a bread knife.
Better this than nothing.
You grab it’s handle and pointed it outward, treating it like a sword you saw in the movies.
“Hello?” You repeated, your voice shaking. “If-if you want money. I-don’t have any… . He-hello?”
“Hello?” A familiar voice called back.
“Peter?” You emerged from your hiding space - behind the counter - and saw him.
From under the dim lights you could make out that he was a bit worn for wear but no doubt, still happy to see you. His eyes widened and he couldn’t help but flash a smile when he saw you.
“Hey,” he scratched his head.
You noticed he was a bit more jittery than usual.
“Hey.” You said in your calmest voice possible.
The last thing you wanted to do was to stress him out.
He looked around and frowned a bit.
“I’m guessing I can’t order anymore huh?” He asked with a straight face.
Oh, he’s serious. Ah well, nice to know he wasn’t an exception to the norm - that is being less than at his prime during exam week. If he was smart all the time, he’d be too perfect.
“Maybe.” You teased, a smile tugging on your lips.
God, you had missed him and if opening up shop meant that you could get lost in his cafe mocha colored eyes for a moment, then so be it. You haven’t had your second cup for the day yet anyway.
“What’s your order?”
“One hot chocolate with mini marshmallows …please.”
“Oh. I can do that.” You waved your hand and headed towards the storage room.
“Wait!”
“Oh my god what?!” You raised the bread knife you didn’t realize you still had in your hands.
“One, give me that.” He reached out to pull you and to pry the bread knife from your hands. “Two. Do-do you like hot chocolate?”
“What? I didn’t get that?”
He took a deep breath.
“Do you like hot chocolate?”
“Who doesn’t?”
“Then, uhm, make that two . . , please.” He rubbed the back of his nape.
His intentions were as clear as steeped white tea but subtle enough to make your heart flutter.
You felt your cheeks warm up a bit when you nodded.
Ok, y/n, you have the whole night to talk to him. Keep yourself together for a moment and make the goddamn drinks. It’s just like every morning. You’re both going to talk. It’s just like every morning …but longer.
To calm yourself down, you decided to hum your favorite song as you heated milk, measured the chocolate powder, and put it in the cups.
“Is that milk?” You heard him say from behind you.
“Yeah.” Your stirring slowed. “You sound worried. But I mean, it’s not like you’re lactose intolerant.”
“Actually … I am.”
“What?” You spun so quickly that you were sure that if the handle was in your way, you would’ve already knocked over the boiling milk.
He chuckled at your reaction.
You stuck out a tongue at him and he did the same.
“Ugh, I can’t believe you’re messing with me.” You shook your head, a smile creeping across your mouth. “And I-I knew that you weren’t lactose intolerant.”
“Oh did you?”
“Yes. You order a latte - a drink that’s mostly made of milk. You wouldn’t order that if you were really lactose intolerant.”
“Maybe.” It was his turn to tease. “What if I told you that I ordered for a different reason?”
“Well, that reason better be worth it.” You faced him, expecting an answer.
“Oh, it is.” He glanced at you then looked down, fiddling with the bread knife handle.
Is it hot in here or is it the milk?
You focused back on your milk which was boiling now.
It’s the milk.
Holding the handle well, making sure to avoid any possible hot area, you transferred the hot milk into the cups that had the chocolate. As you poured, the air was slowly filled with the aroma of hot chocolate - warm, homey, and dulcet. You sighed in content. You couldn’t remember the last time you made hot chocolate.
“Anything I can do to help?”
“Employees only behind the counter.”
He hummed.
“Then why don’t you put the cups on counter? That way I can stir the chocolate and you can wash the pot?”
You took two spoons and placed them in the cups. You weren’t sure if you were allowed to do that.
“Unless you don’t trust me.”
Oh, Peter if you only knew how much I do. Isn’t allowing you to order something after hours enough proof to how much I do?
