Chapter Text
sometimes, fantastic things happen to you even when you definitely don’t deserve them. even when your parents probably hate you and — okay, that’s a little bit of a downer. jesse really doesn’t want to think about that right now, especially because a superfine girl is walking in at the moment, luminous dark eyes and dark curls cascading down her back.
the point is, heisenbrew’s is not only off the ground, it’s the fucking toast of the town. the hipster cafe of albuquerque. nearly a year ago, it was a closed down storefront. eight months ago, it was jesse and mr. white both talking home trays upon trays of unsold pastries every night because they got no business. the pastries were amazing, but there was no one there to appreciate it. now, it’s packed full every morning.
mr. white is a damn artist, to be clear. the newspapers loved his story — high school chem teacher diagnosed with lung cancer on his 50th birthday goes into business with his former student, helps said student recover from addiction, and makes damn good blueberry muffins on top of it all. the whole thing is very humanitarian. jesse is convinced the good luck he’s gotten is just mr. white’s good luck rubbing off on him. he has a theory, see, about the universe: good things will always happen when bad things do, to balance it all out. mr. white gets lung cancer, but he also gets a cafe that rakes in money hand over fist. more than he ever made as a teacher, even with a second job. plenty to leave behind for his family.
and jesse gets, well, a better life. rehab. a job. cute girls at the counter, with ultralong lashes and soft smiles. she’s telling him her order and he’s committing it to memory without even thinking about it. something he’s good at — and not to be corny, but he used to think he wasn’t good at anything.
“yo, what name can i put down?” he asks, grabbing a cup to scribble her name.
“andrea,” she tells him. it’s a pretty name, soft, nymphish. maybe? he doesn’t know exactly what a nymph is, but he’s like 75% sure they’re those honeys from greek mythology who run around the woods topless and shit. and as he nods and turns away to make her drink, he can feel her eyes on the back of his neck. like the glow of a spotlight.
she’s humming as she stands by the counter and he’s scrambling to put in the perfect ratio of pumps and flavouring in her drink— mr. white’s recipes are the final word in basically everything cooking-related, so why tamper with them? a few seconds later, he places the drink on the counter before her, and she reaches for it before his fingers even leave the cup. their hands brush, and her fingertips are like, hella warm and soft. he wishes he couldn’t feel his face flushing pink but he does. her eyes kind of crinkle, and she does this funny little smile.
“thanks…jesse,” she says, reading off his name tag. she gives him a lingering look, her dark eyes glittering. he wants to say something back, something cool so she remembers him when she leaves heisenbrew’s, but he just opens his mouth and then shuts it. he really didn’t prepare for this.
“well, see you around,” she says, half-laughing, slipping a few dollars onto the counter. before she ducks away, her hand hovers over the tip jar, dropping a bill in. he peers inside.
fact check: the tip jar at heisenbrew’s uncertainty is almost always overflowing. blueberry muffins put the good people of albuquerque in a generous mood. but even still, andrea’s tip of 10 dollars is pretty damn generous, especially for such a small order. he picks up the bill and looks at it, holding it between two fingers. he can’t really keep the smile off of his face. it really is true that with great success comes great girls. or whatever spider-man’s uncle said. he sticks it back in the jar and looks back up just in time to see the swish of andrea’s dark curls as she sweeps out of the cafe.