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“Can I have a large black coffee and a cinnamon roll to go, please?”
“I’m sorry, we don’t sell cinnamon rolls, but I’ll have your coffee ready in a moment.”
The man looks at Henry like he’s personally wronged him. “What do you mean, you don’t sell cinnamon rolls?”
Henry blinks. “We... don’t? We don’t make them.”
The man seems to take a long time to process this information, and Henry tries not to stare at wild curls and confused brown eyes. “Oh. Right.”
He leaves with a hot coffee in hand and a deeply disoriented look on his face, and Henry doesn’t know what to make of him.
The man hesitates before leaving the coffee shop just the next day, hands wrapped around a steaming cup. “Do you really not sell cinnamon rolls?”
Henry forces himself to focus, taking his eyes away from the adorable frown between the man’s brows. “We really don’t,” he says apologetically.
The man nods with an air of finality. Henry suddenly and very firmly wishes that they sold cinnamon rolls.
“Can I get a large black coffee with a double shot of espresso to go?”
Henry hesitates before reaching for the coffee machine. The man laughs and shakes his head. “This is not a fight you’re gonna win, man. I need this to like, function in society. Trust me, we both want me to have that extra espresso.”
“Promise I won’t have the police coming for me asking questions about the unhealthy amounts of caffeine found in your body?” Henry asks as he reaches for a new cup, oblivious as to where the sudden confidence came from.
The man grins and mock-salutes him. “Scout’s honor.”
It doesn't take much more than that for Henry to realize he’s completely and utterly fucked.
“A large black coffee, double shot of espresso to go, please.”
“Coming right up.”
“Still no cinnamon rolls, Henry?”
“I’m afraid not, Alex.”
“You enjoy my pain too much.”
“I can assure you I take no pleasure in this.”
(He tends to smile when he says it, so maybe it is a bit of a lie).
Alex keeps coming back every day, eight am sharp, always with the same request for an overly caffeinated drink and a baked good he knows he won’t get.
“Can I get a large black coffee and a—”
“If I give you a lemon cookie for free,” Henry interrupts swiftly, raising his brow as he finishes preparing the coffee, “will you not finish that sentence?”
Alex tilts his head in consideration. “That depends.” A slow grin tugs at his lips, and Henry pointedly refuses to look down at Alex’s mouth because that would not end well. “Could you give me a cinnamon roll for free instead?”
Henry has to remind himself several times that murder is frowned upon. So is pulling a practical stranger into a kiss just because they make you feel alive, and yet somehow, Henry wants to do both.
“Do you have—”
“Nope. But your coffee’s ready.”
The bell jingles at precisely eight am in on fairly ordinary Tuesday, and Henry’s heart jumps with it. It’s a common occurrence these days.
The familiar drawl that reaches his ears is enough to make heat rush through Henry’s cheeks. “Morning, sweetheart.”
Why Alex started using that particular choice of pet names every day, Henry has no idea. He doesn’t have the heart to say anything about it.
“Can I get a—”
“Large black coffee, double shot of espresso?” Henry parrots back to him, trying to hide a smile as he places the cup that’s been ready for the past two minutes in front of Alex.
A slow grin tugs at Alex’s lips. “I don’t come here that often, do I?”
“Only every day for the past month,” Henry deadpans, and Alex’s grin kicks up a notch.
“You keeping tabs on me?”
“I do have to make the same order every single day. It doesn’t take much to remember.”
“What can I say,” Alex says, bringing the steaming cup to his mouth. “I like the company.”
Henry refuses to blush – just because Alex always comes alone and never speaks to anyone but Henry, it doesn’t mean anything. It’s a nice coffee shop; Alex could very well keep coming for the environment.
Henry nods towards the coffee in Alex’s hands. “Will that be all?”
Alex grins at him over the rim of the cup, slender fingers wrapped around it. “You know it isn’t.”
“Please don’t,” Henry asks tensely, pinching the bridge of his nose. Still, the corners of his lips twitch.
“I have to.”
“You absolutely do not.”
“It’s tradition!”
“It doesn’t have to be—”
“Henry I-wish-I-knew-your-middle-name Fox,” Alex says promptly, a grin so wide on his face it splits it in half, “does this fine establishment have cinnamon rolls?”
Henry sighs, hoping he doesn’t look as fond as he feels. “No, Alexander Gabriel Claremont-Diaz – I do know your middle name because you never shut up – it does not. As you very well know.”
Alex’s shoulders slump. “Damn. I was really hoping you finally had cinnamon rolls.”
“I still don’t understand why you insist on asking the same question every day when you know the answer won’t change.”
“Maybe I think the answer will change someday. Maybe I’m holding out hope.”
Henry considers him, tilting his head. “There’s a bakery just a couple blocks away, I’m sure if you asked there they’d...”
Alex looks up at him through his unrealistically long eyelashes, and Henry cuts himself off as his heart climbs all the way up to his throat. “Maybe I’m gathering the courage to ask you something else entirely.”
Henry doesn’t dare breathe. He doesn’t think he could if he tried. And he can’t look away from Alex’s chocolate brown eyes either, pinning him in place like they’re afraid Henry might disappear.
The bell jingles, startling them both. Alex looks away first.
“You have customers,” he says softly, gesturing to the line forming at the counter.
“Right.” Henry blinks repeatedly to bring his brain back online. “I do.”
Alex stands up, taking his cup to go. Henry watches him leave with a tightness in his chest, the one that’s always there when Alex walks out of the coffee shop every morning.
“Henry?” Alex says, hand on the doorknob.
Henry swallows. “Yes?”