You were tongue-tied. You didn’t know what route to take. You didn’t want to lose this opportunity to be close to someone you liked who actually liked you back. You’ve already trusted to many people, gave out your heart to them only to find out in the end that you weren’t their cup of tea.
“I don’t know.” You went the lighter route. You’ve learned from making coffee, the lighter the brew, the less bitter it tastes.
Grasping the two cups firmly in your hands, you gingerly carried them towards the counter he was leaning against.
“I mean, this is a barista’s job after all. Think you can handle it?”
“Please.” He said with more confidence than a while ago. “If I can handle being Spi-spited at by my high school classmates, I can handle this.”
As he intently focused on the task at hand, stirring like his life depended on it, you washed the pot.
God, what are you thinking. You should be at home. You should be starting a new Netflix series. You should be focused on your job. You should be earning and not flirting or trying to flirt with your customers. You shouldn’t be serving your heart in a cup. Work and love are different. It’s not as easy as ‘one hopeless romantic barista’ for Peter. Plus, Mark’s going to kill you. You can’t afford to lose this job.
As you rinsed the pot and wiped it dry, you decided that this was it. You were going to tell him that as nice as this was, you had to focus on working and college.
Peter as much as I love talking to you and as much as I want to go on a date tonight, I can’t. I have the scholarship to focus on and I just can’t afford to be distracted right now.
You knew it was time to tell him before it was too late. While you grabbed a handful of marshmallows, you practiced the monologue repeatedly, dreading it the whole time.
“Peter I-” You caught him under the dim lights, his face wide in shock.
“Peter!” Your eyes scrunched up, you shook your head, and grinned.
“It’s so good,” was all he said, a chocolate mustache clearly drawn above his lips.
You plopped the marshmallows in the cups and threw spoons he used. Then from under the counter, you took a wad of tissue and gestured for him to wipe his upper lip. You watched him intently as he dabbed the tissue instead of wiped, his eyes expressing a mix of guilt and amusement as he gave you a penetrating stare.
Your monologue dissolved like sugar in hot coffee.
Folding the used napkin and slipping it in his pocket, he grabbed his wallet and brought out several bills.
“That’ll be how much?”
“On me.”
“Oh no.” He searched for the chalkboard of orders and once he found out the price, brought out several bills and offered it to you.
“Peter, no, really.” You push back his hand.
But he wouldn’t accept it. He took hold of your arm, his gentle grip sending shivers up your spine. He traced his fingers on your skin from your elbow where he held you to your hand, where he placed the cash, closed your fingers around it, and sealed it with both of his hands.
“Take it,” he instructed.
You swallowed and headed to the cashier to get him his change.
“Change.”
“More like your tip.”
Your eyes widened when you thought back to how much you were holding.
“This is too much I-”
“Will take it as payment for working overtime, and …” He pointed to your bag and gestured towards the door. “Maybe treat me for dinner? That’s-that’s if you still want to go through with this?”
He’s not the smoothest guy on the planet. But if every cup of coffee were perfect, then we wouldn’t have all these variations of coffee.
You took a swig of hot chocolate knowing full well you needed something stronger for tonight and slung the backpack on your shoulder.
“Fine. But you’re choosing where we’re going to eat.”
As a writing major who had more books than bookshelves in your house, in fiction, you were very much aware of how cruel Fate could be. As it turns out, however, the cruelty of fate was not only a work of fiction.
When your co-worker had ratted out that you allowed a customer to enter the shop past opening hours, your boss fired you immediately. He said that trust was one of the most important characteristics he needed an employee to have. And since he couldn’t trust you, you had to be fired. So much for saving the ass of your co-worker.
As devastated as you were being fired the day after you went out with Peter, you were more than grateful to leave such a hectic environment.
Maybe the coffee shop by the school’s library will be better. You thought, looking for a silver lining to being fired
In the chaos of that morning, however, it only dawned on you days after you had already gotten a new job that Peter didn’t have any other way of communicating with you other than going to the coffee shop where you worked.
