Chapter Text
Peter took one cautious sip, then pulled back, wincing. “Okay, yeah, this is ludicrously hot. As usual.”
“Well, maybe if you did something other than nurse a $2 cup of black all morning, I’d try a little harder,” Johnny said with a shrug. The pre-work rush hour had mostly dissipated, which meant Johnny had more time to chat rather than just wink broadly at the customers and nod encouragingly at the tip jar as he mixed their fancy extra-foam, double-strong, soy-milk drinks.
Peter never got winks so much as eye-rolls, at least after the first day he started coming in. Baristas like Johnny could smell a freelancer sucking up the free wifi and taking up valuable table real estate a mile away. The fact that he hadn’t been permanently kicked out of Yancy Street Leaf & Bean like all the other coffee shops was basically a miracle Peter didn’t pretend to understand.
“Well, I guess burning off the customers’ taste buds is one way to keep selling those bran muffins—they’re like boulders.” Peter started heading toward a table in the back, where people were least likely to stare over his shoulder as he worked. Today’s gig involved uploading about a billion touched-up photos to the Bugle, which was basically the blogosphere’s answer to the Post—sensationalized stories that everyone read but was kind of embarrassed about.
“Ben makes those,” Johnny protested over his shoulder, half-heartedly wiping down the counter with a faded blue rag. “And hey, sit up here?” He nodded to the table closest to the cash register.
“Why?” Peter asked suspiciously. Sitting there, his back would face the windows, exposing the shame of how he was feeding and clothing himself today to passerby.
“Because you’re my favorite customer?”
“Try that again, only not lying.”
Johnny’s mouth quirked, and Peter hated himself a little for noticing it was attractive. “Because I want you to read TMZ out loud to me when I get bored.”
“Sue took your phone away again, didn’t she?”
“She said I could have it back again if I can go a week without burning the beans.” Johnny breathed out an incredibly put-upon sigh. “I mean, who doesn’t get a little distracted with Instagram sometimes?”
“Did this happen during the selfie of your reflection in the espresso machine?”
Johnny tilted his head, pinning Peter with an odd little stare. “You follow me?”
Crap. “…no?”
“Please tell me you’re mileylvr226—they like every single thing I post.”
Peter waved his cup of coffee in lieu of a white flag. “Look, I’ll move over to the front if you agree to not talk about this anymore, okay?”
“Are you a huge fan of latte art or is it, you know, me?”
Peter groaned, Johnny laughed, and somewhere in between, the coffee grinder hummed cheerfully, drowning out the rest.