Chapter Text
Jack leaned his elbows on his desk, glaring at the textbook in front of him. The bass from the kegster below pulsed through the floorboards of Jack’s room, vibrating against his toes.
He rubbed his fingers against his temples.
Four hours of this. Four whole hours and Jack had barely gotten through half of his assigned reading. He had a midterm the following week. He felt like he was starting to come down with a cold. And now, on top of that, the loud music from the Pre-Fall Break kegster (or whatever the hell the excuse for partying was this time) was threatening to blow the Haus down.
Jack was finally desperate enough to text Shitty.
Jack: Can you turn music down? Trying to study
Jack hit send before he could care whether he was coming off as short or rude. A vein throbbed in his forehead. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eye sockets.
A few minutes later, he felt, rather than heard, a softening of the bass. He checked his phone for a reply from Shitty, but as soon as he unlocked the screen Shitty was throwing open his bedroom door.
“BRAH,” he shouted above the noise now pouring in from outside. He clung to the doorframe, swinging back and forth through the doorway. “You comin’ down or not?”
“No, Shits, I told you. Too much work tonight.”
“I’m sorry about the music, man. But this is as quiet as I can make it in order to drown out the garbage the lax bros are playing across the street.”
Jack nodded. “I understand.”
“Would it help if you went somewhere quieter?”
“The library closes at six on Fridays,” Jack sighed. “What else is even open right now? Besides, like, a McDonalds. Which…”
“No. You can’t support those minimum wage fucks. Fuck capitalism and fuck corporate America.”
“Right.”
“What about that new coffee shop? It’s right across from Lake Quad. Lardo goes all the time.”
“What new coffee shop?”
“It’s called…something alliterative?” Shitty tilted his head, frowning behind his aviators. “It starts with a B. Something Something Bakes. IDK. But they’re open ‘til like two! Lards brought me the pie from there once and I swear, brah, it almost brought me to orgasm.”
“Oh. Well.”
“Get out of here, get your shit done. We can out-party the lax bros without you.”
So, Jack packed his books alongside his laptop and shouldered the bag as he walked across the quad well after midnight. It was cold enough for a sweater, if not quite a hat. The crisp air devoid of lingering tub juice stink was already doing wonders for his headache.
Sure enough, there was a small storefront open in the plaza across from the lake, a neon “OPEN” sign buzzing brightly in the window. In stylized white writing above the sign it said, “BITTY’S BREWS AND BAKES.”
A small bell chimed above the door as Jack entered the shop. A couple other students occupied the tables, headphones in, buried in the blue light of their laptops, but it was largely empty. The lighting was soft and golden, the décor simple with dark wood and antique furniture. There were string lights along the ceiling. Unobtrusive instrumental songs played over a speaker. It felt more like somebody’s home kitchen than a coffee shop.
Jack remained awkwardly by the entrance. He supposed he should order something before he claimed a table. Working at the counter was the cutest boy Jack had ever seen on the Samwell campus or possibly anywhere ever. He was leaning over the display case, rearranging a plate of cookies. When he saw Jack he straightened up, giving him a warm smile.
Though Jack thought ‘boy’ in his head, in reality they must have been about the same age. But this guy was so small. As Jack walked up to the counter he figured he’d only come up to his shoulder. He’d dated girls taller than that. The guy had to lift his chin to look up at Jack, showing off a dimple at the corner of his mouth, fair hair framing big, brown eyes.
Jack suddenly realized he had only moved from one distraction to another. Kegster versus Cute Coffee Shop Guy. He wasn’t going to get anything done here when he could just be looking at this guy instead.
The guy frowned, and Jack realized he had asked a question while Jack had been staring at him like a total creep.
“Uh,” Jack stuttered, “just a black coffee. Please.”
“My pleasure,” he said, grabbing a white mug from a stack on the counter behind him. “Normally I’d let my barista take care of a drink order, but I’ve got him on dish duty. Besides, I think I can handle a plain cup of coffee, don’t you?”
The guy had a charming southern accent, lilting like music in the calm of the coffee shop. Jack was never going to be able to come in here ever again, he was already too far gone.
The guy looked back over his shoulder at Jack as he poured Jack his coffee, apparently expecting an answer.
