Work Text:
Peter Parker is impossibly cold.
“I could really use a Hallmark movie right now,” he mutters. "Can't feel my toes."
“What do you mean?” Pepper calls into the phone.
“God, Mom,” Morgan says in the background. “Wasn’t your generation raised on Hallmark movies?”
“Excuse me!” Pepper snarks. “Do explain, my all-knowing brat children.”
“Well, Peter is cold,” Morgan explains. Peter bites his lip against laughter. “It’s snowing. He’s wondering the streets of Manhattan near his college campus. It’s Valentine’s Day. As the snow falls in a peaceful—
“A blizzard is starting,” Peter interrupts.
“As the snow falls in a peaceful, gentle caress of the world around him,” Morgan says, louder. “Peter feels that all hope is lost for any sort of warmth, physical, or romantic. Then, as he turns the corner…there! A golden light emitting from a coffee shop window catches his eye. He rushes to the door, hope blossoming in his soul.”
“Christ,” Pepper mutters, barely audible.
“So he bursts into that coffee shop! There’s a warm fire, and even better, a warm-hearted barista to soothe his frostbitten fingers…and his frostbitten heart.”
Oh,” Pepper says. She makes gagging noise. “Sorry, I just, I think I’m gonna hurl.”
Peter and Morgan both laugh. Morgan’s voice is defensive when she speaks. “Hey, I didn’t say it was realistic or a healthy ideal, but…it’s what would happen in a Hallmark movie.”
“Why do you even watch those?” Peter teases.
“Why do you?”
“Ned loves them. I have Cowboy for Christmas on DVD because of him.”
“God, that one was good. The cowboy baker, right?”
“At least he was hot.”
“Okay, this conversation is getting out of hand,” Pepper groans. “Aside from the fact that my children have zero taste in quality cinema…I’m worried, Peter. I’m going to send your dad to come get you.”
“Mom, no, I’m fine,” Peter sighs. He rounds the corner towards him dorm. “I’m almost—oh my god.”
“What?” Pepper says. “Honey?”
“You guys are not going to believe what I’m staring at right now.”
In front of Peter, a light shines on gold letters painted across a window. The door’s sign says “Open” and Peter sees a man behind a counter, a coffee cup in hand. The shop is completely empty, but it’s the only thing open on the street.
“Peter…” Morgan gasps, her voice suddenly much closer to the phone. “Are you…are you in front of a coffee shop?”
“No,” he answers weakly. “It’s a, um, a bakery. Called Mietta’s.”
“That won a bunch of awards last year,” Pepper muses. “They’re local in New York, but the owner has three shops. He does wedding cakes all over the country, was even offered his own TV show.”
“Did he take it?”
“Nope. Turned it down. Just wants to keep doing what he does, isn’t interested in more expansion.”
“Well,” Peter says. “I guess I have to go in, right?”
“I will never forgive you if you don’t,” Morgan rushes out. “I’m serious. I will come for you in your sleep, Peter.”
“Then I’m hanging up.”
“No! Put me on speaker and put me in your pocket, I need to hear!
“Absolutely not.”
“I love you,” Pepper laughs. “Don’t get kidnapped, okay?”
“I know Dad’s tracking me, but I’ll do my best. Love you guys too.”
“Peter, no!”
He hangs up the phone.
Peter walks into the shop, the little door jingling above him. The guy behind the counter is tall, thin and wiry as he leans against a cash register with a book. When he looks up at Peter’s entrance, his eyes crinkle with his smile.
“Welcome to Mietta’s,” he says, accent drawling in exactly the right way. “My name is Harley, how can I help you?”
Peter just laughs.
The next morning, Morgan wakes up to a notification on her phone. She opens it with bleary eyes. Waiting is a picture of a Peter, messy hair and the sweater he was wearing when he left the night before hanging off the shoulders of a man who is smiling into Peter’s hair.
Found myself a blonde haired, blue eyed country boy.
Another text comes through.
He owns the bakery.
Morgan screams.
“MOM! You are never going to believe this!”