Chapter Text
It was one of those mornings. The dishes from yesterday were still in the drying rack. She’d cracked more eggs into the trash than into the bowl. Half a dozen customers were lined up waiting outside when the first pot was still brewing. The slow soaking drizzle made everyone short and Marinette spent more time apologizing than she did making small talk when all she really wanted to do was chase everyone out, lock the door, and hide.
She got her first reprieve and had time to take stock thirty minutes after opening. She caught the Princess out of the corner of her eye at her usual table. When did she come in? It didn’t matter, it was a small boon, a reliable bit of money in the till at the end of the day. What mattered was getting everything in order before the lunch rush. Marinette pulled her hair back into pigtails, snapping the elastics off her wrist onto her hair on autopilot. The dishes came first, ordering and putting everything back made being a one woman show easier when things got busy.
She was nearly finished when, “Coffee, Black,” cut through the quiet murmur of tabletalk. Several people looked up, but not the owner of the voice.
Marinette wiped her hands and set up a cup and saucer on a tray. She spooned fresh grounds into a French press and filled it with steaming hot water from the espresso machine. The aroma reminded herself she hadn’t even had her own morning cup yet, which spurred countless little aches from too many hours to remind her of their own existences. Marinette gritted her teeth as she took the press out. The recipient didn't look up as Marinette set it down, she rarely did.
The morning dragged on. After the initial rush she was left with uncomfortably little to do. She was all set for a lunch she prayed would come today, and still had time to burn. She pulled out her sketchbook and began doodling little ideas, rough frameworks for crafts and home projects that consumed the little time the shop did not. It was revitalizing, sweeping her away from life and finances for a few blissful minutes.
Her peace was interrupted by the same sharp voice raised. “Is something burning?”
Marinette blinked, and sniffed. It was! She dashed back into the kitchen with a yelp and pulled a pan of coffee cake out of the oven. She unleashed a string of her own particular invective as she dashed for the back door to get it out into the dumpster before it clogged her store with that bitter charred aroma. “Slipped-stich, spilled-milk, broke-pot little argh! ”
She’d forgotten a spatula. She pushed the side-door to the dumpster open with her elbow and with a rhythmic ‘hot hot hot’ poked and pried the failed confection out of the pan while banging it on the side of the dumpster’s opening. A few cursory plops and finally *thup* The rest came out in a ruinous mass. Marinette slid the dumpster door closed again and slunk back into the shop, blowing on her pink burned fingertips.
There was a customer, because of course there was a customer. She could stare at a wall for hours, but the moment she did anything…
“I’ll be right with you!” she chirped with customer service charm at his moisture-sprinkled mop of blond hair as he read the menu on the counter.
Marinette washed her hands, dried them, and blew on her fingers again to try and soothe the abused skin and calm her frayed nerves. It was a losing battle. She walked back out of the kitchen with towel still in hands and crewed the register. “What can I get you?”
He didn’t look up, hands in his pockets he continued to read her menu as if it were a novel and not an outline. “What’s good?”
Marinette shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “A vacation away from all this, somewhere warm without coffee or burnt pastries in sight.”
Now he looked up, stil leaned over her counter. His eyes were a striking green, the color of a thread she had recently purchased at home. Ideas for two new craft projects slipped into her head. Her fingertips itched as well as burned now, but she couldn’t get to her notebook until he made up his mind and ordered.
He flashed her a dazzlingly white and straight-toothed smile. “I like the first part, but I am in dire need of coffee right now, so I’ll have to pass on the trip I am afraid; maybe next time.”
Marinette balked. His voice was warm and his answer had a sincerity to it that threw her off guard. She fought off giving him a pout for daring to take her seriously in the midst of her lousy day. Her response was sharp enough that she immediately felt guilty. “Well, we have coffee here, so you’re in luck. What can I get you?”