I could go back. You thought. Just to tell him where I work now.
But you couldn’t bring yourself to go back to that horrid place. Peter was the only good thing you got from that place but one light in the darkness wasn’t enough to convince you to endure the darkness once more.
Maybe it wasn’t meant to be.
You told yourself this. Over and over again as you walked down the street one afternoon after your shift, remembering the night you went out with Peter - the laughter, the spilled hot chocolate, and the stories of his family and yours.
From behind, you didn’t notice that there was a black limousine following you.
“Hey! Hey!”
You halted and looked to your left. You moved further from the sidewalk and reached into your bag for your pepper spray. You were this close to running until the driver shouted -
“Wait! Are you y/n?”
“Who-who are you?” Your index finger positioned itself on the trigger.
“You’re scaring her Happy.” The windows in the passenger seat rolled down. “Hey, hey, yoo-hoo!”
You crouched to see the man who called out to you.
“You’re Tony-”
“Stark. Yeah. Are you y/n?”
“I could be.” You said, unsure. It’s not every day Tony Stark comes by in his limousine and talks to you.
He sighed.
“Look kid, it was hard enough to look for you. Especially with Peter breathing down my neck worried about you.” He rubbed his forehead. “Do you know a Peter? Peter Parker?”
In the back of your mind, you had hoped he’d come looking for you the moment he figured out that you didn’t work for anymore.
And he was. Tony Stark proved that.
“Yeah, I do.”
He beamed.
“Great! I’m in need of a barista at Stark Industries. Some companies think brewed coffee is cheaper and more efficient and it is but I like to keep my - well, our since it’s mine and Pepper’s - employees happy by giving them what they want. But start small. Like coffee.” He spoke as if he’d memorized what to say before. “Peter mentioned your name when he said his piece during mine and Pepper’s conversation. So would you happen to know one?”
You could practically hear him say to you - No more Miss Invisible. It’s time for you to be appreciated by someone who actually cared.
“Happen to know one? Sir, I am one.”
“Is that so? Alright.” He pushed the door open. “Get in.”
You looked left and right before getting in the car.
“You better not be lying to me.” Tony said as he closed the door and gave you an accompanying glare that was a threat enough.
“I’m not sir, I promise.”
“We’ll see about that.”
Whenever your classmates asked you how you got a job at Stark Industries, you honestly couldn’t remember most of it. You did remember one thing though and that was him telling you that you made the best goddamn coffee he ever tasted.
It’s all luck. You knew it. Or fate. A soft voice spoke from the back of your head.
Working for them though wasn’t luck or fate, it was a dream. Their equipment was top notch. You barely had to do most of the work. All that was left for you to do was to measure out the proportions of each drink, personalize it according to the employee’s taste, and experiment with new flavors - Tony was quite supportive of this one.
Aside from the equipment though, the whipped cream on top of the frappucinno for you was really the treatment from the employee’s. You didn’t have to deal with people who thought less of you. At Stark Industries, you weren’t just a barista but as they coined it, a life saver. Here, you didn’t have to grapple for tips, they gave it willingly.
“Ms. Y/n?”
“Yes F.R.I.D.A.Y?”
“Mr. Stark wishes to see you in the lab and he would also like a matcha latte and a regular latte.”
“Got it. I’ll be there in 10 minutes.”
Carrying the trays, you found yourself standing in front of a glass door - the entrance to Tony Stark’s lab - waiting for him to come to the door. You were never allowed inside and you got why. You hated if someone peered over your shoulder while you wrote essays.
When he finally spotted you, to your surprise, he made a gesture for you to come in.
“Mr. Stark?” You said as you wedged your head between the door and doorway.
“Ok, kid, I get why you call me Mr. Stark. Respect. But please, there are way too many people calling me that. Just call me Tony.”
You nodded and slipped right into the lab, making sure that the drinks don’t spill.
