Chapter Text
Ballister Boldheart didn’t grow up thinking that he’d one day own a coffee shop, but then again, when did life ever go the way you wanted it to?
To start with, Ballister never expected to lose his arm, and he also never expected to move away from The Kingdom, especially after he’d spent every day as a kid wanting to move to the biggest and most vibrant city in the region. His childhood dream of becoming a knight in shining armor and fighting monsters never came to pass either, what with the lack of knights in this day and age–not to mention the complete and utter lack of monsters in the world.
He also never expected to meet someone like Nimona.
Ballister had been two weeks into running The Unlikely Roast when she’d waltzed into his life with a bang of the door and a shark-like grin. When she’d slammed a stack of papers on the counter, Ballister had thought that it was a group order; little did he know that it was her resume, complete with delightful marker drawings.
He’d tried to tell her that he didn’t need the help, but Nimona had persisted and pestered and prodded until he inevitably relented. Ballister took her on and discovered that she made some mean breakfast tacos (which were quickly added to the menu), knew how to concoct crazy (and somehow still good) coffee creations, and was absolutely incredible when it came to scaring off the obnoxious customers that Ballister himself was too polite to get rid of.
Weeks became months before turning into a full year, and Ballister had, by that point, completely forgotten that he’d once been so wary of Nimona when she’d first stepped into his shop. Truly, in the few instances that she wasn’t there, he found himself missing the way she’d hum as she worked, the sound of her laughter, and the way that she would magically appear at his side with whatever he needed right when he needed it.
Her sense of decoration clashed wonderfully with his own designs for the place, and as more time passed, Ballister had given her more and more free reign as to how The Unlikely Roast looked and felt. He’d… worried at first, but regulars reassured him that the decorations (the marker drawings, the photos, the pink and red animal plushies) were all part of the charm. Really, after a year in business, The Unlikely Roast wouldn’t be the place the locals had come to love without all of Nimona’s personal touches.
On the anniversary of The Unlikely Roast opening, the neighboring shops had thrown them a little celebration after everyone had closed up for the night: the gathering had been organized by Valerin, who owned the cute ice cream parlor across the street. The party had been far more than Ballister had been expecting, and he had been in the process of thanking the woman profusely when she quietly asked to speak with him.
Someone had brought a karaoke machine, and Nimona was jamming her heart out, complete with shades and a broom for a guitar. Most of the partygoers were seated close by the makeshift stage they’d made out of a few of the tables, but Ballister was more than happy to make time for his favorite neighbor.
“You’ve done so well, Ballister,” she said, patting his hand as they took a seat in one of the booths. Valerin looked around the shop and smiled, nodding her head approvingly. “I still remember how nervous you were when you first arrived, but look at all that you and Nimona have accomplished.
“I truly am so proud of you.”
“You’ve been a great help to me. To us.” Briefly, Ballister glanced over at Nimona who had been cheered into an encore performance. He chuckled and then looked back at Valerin, who gave his hand another squeeze.
“I don’t think you’ll be needing it any longer though.”
“Nonsense! Things wouldn’t be the same without you.”
Valerin laughed quietly and smiled. “I’m retiring, Ballister,” she said, “and my grandkids want to see more of me.”
Ballister stilled for a moment and then squeezed her hands in return. “I’m happy for you,” he replied with a nod of the head. Valerin leaving would certainly be a loss for the community, but a retirement was a happy occasion, especially if she would be getting to spend more time with her family. “You’ll be moving then?
“I remember you saying that they lived elsewhere.”
Valerin dipped her head. “I’m afraid so.” Ballister gave her a lop-sided smile. “I’ll still come back and visit though. I’ve too many friends here to be gone forever.”
“I would certainly hope that you’d come back to visit!”
She laughed then and gave his hand one last squeeze before letting go. “I just wanted to tell you personally.” Valerin scooted her way out of the booth and gave him another smile. “You’ve done so much to help me, and I’m so glad that you moved to The Lonely Tower.”
From the other side of the shop, Ballister could hear the others yelling at them to get on stage and sing a song or two. He laughed and rose to his feet as well, and as Nimona suddenly appeared at his side, tugging at him to hurry hurry c’mon already, Ballister offered up another smile for Valerin.
“Same here.”
***
About three months after the party, Valerin closed up shop and moved away–though not without having a grand celebration in her honor first. Her family was all too eager to have her back, so she left the sale of the property in the hands of a real estate agent named Coriander–a woman who spoke as loudly as she dressed. Nimona watched the proceedings like a hawk whenever she saw the woman across the street, and on more than one occasion, Nimona had waved Ballister over when a particularly interesting interaction was happening.