Alex smiles, and it lights up the world. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He’s gone before Henry can respond, which is good; it keeps him from noticing the stupid grin on Henry’s face. He needs to get a bloody grip.
“I’ll be right back,” Henry says absently to his coworkers, slipping away unnoticed. He finds the backroom and closes the door behind him, pulling his phone out of his pocket.
Then he opens up Google and does either the bravest or most ridiculous thing of his life. Jury is still out on that one.
Cinnamon rolls recipes.
The next morning, Alex walks in at eight am sharp like he’s just waiting for the clock to step into the coffee shop, the same tantalizing grin on his face and wild curls falling over his forehead.
“Large black coffee, double shot of espresso,” Henry says dutifully before Alex has even reached the counter, sliding a steaming mug in his direction. Alex’s face lights up.
“Sweetheart, have I ever told you how much I adore you?”
Henry bites his lip to fight a smile. “Once or twice. Usually when I’m handing you a fresh dose of caffeine.”
“One of your most attractive qualities,” Alex says, taking a sip from his drink. He closes his eyes and hums in approval, and Henry wonders, not for the first time, how he let a stranger with a caffeine addiction steal his heart so easily.
Henry waits a beat, letting Alex enjoy his coffee for a few moments before speaking. “Ask me,” he says quietly.
Alex blinks, then narrows his eyes at him. “Ask you what?”
Henry rolls his eyes. “What you always ask.”
“You never want me to ask, though.”
“Maybe today I’ll have a different answer,” Henry says softly.
Alex searches his eyes curiously, his gaze flickering across Henry’s face. A slow smile stretches on his lips. “Henry, did you finally realize I’m a genius and now you have cinnamon rolls?”
Henry grins. “As a matter of fact,” he says, reaching under the counter for the bag he brought from home, “I do. Have cinnamon rolls, that is. You think too highly of yourself.”
Alex stares at the bag with wide eyes, looking between it and Henry with a bewildered expression as if he can’t quite believe his eyes. Henry nudges the bag towards his hands, and Alex takes it with shaky fingers, opens it with the utmost care in the world.
He stares at the plastic container and its contents for even longer. “Did you make these?” he asks, voice barely a whisper.
“I did,” Henry confirms. He’d agonized over a dozen recipes before finally picking one, but he keeps that information to himself. “Well, I tried. I’d never made them before, but you kept asking for them—”
“So you baked them for me?” Alex interrupts, sounding almost choked up.
Henry falters. Maybe that was too far. Maybe he’s been reading this all wrong from the start and he just screwed up massively. “I... I mean, I wanted to—”
Suddenly he’s being yanked forward, tipped off balance as he slams his hands on the counter to prevent himself from falling over. Alex’s hand is gripping the front of his shirt, drawing him in until their faces are mere inches apart, Alex’s eyes burning with an impossible fire. Somehow, like pure magic, there’s a smile on his lips.
All the oxygen leaves Henry’s lungs in a split second.
“May I?” Alex asks, murmuring the words between them. They’re so close Henry can feel it on his skin. “Please?” Somehow, he understands exactly what Alex is asking for.
“This isn’t why I baked you the cinnamon rolls,” Henry rushes to say, and it comes out breathlessly. He closes his eyes. “I mean—”
“I know what you mean,” Alex says softly, and Henry opens his eyes again. “It isn’t why I’m asking either.”
In lieu of answering, Henry closes the distance between them, pressing his mouth to Alex’s over the counter as if it isn’t the absolute worst place to do this. But he doesn’t have it in him to be sensible when Alex is smiling against his lips and carding a hand through Henry’s hair like he’s been waiting his whole life for this kiss. It’s fire and passion and the last drop of water in the desert, and Henry kisses like he’s starving for it only for Alex to answer the same way. He gently sinks his teeth into Henry’s bottom lip and Henry pretends it doesn’t absolutely ruin him, a very inelegant sound stuck in his throat and he kisses Alex deeper, closer, trying to get all of him at once.
His hands are still gripping the counter, he realizes. He brings one of them to Alex’s face, cradling his jaw, and Alex positively melts at the touch.
When Alex pulls back, panting and beautiful, Henry almost chases after him.
“When is your shift over?” Alex asks, and oh, Henry is not prepared for the breathless sound of his voice.
“One,” he says after a long pause, taking too long to coordinate his brain and his mouth. “One pm. That’s... Yeah. That time.”
Alex beams, red kissed lips shining in the most agonizing way. “I’ll be here. We’ll go out. Have lunch. Maybe kiss some more. If that’s something you—”
“Yes,” Henry says immediately. His face hurts, and it takes him a moment to realize he’s smiling so wide it barely fits his face. “Lunch sounds perfect. I would love that, Alex.”
Alex exhales a relieved breath. “Great.” He smooths the front of Henry’s shirt and pecks his lips again before backing away towards the door, a smile never leaving his mouth. “One pm on the dot. I’ll be here.”
“I can’t wait,” Henry whispers, and he’s never meant anything more.
It’s the most excruciating five hours of his life, but there’s only two minutes left to one when that blessed bell jingles again and Alex enters the coffee shop for the second time that day. He’s pushing a hand through his already messy curls, smiling somewhat shyly as he meets Henry’s eyes, and Henry almost messes up two consecutive orders trying and failing not to stare.
When he steps out from behind the counter and presses a fresh cup of coffee into Alex’s hand, Alex kisses him again before they’ve even left the coffee shop. He doesn’t stop for a while.
They walk out the door hand in hand, Alex holding the bag with the unopened container of cinnamon rolls because he insisted on saving them for dessert. Henry’s heart does unspeakable things, and if there’s one thing he knows for sure, it’s this – he’s gonna spend the rest of his life baking cinnamon rolls.