He continued on, seemingly oblivious to her slip. “Caffeine, as much as you can in a cup, mixed with enough sugar to turn it to syrup. I’ll take a side of something breakfast shaped that I can walk with and eat too.” He glanced down at the menu and up again; another smile. “Is that doable?”
Marinette resisted her eye-roll. Guilty or no, she just wasn’t in the mood for humor this morning. “A breakfast sandwich? I can do Our garlic eggs on a seasoned Italian panini, with any of the cheeses and spreads you’d like.”
He glanced down again, chewing the corner of his bottom lip in a way that suggested this was a major decision, not just a meal. His eyes came up, a sheepish look in them. “Pick for me? I just need something to Noir on before work.”
Marinette couldn’t stifle the groan. Café Noir was a good name for her coffee shop, a simple name. It had just a little class without being pretentious. It was not a name for using in a lame pun! He grinned another dazzling grin at her reaction. Marinette hmphed. “I’ll get that right out to you. To go, right?”
He straightened and rolled his shoulders, a slender physique under a surprisingly rumpled blazer and button down shirt. “Unfortunately,” he confirmed.
Marinette prepared the order in a grumpy fog. Her fingertips still hurt, she’d have to remake the coffee cake. By this point she’d be out of it during the lunch period even if she started right now, and this guy’s impenetrable good humor was just the wrong thing to add on top of her day. She was handing him back his change when a break in the rhythm brought her back out of it.
He took the bills and coins, but upended his hand, letting half the cost of his order spill into the tip jar. Then he reached into his shirt pocket. “Rainy days can be the worst. Here’s a little something to help you make it through, and who knows, if you get your warm sunny escape maybe it’ll help there too.”
From his pocket he produced a pink cocktail umbrella, a clue as to his rumpled clothing. He flicked it open, spun it between his fingers then dropped it into the jar as well. It caught on the lip, a jaunty addition to the gray ceramic.
“Take care, miss.” he smiled one last time headed for the door.
In his wake Marinette was left feeling… she didn’t know. She picked the little umbrella from the tip jar, twirling it between her fingers as he had and letting the cheap paper brush her lips as butterflies tickled around under her ribs. It still carried the faint whiff of olive about it, confirming its origins. The salty scent danced with the sweet stirrings in her stomach, spawning a score of ideas every bit as pink as the umbrella itself.
She didn’t even know his name. That made him perfect.
From that point on her day improved. Lunch was actually busy, and though she missed the income a score of coffee cake slices would have brought in, it was still a healthy day. The Lovers came in for the afternoon and Marinette had enough time to casually observe their preciousness while doing her work. The short blond hummingbird flitted around her tall dark companion, solicitous to a fault, but endearingly so. Her tablemate was forever timid, the kind Marinette kept herself in check around to avoid scaring. She would come with a book or sheet music and hide behind her mug in the corner; her smile drawn out only by the attentions of the other.
Seeing them always warmed her heart, and today it amplified the boost her mysterious stranger had provided and left her singing softly to herself as she went through the rituals of closing. She noticed the Princess had left at some point and jotted down in a small notebook the full eleven hours of the day. The Princess would be good for it, or her assistant would be.
Six fifteen had Marinette stepping out into the still drizzling day. She stood for a moment under her shop’s awning, turning up her coat’s collar and preparing for a dash to the subway station. The things I do for Whine night. On a whim she pulled out the umbrella she’d been gifted and opened it against the rain. She carefully threaded it into the hair over one ear. “There we go, dry as a bone now.”
She still ran the entire block to the station.
It was a damp Marinette who came running back twenty minutes later, brown bag clutched against her chest. Her friend was waiting under the awning and stepped back with a playful hiss as Marinette stormed in.
“Girl! Haven’t you ever heard of an umbrella?” Alya shielded herself with the white plastic bag full of takeout.
Marinette grinned, invigorated instead of doused by the cool water. “Of course I have! See?” She plucked the paper umbrella from her hair and neatly closed it with one hand before stashing it inside her jacket.