Though he had to applaud Coriander’s enthusiasm, Ballister couldn’t deny that her sales methods seemed a bit… over the top and pushy.
Still, Valerin’s shop was prime real estate, and it seemed like there were often multiple potential buyers visiting each and every day. Ballister didn’t know if Coriander was getting any offers or if no one was actually biting, but the prospective buyers kept turning up until the second Tuesday after the shop had gone up for sale.
Coriander was going through her usual sales pitch, but the woman standing there didn’t seem to be paying her any attention. In fact, she ended up waving one of the men attending her toward Coriander, and the real estate agent was all but ushered off the property. That there had Nimona yelling at him to come and take a look.
“I didn’t think it was possible for Coriander to get bullied,” Nimona said, grinning at Ballister when he came to stand beside her. He dusted his hands on the apron he was wearing and took in the scene across the street.
“Who’s the buyer? The woman?”
“The woman with her hair tied in a bun so tight that it gives me headaches? Yeah, seems like it.” She jerked her thumb toward one of the men who was dealing with Coriander at the moment. “I guess they’re her bodyguards?
“What sort of person brings bodyguards to look at some property?”
“She could… just be cautious?”
“Oh, man, what if she’s from the mafia!”
“Really?”
“Hey, just sayin’.”
Across the street, Coriander was ineffectually trying to get back to her potential buyer, but these “bodyguards” seemed to know what they were doing and kept her away from the woman, who had now stepped inside the shop. Nimona was coming up with increasingly outlandish reasons as to why the woman had an entourage, but Ballister’s attention was focused on the prospective buyer.
She looked… oddly familiar, but he just couldn’t put his finger on why. Maybe she just had that kind of face?
“Man, it’s gonna suck if she ends up actually getting the place.” Nimona sighed dramatically and propped her elbow up on the window sill. “Who’s gonna wanna visit us if the mob’s across the street?”
“It’ll be fine, Nimona. Besides, I doubt she’ll end up buying the place in any case. It hasn’t even been that long since the property went up for sale. Coriander likely has plenty of other people to show this place to.”
Nimona looked up at him and grinned, all teeth. “Bet you dishwashing duties for a week that she buys the place.”
“No.”
“Aw, c’mon!”
“No!
***
In the end, it was a good thing that Ballister hadn’t taken that bet.
It had been about two months since Nimona had first pointed out the woman and her “bodyguards” across the street, and during those two months, things… had been happening on the property. Ballister hadn’t seen the woman again since that day, but the same individuals who had appeared at her side back then came to the shop in her stead.
Much to the curiosity of everyone, the property was fenced off during the renovations, and much to the dismay of everyone, the fences were high enough that it blocked everything from view, except for the roof, which was… demolished and replaced with something considerably shorter, as that, too, disappeared behind the fence.
While the exterior was enough of a mystery that all of the neighboring shopkeepers couldn’t stop talking about it, everyone was dreadfully curious as to what kind of things this shop would have to offer. Enough appliance delivery trucks eventually came by for people to suspect that another eatery of some sort was to be opened, but still, there were no specifics. No one working on the property seemed interested in divulging any details either.
The shop didn’t even have a name that they could look up.
It wasn’t until the day that the woman returned to place a tastefully designed grand opening a-board outside the property that the fence was finally removed, revealing that the cute and colorful cottage that had existed here previously had been replaced by a white cube with a flat, black roof. Emblazoned on its front were black letters that boldly proclaimed the shop to be called “The Institute.”
“The Institute?” Nimona said as the last of the fences were taken away; she grimaced. “Really? The Lonely Tower’s getting The Institute. And right in front of us. That’s just insulting.”
“Do I sense a history there?” Ballister asked as he slid the day’s baked goods into the display case. He knew that it was a coffee shop chain store, but beyond that, he’d never really looked into it or stepped into one of their franchises.
“It was one of the things I was trying to get away from by moving here?” Nimona sighed heavily and pushed herself away from the windows. “Back in The Wishing Well, you could find one on just about every corner.
“They have a real bad rep of muscling out local shops.” At that, Nimona gave Ballister a look, her eyebrows lifted. Ballister made a noncommittal sound and shrugged his shoulders.
“It’s a franchise, right? Surely our new neighbors will be fine.” He smiled, and Nimona rolled her eyes. “Perhaps we should go say hello.” She made a gagging sound. “We should get off on the right foot, don’t you think?”
“You do you, boss.”
“I won’t make you come,” Ballister said with a chuckle. After washing his hands and removing his apron, he bid Nimona goodbye for the time being and greeted their first patrons of the day as they stepped inside. He jogged across the street and slipped inside the establishment, where he found… sharp-edged furniture and a very monochrome interior.