“Oh, um, sure.” Jack gave him a thumbs up. “You got this.”
The guy laughed at Jack’s stupid joke, setting the coffee down in front of Jack, ringing him up. Jack noticed his nametag said “Bitty.” Huh. So, this guy was the owner? He could have easily been another Samwell student. But that would explain why Jack had never seen him before; Samwell was a pretty small school.
“Now, we’ve got different sweeteners, milks, and stirring sticks on the table behind you, so you can fix it up to your liking,” Bitty said. “But do let me know if you need anything you don’t see out already.”
“I won’t want sugar,” Jack said, then grimaced. Why couldn’t he just say something normal without coming off like a total asshole? “I mean. I don’t need. Or. Never mind. Okay. Thanks, um, Bitty.”
“You’re welcome…” he said, trailing off.
“Jack.”
“Well, you’re welcome Jack,” he said with a bewildered laugh
Jack truly could never come here again. Maybe he should have gotten the coffee to go.
“No sugar, huh?” Bitty said. “You mean nothin’ sweet behind the counter caught your eye?”
Jack froze, eyes wide, thinking he’d been completely figured out. Bitty had seen him ogling and was now…what? Calling him out? Chirping? Flirting? Then Jack saw he was only gesturing to the display of baked goods.
“Oh, no. They look delicious, but, uh, I’m on the hockey team,” Jack said, lamely pointing to the logo on his t-shirt. “Got us on a pretty strict diet. So.” Jack shrugged.
Bitty actually pouted. “Well, that’s a darn shame. Do you think they’d begrudge you a small sample? I make everything in house, all by myself. Wholesome ingredients only, I promise.”
“I don’t suppose they’d—”
“Good!” Bitty said, cutting him off and turning around to fetch a tray out of what looked like a fancy mini fridge. “’Cause there’s somethin’ I might wanna start serving for fall, but I wasn’t sure about it yet. I was experimenting this afternoon and I need taste testers.” Bitty placed a small tart on a ceramic plate and slid it across the counter to Jack. “Stiles, my barista, can’t be trusted on food opinions. He’ll eat anything. So, I’ve been asking customers.”
“Bits, you say something?” a voice asked from around the corner.
“No, don’t worry about it!” Bitty called back.
A lanky guy appeared in the doorway behind the counter, all awkward limbs and tousled hair. He dried his hands off on a towel which he then flipped up onto his shoulder.
“Are you still telling people about my inept taste buds?”
“You once thought paprika was cinnamon, Stiles.”
“An easy mistake to make!” The barista, Stiles, placed his hands on his hips, addressing Jack. “He’s only half right. I may or may not have some mild nerve damage on my tongue from drinking too much hot coffee. But I think the final straw was the pizza bites I microwaved and ate before they cooled off last night. The roof of my mouth is permanently singed.”
“In that case, I guess I have to try your sample,” Jack said, with a shy smile at Bitty. Stiles kept talking, not seeming to notice Jack’s interjection.
“We need all the volunteers we can get. It’s a tough job, but somebody’s gotta do it. ‘Cause this mouth is currently out of commission, you couldn’t pay me to put anything in here.” He paused. “Okay, I now realize how that last part sounded—”
“Stiles,” Bitty said. “Kitchen. Please.”
“Right.” Stiles made finger guns at Bitty and whipped the towel off his shoulder before exiting.
“I apologize for his. Um. Stiles is my cousin,” Bitty explained. “A very distant one. Through marriage only. I promised his daddy he could have a job when he moved here from California to go to school, and ya know, bless his heart.”
Jack and Bitty stared at each other. To fill the silence, Jack took a bite of the tart.
“Anyway,” Bitty continued. “I’ve put this pumpkin filling in a mini tart shell for starters, but it could have pie potential. What do you think?”
Jack thought about Shitty’s orgasmic pie comment, and then wished he hadn’t, the tips of his ears going hot. Jack just nodded.
“Good.” He took another bite. It wasn’t too sweet, with a balance of spices and something nutty too. Jack salivated. “Actually, very good. Wow.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, shit. Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to curse at you.”
“No worries,” Bitty said, looking perfectly pleased with himself. “Well, I’m sure I’ve taken up enough of your time. Thanks for bein’ my guinea pig.”