This was the first time you entered and got a good look at all the suits and tools he had on display. You tried your very best not to gape but you couldn’t help it. The science fiction geek in you was overjoyed. Here you were standing in front of the man who could turn science fiction into reality. The possibilities of his creations - of knowing his creations - was something you couldn’t hide.
“I know those eyes.” Tony chuckled. “They look exactly like someone else’s eyes the first time they saw my lab.”
You saw him look at you suspiciously, a small twinkle in his eyes.
“Don’t worry. No harm, no foul. It does look impressive doesn’t it.”
You nodded eagerly, the words stuck in your throat.
“Well, you’re free to stay. On one, well, two conditions. Give me my drink and give him,” he pointed to a blur of red, gold, and blue behind him, “his drink. And if we’re happy with what you made, you can stay.”
You offer him his drink. You waited with bated breath as he took a sip.
To your utmost delight, the corner of his lip tugged upward.
Upon seeing your reaction, his face suddenly erased of all emotion except one - seriousness.
“Don’t get your hopes high just yet. You still need a stamp of approval from someone else.” He shouted. “Underoo! Your latte!”
“Right. Right. Sorry, Mr. Stark. Just testing out the new functions. Wanted to get a hang of it before you upgrade it. Not-not that it’s already perfect. Love the current upgrade.”
That voice.
“Peter?” “Y/n?”
When Spiderman’s mask unfolded itself, your fingers loosened it’s grip on the tray.
It’s a good thing that Peter had quicker than normal reflexes.
“Woah.” He reached out for his cup, grabbing it before it touched the ground.
The tray you were holding on to though, didn’t make it, and made a loud clattering noise that echoed in the lab.
“Sorry!” You snapped out of it and grabbed the tray before it made any more noise. “Sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Honest mistake. Can happen to anyone.” Peter said, smirking, and reminding you of the first day you two met.
Worried that Tony might kick you out of your mistake, you glanced at him. But he was unfazed and moreover, he was looking expectantly at Peter, motioning for him to sip.
“Oh right.”
Peter took a sip and hummed in contentment.
“You may stay.” Tony said.
Your heart did a little jump while your eyes struggled to find what to focus on first.
“Impressive isn’t it?” Peter whispered, the smell of his coffee breath, making you turn around.
“Not as impressive as you getting me this job.” You admitted quite quickly. “Thank you.”
“Woah, woah. Why are you thanking him? I’m the one who got you this job. He was just a messenger.” A beat. “A good one, I have to admit. But still just a messenger.”
“Your welcome Mr. Stark.” Peter gleamed, playing along with Tony.
Tony silently laughed and looked at the two of you the same way he first looked at you - with suspicion.
“Friday?”
“Yes Tony?”
“Put a sign saying that the barista will be out for a few hours.”
You almost dropped the tray again.
“But sir-Tony-”
“No, no. No talking. I’m your boss.” He had a hint of a playful smile on his face. “You will stay and you will help.”
Yeah, I’m a writer. I can help by being creative or imaginative. But I’m not a genius and I don’t know a lick about mechanical engineering.
“With what?”
Your excitement quickly turned into fear then dread.
“I … have no idea. But something tells me that you’re more than just a barista.”
“And if I’m not?”
Tony stood from the table he was sitting on, leaving his drink behind. He approached you, placed two hands on your shoulders, and guided you to a spot that Peter wouldn’t hear what you two were saying.
“Then at the very least, you’re the best goddamn barista I’ve ever hired. I have no regrets about that.” He leaned in closer, lowering his voice to a whisper. “But seeing the way he looks at you, there’s at least one person in this room who surely believes you’re more than just a barista without having to prove it.”
You looked at Peter who fiddled with his coffee cup, trying to make it look like he didn’t want in on your conversation.
“How are you sure?”
“Trust me kid.” He clapped your shoulder, his voice volume back to normal. “I have a knack for these things. Between the two of you, I can sense something’s brewing.”