Chapter Text

Chapter 1

He stood near the corner of street, staring at the stoplight three stores down from him. He flexed his fingers, then started tapping lightly on the side of his thigh. He bit his lower lip. He could do this. He could do this. The newly opened coffee shop stood across the street, all he had to do was press the 'walk' button at the stoplight, cross the street, and then walk in and ask for a job. That's it, that's all. Adjusting his glasses, and heart beat rising, he stepped forward.

One step, two steps, right, left, right, left. Matthew Williams focused on his feet, trying to block out the thoughts that told him to turn back this instant. He was almost at the crosswalk. He look up and pushed the button, and a minute later the image of the walking man appeared, cuing him to cross the street. He stepped off of the sidewalk.

He felt the eyes on him, willing him to walk faster. Of course, they had the right to do so. They have places to be and people to see and Matthew was holding them up by walking across the street right at this moment. There could be a woman pregnant, her water already broken and her spouse in the midst of driving to the hospital, and he's holding them up . He could be causing her physical pain just because he chose to cross the street right at this moment! Naturally, this was an exaggeration, and, considering the nearest hospital was some ways from here, any good spouse wouldn't use this route to get there, and Matthew knew this, but that didn't stop him from practically sprinting across the street.

He reached the other sidewalk. Now was the trial of actually going into the shop. He wasn't scared, he's had interviews before, but the act of actually going in the shop, to ask someone for something. To take a chunk of that person's day and use that portion of time that you just abruptly stole and direct their attention to you, and then after that imposition, you have the gall to ask them for something. No matter what people say, to Matthew Williams, that would always be considered rude. And not an excuse to not talk to people, either.

He sighed, leaning against the stoplight pole, looking longingly toward the small coffee shop. Simply named “Cafe,” the rich brown exterior paired with the glass windows and doors gave you a homely sense, with a dash of retro. The “FOR HIRE” sign hang taped to the inside of the door, beckoning Matthew. And so, finally answering the calling, he took a deep breath and stepped forward. Right, left, right, left.

He was right in front of the glass door. He couldn't stop, and he knew it would have been strange to see a lanky, blond youth awkwardly stop in front of the glass door, hand hovering over the door handle. He was already there, why go back? The ball was already in motion. You can do this , he thought. He twisted the door handle, and stepped inside.

The bitter smell of roasted coffee beans hit him first, with the sweet smells of baked goods and sweeter drinks gently washing over him afterward, as if apologizing for the first wave of aroma. He looked around, quickly got his bearings. The counter stood straight ahead of him, with round tables for customers to his left and right. There was a chalkboard with the day's specials to the right of the entrance. Soft lights hung from the ceiling, and the walls and the floors were all painted a warm caramel color. One word came into Matthew's mind when he stepped into: Warmth.

There were only two people in the shop at the time, Matthew noted. A young couple off the side in the corner, laughing. Matthew smiled. At least those two would be too preoccupied with each other to notice his interview. He stepped on over to the counter, and seeing no one, gave the little bell a ring.

Nothing happened at first, so he took to examining the counter. Sandwiched between the two displays, which showcased an array of baked goods that made Matthew's mouth water, there was the register, and beside that, a little tip jar with a yellow bird crudely taped to it. The speech bubble said “Give money to feed Gilbird!” in big, blocky letters. Why Gilbird, of all names, thought Matthew. The jar itself contained some change and a dollar, and Matthew busied himself trying to mentally count how much when a man burst from the back room door.

“Oh! I'm sorry for the wait! I just couldn't leave the scones alone. If you take them out too early, they've gone soft, but take them out too late, they'll be like coals, haha! My name is Antonio, by the way. Antonio Carriedo. You are Matthew, correct?” The sudden onslaught of speech whipped Matthew's head up, a deer-in-headlights expression appearing. Antonio smiled, while Matthew nodded weakly. This bright and talkative fellow caught him completely off guard.

“Ah, h-how did you know my name?” Matthew asked, uncertainly at first, but then gaining strength. Antonio at this point had his back turned to Matthew, fiddling with the coffee maker. Matthew heard a sigh, and saw that Antonio was shaking his head, tutting. Antonio turned back to him, his smile reappearing.

“You called a week ago, remember? To ask if we were hiring?” said Antonio, smile still there, though it seemed a bit forced to Matthew. The other man's response suddenly registered in Matthew's brain, and he immediately felt embarrassed. Of course you called him! How else would he know?, thought Matthew, angry at himself. He recalled bitterly how he paced the room in front of his cell phone, mustering up the courage to make the call. “Oh, yeah. Sorry.”

“No worries.” Another worried glance to the coffee maker. “Do you have any experience in a cafe?”

Matthew's mind spun as he tried to take in information at the same time as responding. Antonio had curling brown hair, and bright green eyes. Maybe an inch or half an inch shorter than him? He had wrinkles around his eyes, the kind from smiling a lot. Maybe he's a really good natured person? And an accent. Spanish? Wait, he's asked you a question! Answer him! Matthew hurriedly groped around in his mind for an answer, becoming increasingly nervous, whilst Antonio stood there, smiling.

“Uh, not any official experience. My dad owns a bakery, though, and I helped out there,” said Matthew, gruffly. One question down.

“How do you mean? Oh, and just come back here,” added Antonio, motioning towards the lift-up counter. Matthew nodded thanks as Antonio opened it for him, and Antonio shook his head in return.

“When I was in middle school,” began Matthew, shutting the counter, “I started helping him and bake the bread and pastries, and by high school I had a full time job there. I made most of the breads and cakes we had on display, though the really complicated desserts were still reserved for him. And customers still came, so that's gotta say something. I made most of them from scratch, so I've got experience there.” He looked at Antonio, surprised that the other man was still listening. Antonio was listening intently, actually. The smile was gone, replaced with a mouth slightly agape, a questioning look. Matthew heard a small, sharp intake of breath. He wondered why.