---
Stiles finished wiping down the counter around the kitchen sink, whistling as he did, then tossing the used rag into the laundry hamper.
“Stiles,” Bitty said, peering in the doorway, “can you go ahead and man the counter again? I’m gonna do the prep for tomorrow if you want to start closing duties in the next twenty minutes or so.”
“You got it, boss. You don’t have to tell me twice. You can consider the job well and truly—”
“Stiles.”
“Yeah, I’m going.”
Stiles was cleaning the espresso machine when a guy came bursting through the front door, the collar of his shirt drenched with sweat. It was one of those long-sleeved Under Armour shirts, so the shirt clung to him like a second skin, his perfectly sculpted arms still apparent under the damp fabric. He combed his fingers through equally damp strands of dark hair which, instead of being gross, turned his hairdo into that artfully messy look. If Stiles had gone anywhere that sweaty he would look like a drowned rat, but this guy. Holy shit. It looked that kind of glisteny, shiny sweat you only see on the oiled-up muscles of models in magazines. Not that Stiles even read those kinds of magazines, you understand, but people see things.
Stiles was more worried by the fact that his very first thought when we saw this dark haired, muscular, thick-browed stranger come into the shop, was the word, “beefcake.” A word Stiles had never once used in any context in real life.
“Welcome to Bitty’s Brews and Bakes,” Stiles said, his voice cracking like a pubescent kid. The beefcake furrowed his bushy eyebrows. “What can I get started for you?”
“Double-shot latte with three sugars,” he said, all business, then paused with a frown. “And better use almond milk with that.”
“You want it iced?”
“Why would I want it iced?”
“You look,” Stiles swallowed, gesturing towards him, “warm.”
“Oh.” The guy plucked his shirt off his chest like he honestly hadn’t noticed. “Yeah, I was running.”
“Oh my god,” Stiles lowered his voice, “who were you running from?”
“Just a run? Like exercise?” The guy’s stupidly pretty eyes narrowed. Stiles couldn’t even tell what color they were. “I’ve still got a paper to finish tonight, it helps me think.”
“Right,” Stiles mumbled, turning around to grab a mug. “Dumb joke, sorry.”
“That’ll be to-go,” the guy said lightly, digging in his pocket for his wallet.
Damn. Stiles wouldn’t have minded getting to stare at this guy a little longer. Oh well.
“Name for the order?” Stiles asked, raising his sharpie to the cardboard cup. There was absolutely no reason for him to do this, it wasn’t like there was a line of people behind him that would get their orders confused. Stiles just had to know.
“Derek,” he said, still looking into his wallet, avoiding Stiles’ eyes.
“I’m Stiles,” Stiles said. Derek just nodded, like he had no idea what to do with this information.
The guy who Bitty had given a sample to earlier was finally packing his stuff up to leave, and Stiles only realized then they were five minutes from closing anyway. Stiles waved goodnight as the guy shouldered his laptop bag, hovering like he was looking for something before walking out the door. A chill blew through the shop as the bell chimed and the door swung shut.
“Have a good night, Derek,” Stiles said, fitting the lid to Derek’s coffee after he had paid for it.
“You too,” Derek said, taking a sip of the steaming hot coffee like a true champ. His eyes widened, looking down at the cup, then at Stiles as if he was seeing him for the first time. “This is really good.”
“Our coffee’s all organic, fair trade,” Stiles said. “Also, I’m just a damn good barista.”
“I guess so.”
“Hey,” Stiles said. “Can I give you a pastry to go? On the house, we won’t be able to sell these tomorrow. We just end up donating them to the shelter on Gable Street anyway.”
“Oh, sure.” Derek was frowning again, but in what Stiles hoped was in less of an annoyed way now. A friendly frown, if you will. Or maybe Resting Frown Face.
“What would you like?” Stiles asked, grabbing a paper bag and a pair of tongs.
“Whatever your favorite is.”
“Double chocolate chip cookie it is, then.” Stiles tossed one in the bag, then added a second when he knew Derek was looking. “Enjoy.”
“Cool…thanks.”
Derek raised his coffee cup once more to him as he exited the shop, which was now completely vacant. Stiles went and locked the door after him, turning off the “OPEN” sign.