Alya raised an eyebrow at her. “You’re in a mood, and that didn’t come from any cup of coffee.” She poked Marinette’s bag. “Is there something you’re going to share? Is it going to be more wine than whine tonight?”
Marinette stuck out her tongue at her friend. “Keep it up and I won’t tell you. Besides, if history is a guide, your date with Delmar will be whining enough for both of us.”
Alya let out a playful wail and draped the back of her hand across her brow, sending them both into giggles. As Marinette jockeyed with the key to the door Alya began the litany. “I don’t know why I keep falling for it. He talks such a good game, but it’s all front loaded. It’s like he’s used to dealing with a woman who has no expectations! I mean sure, okay, the place is nice but am I just supposed to admire the silverware all night?”
“What I’m hearing is you got a nice meal out of it, and the guy is obviously into you or he wouldn’t keep coming back to a dry well.”
They walked through the cafe and up the back stairs to the second floor apartment Marinette had all to herself. The inside was expansive for New York, but sparsely furnished. Marinette knew she should subdivide it and rent out half, but it had been her family’s for generations, and she also loved the crafting space, her hobbies were sprawled across nearly every available surface.
Marinette took the bottles to the fridge while Alya made room for their dinner. When Marinette returned Alya held one of the styrofoam boxes in her hand and leveled a look at Marinette over her glasses. “I’m thinking I should just keep this for leftovers. ‘Dry well’ was it?”
Marinette held out her hand and sing-songed. “I’ve got the wi-ine.”
Alya sighed and relented, handing over Marinette’s dinner. “You drive a hard bargain.”
She popped hers open before selecting one of several mismatched stools and pulling it up to the dining table.
The snap of her chopsticks punctuated her question. “Is it really too much to ask to have a guy actually show he’s interested in talking with me, not just interested in having me?”
Marinette pulled an actual chair up to the table, but turned it around and sat on it backwards as she opened her own box. “Oh you hopeless romantic, you.”
Alya bobbled her head in amusement, popping a piece of curried shrimp into her mouth before pointing accusingly at Marinette with her sticks. “And what about you, Miss Umbrella? Did you go to a party and I didn’t hear about it?”
Marinette felt a heat rise in her cheeks unexpectedly. She shook her head, shoveling fried rice into her mouth to buy herself time to formulate her answer. “Just a customer who had himself a little too much to drink last night, I think.”
Alya’s raised eyebrows could speak entire novels.
Marinette confessed. “Okay okay, he was cute; lousy sense of humor though. Before you ask, no I didn’t get his number. It was just a light bit of banter that made my day. Can I have this without an inquisition?”
Alya’s smile was full of lifelong affection. “Of course, you know I’m just hopeful. You need someone in your life who can help check you when I’m not around.”
Marinette prodded her rice sulkily. “I’m doing fine.”
“Uh huh.” Alya leaned over and tapped a Black and yellow Mask still sitting on the edge of the table. “You got a store open to sell any of this yet?” she countered.
“I’m… working on it.” Marinette sighed. “There’s just not enough time in the day.”
“Orrrr, you’re just no good at managing it. I bet you were up all hours last night on your latest project.”
Marinette hunched her shoulders. “It was a rough day down at the shop.” she offered by way of defense.
Alya’s smile turned tender. She reached across and patted Marinette’s knee. “Oh honey, I’m sorry. I can’t imagine running a business, much less opening a second. I just know you want to keep your folks' place and I want to see that happen.”
Marinette poked a bit of broccoli before lifting it to her lips. “Grandpa would have a fit if he knew it wasn’t a bakery anymore.”
“Girl, I’ve had your bread. You’re better off with coffee.”
They broke into mutual giggles again. Marinette let out a sigh and some stress with it. “So, tell me about your date, was it really that bad?”
Alya leaned in, her expression turning puckish. “Well, have you ever had mayo on soggy toast? It was kinda like that…”