“I-Is anything wrong?” Matthew asked, a bit worried. Antonio blinked, out of his reverie, and shook his head hurriedly.

“Oh, no! No, nothing is wrong. Is there any chance...? No, no there probably isn't, hah. Sorry, You just look so familiar...” the other man trailed. The smile had reappeared, though not as bright as before, and was slowly melting off of Antonio's face. A distant look appeared in his green eyes, and Matthew was unsure of what to do. What was happening? The chasm of silence that opened up between them was overwhelming, though Antonio didn't seem to notice it. Should he snap him out of it? Wouldn't that be rude, though? How much time had passed? Matthew felt as though it had been hours, though in reality he knew it had only been a minute. He bit his lower lip.

Antonio shook his head slightly, seeming to have come back from his thoughts. He laughed, though this laugh was different, Matthew noticed. Twinged with sadness, melancholic.

“Ah, when you get to my age, you just become so nostalgic! Remembering lost friends, for instance.” A pause accompanied with a hollow smile. He clapped his hands. “But that's all in the past! You said you had experience in the cafe, right? Do you know how to make a latte?”

Matthew nodded, slowly. Antonio's smile seemed genuine, but Matthew still felt a sense of dissonance. The other man was reminded of something, and Matthew was the one that helped him remember. Whatever the memory was, it most likely did not directly concern him. He landed his eyes on the coffeemaker.

Leaving Matthew leaning against the counter, Antonio approached the coffeemaker, and pushed a button. He turned to say something to Matthew, when the coffeemaker started clanking and spurting, foamy bubbles coming from the slot. Antonio leapt into action, trying to stop the flow of crème, yelling in Spanish, while Matthew frantically looked for a towel. After finding one, he made to cleaning the floor, when Antonio snatched it and tried to stop the flow from the machine. The couple by the window stood up, worried expressions on their faces. Matthew turned red from embarrassment. Suddenly, he had an idea. His eyes searched the back of the coffeemaker and found what they were looking for. He grabbed the plug and pulled.

The machine stopped making noise and spewing milk. He looked at Antonio. The Spaniard was sopping wet, the towel having done nearly nothing. His shirt was soaked in the front, and his hair was dripping. How did it even get into his hair? Matthew realized his own jacket had been stained. He took it off and draped it over the counter. Antonio tried to brush off some of the milk, to no avail.

“Are you guys alright?” said the woman. Matthew yelped. In the midst of the milk-disaster, he had not noticed her approach them. She was leaning forward over the counter, looking at the wet floor, her head probably a few inches away from Matthew's chest. She had long brown hair, the mousy kind, and a little flower barrette. Pretty. There was a sense of felicity in her voice and actions. Matthew suddenly felt eyes boring into him, and he jumped back a bit in surprise when he saw the man she was with shooting daggers at him. Matthew, after his initial reaction, couldn't help but stare at his mole.

“Somewhat,” sighed Antonio, exhaling out of his nose, a small dry laugh escaping his lips. Matthew watched him get a paper towel roll from under the counter, and start wiping the coffeemaker counter. Matthew ripped a paper towel and helped him clean.

“The machine was fine when I moved here, it's just recently that it's been going bad,” said Antonio. The woman nodded in understanding, then bade goodbye and good luck. Matthew noticed that, once the man turned to the door, she slipped a tenner into the tip jar, and followed the man out. Matthew raised an eyebrow, feeling a smile coming on.

Once they were done cleaning the mess, Antonio made a quick call and announced that he was going to take the coffeemaker to the repair. He knew a guy that was handy with mechanics. Antonio locked the register, and told Matthew to unplug and carry the coffeemaker to his car. Matthew complied, and once the broken machine was in the back of Antonio's car, instead of telling Matthew to come back later to finish the interview, Antonio told him to keep watch on the store.

“The register's locked, and you seem like a good boy anyway. I've also a friend on the way, so there's that. Good luck, amigo!” Antonio added, as he strapped himself in, and turned on the engine. “Oh! There are aprons in the back room, on your left.” And with that final note, Antonio Carriedo was gone.

Matthew watched him leave, and walked back to the store, unbelieving that this man actually entrusted his shop to him. He raised his eyebrows and sighed, opening the door and letting the aromas wash over him once again. He opened the counter, and headed towards the back room. There were two, actually. One led to the kitchen, the other to some shelves with supplies. He went towards the shelves, and after finding an apron, he realized that the two doors just led to different sides of the same room. He felt a corner of his lips upturn.

He put on the red apron, and realized there was a mirror next to the apron hook, albeit a bit grimy. He took the sleeve of his pullover and polished it. A lanky, wavy blonde, confused-looking college student looked back at him. Seemed about right.

He went back outside, and waited behind the counter. He stood there, shoulders stiff, unsure of what to do. What if there's a customer? His eyes suddenly widened. What if there's a customer? What if there's a customer?! He thought frantically. What was he going to do? They'd speak to him, and he'd have to reply. The cash register's locked, where would he put the money? He'd look stupid if he just took their money and put it under the counter. And what if they needed change? What if they wanted coffee? He'd have no choice but to deny them their request for coffee. What if they got mad?

Matthew leaned on the counter, his hands on the edges. He took a deep breath, and cleared the exaggerated thoughts. He'd just have to deal with whatever happens. Besides, he thought, this place only had two customers, and they've already left, so if it's that barren usually, there should be no problem, right?

Just then, Matthew heard the sound of the door opening, and turned to see a silver haired man entering.

Just my luck.