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“Hey Luce, would you like to grab a coffee this morning,” Lockwood asked out of the blue. They were sitting quietly at the kitchen table in Portland Row with cups of tea already in hand.
“Coffee,” Lucy parroted, a confused look crossing her features.
“You know, what normal people do? Hanging out” Lockwood chuckled, “and since George is off at his mum's for the weekend, figured we could grab breakfast too.”
“Oh, ok sure,” Lucy said, a stupid grin spreading across her face, “let me get dressed.” She hadn’t expected Lockwood to remember her words to him at the Fittes Ball. So much had happened that night, it was a truly insignificant detail. Lucy hurried back to the attic and dressed in her usual sweater, skirt, and leggings.
As she made it to the foyer, Lucy stopped short. Lockwood had changed as well. Instead of his usual suit and tie, he was wearing a soft-looking crème mock turtleneck, black jeans, and trainers.
“Everything alright Lucy,” he asked looking up at her.
“Yeah, just surprised you own something that isn’t a suit,” she joked sliding into her boots. Lockwood smiled his wolfish smile.
“Of course, I own things other than suits. Just because someone at Lockwood and Co needs to dress the part, doesn't mean I dress like that all the time,” he said. Lucy felt those butterflies that always appeared when Lockwood used that smile on her flutter low in her belly.
Sliding into shoes and coats, they headed out into the brisk morning.
They found a quiet-looking café on the nearby high street that served a variety of beverages and breakfast adjacent food.
It was a bright welcoming space painted a warm yellow and decorated with at least a hundred succulents. Every table had its own little living centerpiece as well. The pair leaned against the wall as they surveyed the menu board trying to decide what they wanted.
“Pumpkin Spice Latte,” Lucy said, the words feeling wrong in her mouth, “Wonder what that is.” Lockwood glanced at her. “If you’re curious, why not get it?”
“Because I’d much rather get the nitro cold brew with extra sweet cream,” Lucy said, “I know what I’m getting with that.”
Lockwood stepped up to the counter.
“Welcome to Linda’s, what can we get started for you,” the cheerful woman behind the counter asked. Her American accent startled the pair for a moment.
“One large nitro cold brew with extra sweet cream, a medium pumpkin spice latte, and two all-american breakfasts,” Lockwood said.
“Good choices. For the all-americans how would you like your eggs,” the woman asked. Lockwood glanced back at Lucy for her input. She shrugged.
“Scrambled,” he said squinting at the memo board, “black pudding and white toast.”
The woman smiled writing the order down. “We’ll have that out for you in just a few minutes.”
Lockwood pulled Lucy over to a four-person table in the corner, far enough away from the windows to be private, but still afforded them the ability to enjoy the people watching. On their table was a small pot containing three cylindrical cactuses blooming with tiny pink flowers.
They sat next to each other, knees bumping under the table. Lucy glanced over at Lockwood as he settled into the chair. He lounged with an easy grace and confidence that Lucy could never match.
“Its nice to get out every once in a while,” he said. Lucy hummed in agreement. On days off she tried to go out for a bit even if she just sat in the park in Portland Row for a little bit. She wished at the moment that she’d brought her sketch pad with her. Their seats set up a nice composition between the window, the patrons, and the succulents.
Lockwood turned to look at Lucy, his soft smile on his face now. He pulled a small pad of paper and a pencil from one of his coat pockets.
“I…” Lucy stammered as he slide them across the table.
“I can see your hand sketching on the table,” Lockwood said pushing the pad over to her. Lucy smiled brightly taking the paper and beginning a rough sketch.
“One pumpkin spice latte and one nitro cold brew,” the cheerful woman said setting down the precariously filled mugs. Lucy’s was larger than Lockwood’s and had a grumpy cartoon cat with the word Meowing in bold black letters. Lockwood’s was in a mug shaped like a pumpkin.
“The food will be up momentarily,” she said, ‘they’re just finishing the eggs.”
Lucy took a long sip from hers. While she was firmly in the tea camp, cold brew with extra sweetener was just the right amount of bitter and sweet. If she remembered one of George’s ramblings correctly, it had more caffeine too. Thus, it was just what she needed.
Lockwood smelled his first, eyeing the brown dusting on the whipped cream. “Smells alright. Better than the last time I tried to make coffee.”
Lucy rolled her eyes. “The last time you tried to make coffee George started swearing in Farsi because you somehow managed to damage his Dallah.” She took another long sip as she tried to get the lighting in her sketch to match the mid-morning sun.
Lockwood groaned as he sipped his drink. Lucy shot him an incredulous glance. “It tastes like Christmas,” he said offering the cup to Lucy, “try it.”
Lucy took the cup, hands shaking. Lockwood was sharing his caffeine. Something was up. She felt it.
She smelled the beverage. It did smell a little like Christmas, but to her, it smelled more like the Hot Toddys her mother and father had made during the winter or when one of her sisters had a cough.
Lucy took a long sip, letting the warm liquid coat her tongue. She gagged.
“That is revolting,” she said handing the cup back to Lockwood. He chuckled as she reached for her own coffee, taking large gulps of the bitter drink trying to wash the offending taste from her mouth.
“And here is your,” the cheerful woman started, “everything ok hun?” Lucy nodded as her breakfast was placed in front of her. “Can I get y’all anything else? Hot Sauce, Ketchup, HP Sause?”
“We’re fine thanks,” Lockwood said flashing his gracious smile at the woman. Lucy was already inhaling a piece of black pudding as the woman retreated to the counter.
“That swill is revolting,” Lucy said.
Lockwood threw his head back and laughed a deep belly laugh, his knife poised over his toast. “I’m sorry to hear that. I quite like it and was thinking of getting another. Or perhaps the recipe for George.” His eyes were crinkling at the edges with humor. “Or maybe there are other pumpkin spice things we can try, like biscuits.”
“Do that, and I will be forced to leave the Skull in the most inopportune places,” Lucy said, only half joking. Lockwood rolled his eyes as he took a bit of his toast.
“Guess I’ll add Pumpkin Spice to the list of things only Posh Tossers Love,” he smiled. Lucy returned the smile, her hand still moving on the pad to try and capture Lockwood’s face at the moment. Even though she knew it would never do the real thing justice.