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Sid’s used to doing whatever Cassie wants, but he’ll admit he was surprised when she said she wanted to come here of all places.
Her smile reached both ears at once, and she could’ve said I think we should go to the moon, and he still would’ve said yes.
She’s wearing one of those dresses that swish around her legs, reminding him of the drapes in a flower shop like she belongs in one herself.
A daisy, maybe. A sunflower. One of those black-eyed Susans.
He doesn’t know anything about flowers, but he imagines Tony doesn’t either, so it can’t be that important to know what kind of flower Cassie is.
Sid stands behind her with his hands in his pockets, and Cassie pushes up onto her toes to peek at the menu written by someone who curls their Ps.
He squints at the lettering and tries to decipher what all the different words mean. Latte looks Italian. Pain au chocolat looks French. Everything looks expensive.
He palms his wallet and considers how fucked he’ll be if he has to walk home tonight, and unless everything becomes free in the next forty seconds, it looks like fucked is his middle name.
Sid Fucked Jenkins.
Cool.
“Oh lovely,” Cassie gasps, pointing at a pastry covered in strawberries, and this might be the first time he’s ever seen her excited about food.
“Get it.”
He shrugs his shoulders like a small part of him isn’t leaping that she might eat something because she wants to, not because some prick in a lab coat made her.
“I’m not sure,” she says. “What if it’s bad?”
“You can spit it out, I guess,” he shrugs. “Get something else.”
“Hmm, I might not want anything else if it’s bad.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“Next, please!”
“Guess we should order then,” he says, and Cassie steps up to the counter without hesitation.
“Could I get, an, ummm, a latte, please,” she asks sweetly, bouncing up slightly onto her toes, and Sid holds his breath. Not just that... “With no whipped cream.”
The barista nods as she taps in the order, and Sid scrunches his nose. It’s none of his business, he knows that, but they were so close. She wanted something, and they’re here, and they’re still close.
“Didn’t you wanna try that, err, strawberry one?”
Cassie turns around and looks at him before it registers on her face. “Oh! Yes, and one of those strawberry pastries, please.”
“Want the whip left off it too?”
“Yes, I think so,” she says. “It’s really too much, isn’t it?”
“Depends on what you like, I suppose,” she says before looking back at Sid. “I’ll be with you next, sir.”
“I’m with her,” he says, and she looks at them both, almost surprised.
“Oh. Sure.”
“Yeah…,” he breathes and grabs his wallet. “Uhhh, tea’s fine. Whatever you’ve got.”
“Aren’t you going to eat too, Sid?” Cassie asks suddenly, looking almost betrayed that he might not. “Aren’t you hungry?”
“Ah yeah, sure,” he says and looks at the display case. Of course he’s… hungry. Not really, but Cassie is, and that means he is too. “I’ll have the, umm, chocolate… thing.”
“It’s hazelnut,” the barista says.
“That’s fine.”
“What if you don’t like hazelnut,” Cassie asks.
“I’ll spit it out then.”
Cassie smiles. “If we don’t like what we ordered, we can switch with each other. Wouldn’t that be fun?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Whatever she wants.
Sid pays with just enough left to get home, and they sit outside with the sun right in his eyes, but the halo it casts around Cassie’s head is nice.
Fitting.
He doesn’t… watch her eat, knowing if Cassie feels like someone is, she’ll turn it into a performance, and honestly if she enjoys two bites, he’ll be happy.
Cassie’s fork hovers above her plate, and he pretends to look across the street.
The happiest little noise tells him it’s okay to look.
Sid drinks his tea, and Cassie lets herself have this one pastry just because she wanted it.
“I’m so happy you came with me, Sid.”
“Yeah, me too,” he says. “Tea’s good.”
“I’ve never had a latte before,” she says. “Too much milk, though.”
“Ah yeah, sure.”
Cassie licks the stain from her lips, and Sid’s eyes linger just a moment longer than they’re supposed to. He thinks about all of Tony’s advice for picking up girls.
He’d call him a twat.
Do strawberries count as flowers?
“Sid?”
Sid blinks back to attention. “Huh?”
“D’you like it?”
“Ah yeah,” he says. “It’s good.”
“Good,” she smiles. “Aren’t you supposed to offer me a bite of yours?”
“Am I?”
“It’s polite, isn’t it?”
“I dunno,” he says. “You want a bite?”
“Not if you don’t want me to.”
“I want you to if you want to,” he says. “You like hazelnuts?”
“I’m not sure,” she says. Sid nudges his plate towards her, and she takes a small bite, chewing it like it’s more gum than food. It’s not that good. “It’s not that good.”
“I know, right?”
“Do you want to trade?”
“No, I’m okay,” he says. “Thanks, though.”
Cassie returns to her pastry, and he watches her take three full bites in a row like she’s washing the hazelnuts down.
She’s so pretty.
“What kind of flower do you think you’d be?”
“Oh, I love this game,” she sits up. “I think I’d be a daisy.”
“Yeah, you look like a daisy.”
“Thank you,” she beams. “What kind of animal at the zoo would you be?”
“I don’t want to be an animal at the zoo.”
“That’s not how you play the game. You have to choose.”
Sid frowns. He didn’t know they were playing a game. “A lion, then, I guess.”
“A lion?!” Cassie laughs like it’s the most incredulous thing she’s ever heard. “You?”
And she laughs again, all strawberry stained lips and sunset halo, and Sid doesn’t mind at all that she’s laughing at him.
Ah, maybe he loves her.
Cool.