Stiles turned when he heard Bitty yawning behind him.
“You can head on home if you want,” Bitty said. “Everything’s basically done. I’ll tidy up and head out after you if you wanna just cash out the drawer.”
“Sure thing,” Stiles said. “Not a bad night.”
“No, not bad at all. A little slow, maybe.”
“But the quality of the customers was fuckin’ choice, don’t you think?”
“Stiles, what on earth are you talking about?”
“The guy who just left? I mean, you saw him, didn’t you? Dark hair, super athletic, crazy intense eyes?”
“Oh,” Bitty said, looking over at one of the empty tables. “Yes, him.”
“I don’t like objectifying anybody, but Bitty. He was so hot.”
“He was hot,” Bitty agreed.
“I think I’m gonna marry him.”
“Please do not propose to my customers.”
“This is out of my hands, dude, I think he’s the love of my life.”
“Sure, Stiles,” Bitty said, with a fond eyeroll. “We’ll just have to see if he ever comes back.”
---
Derek went back to Bitty’s Brews and Bakes every day for over a week. It was only ever to stop in, grab a coffee and go, but it had quickly become a part of his daily routine. It was just because he liked the coffee, Derek told himself. The burnt beans from the cafeteria were garbage and Annie’s was only open in the mornings.
Also, Stiles the barista had started making special drinks for him. Normally, it’d be annoying for someone in the service industry to just ignore what he asked for and do whatever they wanted. But for some reason with Stiles it was…endearing wasn’t exactly the right word. Surprising? Sure, but nicer than that. Well, that was it. It was just nice.
It occurred to Derek, a couple weeks into his evening coffee runs, that it would be far more productive to bring his work with him, and drink his coffee while it was hot, than bringing it back to his dorm to work into the night. Also, Stiles had told him he should hang around sometime, instead of disappearing mysteriously into the night. Though maybe he had been joking. Derek could never really tell when he was joking.
Regardless, Derek brought his notes and laptop to the café on Tuesday night, which he knew was half-off baked goods with purchase of a drink night. He had their schedule memorized.
Maybe Derek needed more hobbies.
Stiles grinned from behind the counter when Derek came in, then he eyed his backpack.
“What’s with the bag tonight, Derek?” he asked.
“I was, uh, gonna stay a while. Get some work done. If that’s okay.”
“Absolutely it’s okay,” Stiles said, gleefully grabbing the ceramic mugs. “Go find a place to sit, I’ll bring it over to you.”
“I haven’t told you what I want.”
“I know what you want.”
“I also haven’t paid for it.”
“I’ll put it on your tab.” Stiles winked. “Now go before my boss starts asking questions.”
Stiles shooed him away and Derek rolled his eyes, shoving some bills in the tip jar when Stiles turned his back.
Derek took a glance around the room for an empty table near an outlet. His laptop battery was hanging on by a thread and basically only worked if it was plugged in. The café was busier than usual. Word must have gotten out about the half-off baked goods deal, almost every table had an empty plate with crumbs or a half-eaten piece of pie on it. The only option Derek could see was a small, high-top table in the corner, adjacent to the counter. It was directly next to another guy, using the same outlet, wearing a Samwell Athletics t-shirt (Derek actually had the same one, he had almost worn it that day) and a red baseball cap. Derek was pretty sure he had seen this guy around the café more than once, he looked familiar.
Derek set his things down on the table, setting up his laptop and pulling out the charger before he realized there was no subtle way of getting around this guy to plug it in.
“Sorry to bother you,” Derek said, as the guy looked up from his own laptop, “but can I share the outlet behind you?”
“Ah, sure,” he said. He had a bit of an accent Derek couldn’t place. Could be Minnesota, Derek thought, or thereabouts. He extended his hand for Derek’s charger. “I can get it for you.”
“Thanks,” Derek said, watching as the guy twisted around to wrestle with the outlet. “Also, you look really familiar. Did we have a class together?”
“Maybe? I’m a history major.”
Derek shook his head. “Spanish Lit.”
“I captain the hockey team? Jack Zimmermann.”
“That’s it,” Derek snapped his fingers. “I saw you at the NCAA meeting at the start of semester. Derek Hale, basketball captain.”