Whereas The Unlikely Roast made him feel warm and cozy, this place made him feel… cold and uncomfortable. The lights were too bright, the art on the walls consisted of canvases painted solid shades of gray, and the music playing was… freestyle jazz. The brand new chairs and tables were polished to a gleaming white that practically blinded him from all the light they reflected, and the owner was scrubbing at a perceived fingerprint on the jet black counter that she stood behind.
“Welcome to The Institute–” The woman looked up at him, and she seemed surprised for a moment, as if she wasn’t expecting him to be standing there in front of her. Then her smile slid off her face. “Oh.” She looked over her shoulder and barked, “Ambrosius!” From the back, someone made an inquisitive sound. “We have a customer!”
“Hey! Welcome to The Institute!” the aforementioned someone said as he strode forward, waving a hand and smiling a smile that made Ballister’s heart skip a beat. The woman rolled her eyes and muttered something into the man’s ear before stalking off; a short while later, they heard a door shut with a rather final click.
“Good morning! What can I get you?” The man–Ambrosius?--gave him another winning smile, and Ballister blinked at him, all of a sudden forgetting what he was doing here. When Ambrosius’ smile started to falter, Ballister managed to shake himself out of his reverie with a self-deprecating laugh.
“Oh, nothing for me. I just came to introduce myself and say hello.” Ballister gestured at his own coffee shop across the street. “My name is Ballister, and I’m the owner of The Unlikely Roast.
“I wanted to welcome you all to the neighborhood…” Ballister’s gaze flickered toward the back of the shop before meeting Ambrosius’ eyes again. “Is your…” Manager? Employer? Coworker? Ballister had no idea what their relationship was. “Is she quite alright?”
“The Director? Oh, she’s uh… Yeah, I’m sure she’s fine.” Ambrosius briefly turned around to see if the woman had popped her head out again, but as she hadn’t, he shrugged his shoulders. “Anyway, nice to meet you, Ballister.” He held out his hand for a handshake. “Ambrosius Goldenloin.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ambrosius.”
“Pleasure’s all mine.”
Ambrosius’ hand was warm, and Ballister had to remind himself to let go. He was about to ask Ambrosius a little bit more about The Institute and the Director when the door banged open, and the noise was quickly followed up by the sound of someone yawning loudly. That made Ambrosius sigh, and he leveled an exasperated look at the man who had just walked in.
“Todd, I thought you said you were going to actually get here on time for once. New location and all?”
The man grumbled something about not getting the numbers on his alarm right and slipped past the counter without acknowledging Ballister’s existence. Ambrosius gave him an apologetic smile. “You sure I can’t get you something before you go?”
“Oh, no, that’s alright. Thank you all the same though.” Ballister smiled. “I suppose I’ll be seeing you around then. Stop by and say hello sometime if you’d like.”
“Yeah, sure thing.”
Ballister nodded, and they waved goodbye to each other before he headed back across the street to his own shop. He relaxed immediately upon entering the threshold, and a few individuals bid him good morning as they sipped their coffee and worked their way through their breakfast. Nimona was making her signature tacos, and she grinned at him as he walked over and slipped his apron back on.
“Soooo? What did you think?” she asked as she expertly flipped all the taco meat into their waiting shells.
“The decor was terrible.” Nimona hummed in agreement. “That woman was–is? She’s the Director?” Ballister got an inquisitive sound in response: what exactly was someone that high up on the totem pole doing here? “But one of the baristas was nice.”
“One of the baristas was nice?” Nimona was giving him the side-eye now. She finished plating the tacos and slipped out into the dining area to drop off the dish before coming back behind the counter. A hand on her hip, Nimona looked at him, gesturing for him to explain himself.
“Well, he greeted me and offered me a cup of coffee–”
“I hope you said no.”
“I–what? I don’t need coffee, so, of course, I said no.”
“Good.”
“The gesture was nice!”
“And?”
“Look, his name is Ambrosius. He was very kind to me and had a nice smile.”
Nimona’s expression went flat before she burst out laughing. When Ballister frowned at her, she tried (in vain) to stifle the noise, and she snorted a few times. “H-he had a nice smile?!” she crowed. “He’s just wearing his customer service smile!
“C’mon, boss. No one working for The Institute is gonna have a nice smile–not a real one at least.” Nimona jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow and then waved at their next customer as she entered the shop.
Ballister rubbed at his side, briefly glancing across the street at the still empty shop across the way, before greeting the woman who came up to the counter. She was here for her usual, and Nimona was already whipping it up with her typical alacrity; Ballister instead went to go bid one their other patrons goodbye and to bus their table.
He couldn’t stop thinking about what Nimona had said though. A customer service smile? Was that it?