“Oh, yeah, good to see you again.” Jack shook his hand. “This place is pretty good, eh?”
“Yeah,” Derek said, finally taking a seat and spreading his notes out. “I’ve never really stayed to get work done, but the coffee is great.”
“I’ve been working here a lot. I live in the Haus, er, the hockey frat. It gets…loud.”
“I bet. I’ve been to some of those kegsters, man. I think I’m still deaf in one ear.”
“Right? Anyway, the people here are really nice. I mean, the guys that work here.”
“They are,” Derek agreed, just as he saw Stiles round the counter with a steaming mug of coffee.
“One extra sweet almond milk latte surprise, for one favorite customer,” Stiles said, carefully placing the coffee on his table a safe distance from his notes.
Derek’s face grew hot, though he was sure Stiles told every customer they were his favorite. “What’s the surprise?”
“You’ll see,” Stiles said.
Derek figured that would be all, but then Stiles stood there, watching Derek expectantly. So, Derek took a small sip off the top of the mug. It was, as always, the perfect temperature. Hot, but not scalding. He tasted the smooth coffee, the nutty almond milk, then…spice? Cinnamon, he realized. And something else.
“Is there cardamom in this?” Derek asked.
“Damn, you’re good,” Stiles said, delighted. “Bitty’s been using it in his scones, I wanted a beverage to pair with them.”
“Well, this is delicious.”
“Cool, cool,” Stiles said, seemingly not knowing what to do with his hands. He rested them on the table, then his hips, then back on the table, to fiddling with the apron strings tied around the front of his waist. “I guess I’ll let you do your thang.” Stiles turned to Jack, smiling and placing a hand on his table. “Everything still alright over here?” Jack nodded at him, having already delved deep back into his work. “Cool coolcoolcoolcool. Welp, you know where to find me. I’ll be over there. You know. Okay, bye.”
Derek smiled after him, and it suddenly hit him exactly why he was so invested in this café. Which was, of course, not about the café at all. God, he was so stupid.
Derek panicked. He took out his phone and sent off a quick text to his older sister, Laura, without any context or preamble.
Derek: Help, I have a big, stupid crush on my barista.
After a few seconds, Laura replied, helpful as always.
Laura: Hahahahahahaha
Laura: Classic
---
Bitty was having a miserable evening. Well, miserable was a tad overdramatic. He’d certainly had worse evenings in his life, and lord, he did not need to go there while he was at work. Yet here he was, heartsick and miserable, watching Jack the handsome hockey player work diligently in the corner of his café instead of paying attention to him.
Bitty sighed, scratching his pen on the spare napkin on his counter, doodling cursive J’s and little hearts over and over again.
It was silly, Bitty knew it was. But it was harmless, wasn’t it? To admire a customer from afar? With no real hope of it ever evolving into anything more?
Bitty sighed again.
Bitty was so involved in his own thoughts that he didn’t even notice when Jack stood up from his table until he was halfway to the counter. Bitty perked up, his heart fluttering as Jack graced him with one of his shy smiles.
Oh, what Bitty wouldn’t do for those smiles.
“I was wondering if I could get a refill?” Jack said, resting his elbow on the counter and lifting his mug. Bitty plucked it from his hand, turning around for the pot of drip coffee being kept warm on the hot plate.
“Sure thing, honey,” Bitty said, the endearment slipping out. Jack didn’t seem to notice, or mind. Then Bitty placed the mug back in his hand, the whole interaction over far too soon. “Can I get you anything else?”
“Uh, no, that’s it. Thanks.”
Jack walked back to his table and Bitty resigned himself to a life of loneliness and sorrow.
Two more customers came in, taking Bitty’s attention away from his moping, and when they were taken care of he turned to find Jack back by the counter.
“Jack,” Bitty grinned, “something else?”
“The guy next to me, Derek, didn’t realize you did free refills when you stay in the store. I offered to get his.”
“Very nice of you,” Bitty said, looking over Jack’s shoulder to see another athletic looking guy hunched over his laptop. “What’s his order?”
“Um, he said he didn’t know.”
Bitty frowned. “He what now?”
“He said ‘ask Stiles.’”
“I’ll get him on it.” Bitty called for Stiles from where he was grinding more coffee beans. When Bitty pointed the customer in question Stiles nodded his understanding, before literally hopping to it. Bitty went back to where Jack was waiting.
“Stiles is fixing it now; we can bring it over to you.”
“That’s okay, you guys have been kinda busy. I’ll wait.”
“Alright then.” Bitty fidgeted with his fingers. He finally had his wish for Jack’s full attention, and now he had absolutely no idea what to say. “So. Hockey, huh?”
Oh, for the love of…Bitty mentally facepalmed himself.
“Yup,” Jack said.
“I used to watch a hockey practice sometimes,” Bitty said, suddenly remembering. “There was a co-ed club that would come into the rink after my figure skating practice.”
Jack’s eyes lit up. “You skate?”
“I used to skate. Junior Southern Regional champion, medaled three years in a row, thank you very much.”
“Wow. But you don’t anymore?”
“No, only for fun in winter sometimes.”
“Why not? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“Oh, well, I wasn’t really good enough for the Olympics or anything like that. Other boys my age were already moving up to the senior division and I couldn’t compete with them. Also, I was a part of a technical program at my high school and I started really focusing on that so I could get an early acceptance to culinary school. I really wanted to get out of my hometown. I’m sorry, you didn’t ask for my whole life story.”
“No, it’s fine. Thank you for sharing.”
“What about you? Always hockey?”
“Always hockey,” Jack agreed with a laugh. It was the first time Bitty had heard a real laugh from him and he already needed to hear it again. “My dad was in the NHL.”
“Oh, wow!”
“I’m not saying that to like, brag or something. Just saying that hockey’s always been a part of my life.”
“No, I understand.”
“I was in my first pair of skates by the time I was two years old.”
“Aw, how sweet!”
“So, uh, I always played growing up, played for juniors in high school. Got a little off track and didn’t get drafted then, so now I’m playing here.”
“But you still wanna be drafted and play for the NHL?”
“That’s the goal. Haha.”
The man really laughed at his own puns. Bitty was suddenly and overwhelmingly turned on by that for some reason.
“How exciting!” Bitty rested his chin in both his hands. “I’d love to see you play sometime.”
“Really?” Jack scratched the back of his neck. “Well, we—”
“One specialty refill,” Stiles said, bringing the mug back to the counter. “Sorry that took so long, had to put more cardamom in the spice grinder.”
“What are you using my cardamom for?”
“Uh,” Stiles blinked innocently. “New potential menu item?”
Bitty narrowed his eyes, but Jack interrupted and took the mug. Stiles took his chance and slipped away before Bitty could ask more questions.
“I guess I’ll take this back then.”
“Oh, right,” Bitty said, sad that this was apparently the end of their conversation. Jack was surprisingly easy to talk to. A good listener, polite, and genuinely interested in what Bitty had to say.
“Thesis won’t write itself,” Jack said with a shrug.
“True,” Bitty said. Then with a glance over to the table he said quickly, “I see neither of you took advantage of the half-off baked goods! Is there anything you want?”
“Oh, hmm, maybe. I could use a snack break. What do you recommend?”
“I’ve got a fresh maple sugar crusted apple pie today.”
“That sounds amazing.”
“Thought you might like that,” Bitty said, already leaning down to pull it out of the case.
“Why, ‘cause of the maple for the Canadian, eh?” Jack teased.
“Somethin’ like that,” Bitty said lightly with a smile. Jack snorted. “I’ll heat it up for y’all, go on and get back to work.”
Bitty brought over the two plates of warm pie (with a scoop of house-made vanilla bean ice cream, just to make it proper) and was rewarded with many appreciative moans from both Jack and Derek.
“You boys let me know if you need anything at all, you hear?”
“Yes, sir,” Jack said with little half-smile at the corner of his mouth. “Thanks, Bitty.”
Bitty went warm all the way to his toes.
Bitty returned to his spot behind the counter, leaning his elbows on bakery case, and Stiles sidled up next to him. They both watched as Jack and Derek quietly spoke with one another between sips of coffee and bites of pie.
“He really is the most handsome man I’ve ever seen,” Bitty said.
“Yeah,” Stiles said. “He really is.”
They both sighed in unison, then got back to work.