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You unlock the back door of the tea shop, yawning widely as you walk into the dark kitchen. You light the lamps, beginning your daily routine of opening the shop. You warm the oven, tossing some logs in and striking a match. You make the bread dough from your sourdough starter and set it aside to proof. Next is the scone dough and you mix a double batch, thinking of what flavors to try out today.
You pop the bread into the oven, noting the time so it doesn’t burn. You decide to make orange cinnamon and lemon blueberry as the flavors for the day, mixing ingredients in and cutting small triangles of dough and arranging them on pans to rise before baking. You brew yourself a cup of coffee while the bread finishes baking; once it does, you pop in the scones and sip your drink leisurely while you watch them puff up and turn golden brown. Once all the baking is completed, you take inventory of what is left in cold storage, noting how many slices of various cakes you have available.
After, you begin opening the front of the shop. You keep the lights low, as the city is just starting to wake. You see people amble through the streets in the rising sun, paper carriers standing on corners beginning to call the daily headlines. You lightly dust the jars and wipe down the counters, not that dust would dare find its way into your shop. Well, not your shop, but your aunt's shop; you run the shop from open to close daily, so it feels like yours. The front room has a dark grey tile floor with a soft inky blue wall color to complement it. One wall is lined with open-faced cherry wood shelves that hold large jars of tea and coffee, neatly labeled with their names; it sits to the left of the counter with your register, behind which is the brewing station.
The other walls are filled with art; you host local artists to sell their work, rotating the art monthly to create variety and bring people back in. A small section, selling fine porcelain and sturdy iron teapots with matching cups, sits near the plate-glass window. Small tables covered with gray tablecloths are scattered throughout the store, sturdy-backed armchairs at each. Near the fireplace is a low table and burgundy velvet couch and armchair, dotted with hand stitched pillows you found at a nearby shop.
It’s quaint, nothing fancy, but it makes your heart sing with pride. You smile at your shop, smelling the lavender candle you lit near the cash register at the small counter next to the display case. In the case are your freshly baked goods that rotate daily. Depending on how ambitious you feel that day, you occasionally make quiche or small, savory sandwiches to sell. On Sundays, you open late so that you bake cakes to sell throughout the week.
You flip the sign to open and head to the counter to make yourself another cup of coffee. While you’re pressing the water through the grounds, the bell tinkles, indicating a customer opened the door. You turn around with a bright smile to greet your guest. A tall man with blonde hair and piercing blue eyes stands near the door, looking rather imposing. He looks somewhat hesitant, unsure of where to begin, taking in the shop and its large selection. Dressed in gray slacks and a white button down, you notice he fills out his clothes quite nicely. You’ve never seen him before, and your curiosity sparks.
“Good morning, sir, can I interest you in some tea or coffee? Maybe a scone?” You ask, taking a few steps towards him, gesturing for him to join you near the counter.
“Oh yes, a friend recommended this place to me, but I find myself rather overwhelmed, I wasn’t expecting so many options.” He smiles at you, eyes crinkling at the corners. He’s rather attractive, although he’s probably old enough to be your father. He comes to stand in front of the jars, eyes scanning the delicately written names on labels.
“No problem, give me an idea of what you like, and I can help you find something.”
“Well…I drink military-issued black tea, so I’m open to anything that’s better than that.” You laugh lightly, feeling a little smitten by his charming demeanor. So, he’s in the military; that explains the aura of authority and fit figure.
“Well, everything we serve is better than that brick. Do you prefer floral? Or sweet? Bitter? Spiced?” His eyes widen as you talk. You giggle again, realizing he probably has never been faced with such a predicament.
“Why don’t I let you try one of our most popular blends? Then, if you hate it, I’ll make you another one, on the house.” You wink at him, not being able to resist yourself. You rarely ever get handsome men in your shop, mostly elderly men who are seeking refuge from the isolation of retirement.
He smiles back warmly, nodding in agreement. You tell him about the blend, a medium black tea with notes of lemon and honey, while you bustle about making him a pot. While you do, he listens intently and scans the display case of baked goods.
“Could I also get a lemon blueberry scone? Those look lovely,” he says, straightening up to look at you. You nod at him and tell him to take a seat and you’ll serve him shortly. He sits at the table nearest the register, watching you finish the pot of tea and grab a scone, warming it for him briefly.
You serve him, setting the pot down on a silver service platter along with a cup, lemon, honey, and milk, wishing him to enjoy. He thanks you and pulls some paperwork out of his jacket, scanning it and writing notes in the margins.
Customers trickle in and out as he works, slowly enjoying his pot of tea. Your regulars greet you, striking conversation about inconsequential goings on in Trost. You enjoy the chatter to keep you company, slowly drinking a cup of coffee throughout the morning. Your regulars eye your new guest, whispering amongst themselves about him. You wonder what it is about him that makes them gossip aside from being a new face.
After an hour, he walks up to your register to pay, appearing to be done with his paperwork and tea. Not a crumb is left of the scone either, you notice as you ring him up. You take his money, opening the drawer to count his change when he begins to talk.
“That scone was something akin to a spiritual experience. The tea was excellent as well, I’ll be sad to return to my brick of tea at the base,” he says, winking at you. You feel your face heat slightly, leaning forward on your elbows at the counter after handing him his change.
“We do always have jars of our tea to purchase to take home. Feel free to come back anytime, we’re open 9 to 6 every day except Sunday, when it’s 12 to 6.” You smile widely at him, enjoying the attention from the handsome stranger.
“Oh, I certainly will. I have…a friend, who would love this.” You deflate slightly, wondering if he’s implying that he has a woman to keep his company he wants to bring back.
“Bring whoever, I’ll be here. Take care, sir.” You smile at him as he leaves. Well, a slight disappointment, but who could complain about an attractive man brightening their Saturday, even if he’s spoken for.
The next Saturday, you come in and repeat your routine. Bread, cookies, scones, and quiche are on the menu today; you picked up some spinach and fresh cheese at the market and are craving something substantial to eat for breakfast. You take inventory and clean the shop, flipping the sign right at 9am.
As you brew your third cup of coffee, the bell rings, and you turn to greet your first customer of the day. It’s the blonde man again, and today he’s brought someone with him. Not the woman you were expecting, but a rather sour-faced, short man with dark hair and the most captivating silvery-blue eyes you’ve seen. You smile warmly at them, welcoming him back.
He introduces himself as Erwin and his friend as Levi. Levi nods at you briskly, avoiding your eyes to take in the rows of tea, which he takes off to inspect immediately. Erwin…that name sounds familiar, but you can’t remember where you’ve heard it before. You make Erwin a pot of the same tea from last week, as he requests.
“Mr. Levi, is there something you’d like to try or have questions about?” You ask while you wait for Erwin’s tea to brew.
“Just Levi.”
“Alright, Just Levi. What can I get you?” He rolls his eyes at your poor attempt at a joke but points at one of the shelves.
“You have three kinds of earl grey. Why?”
“They all have their own distinct flavors, they come from different regions.”
“Which is best?”
“Well, it depends on what you’re looking for,” you begin, walking over to him and the shelves. You notice that although he’s short, he’s particularly well-built, clearly very muscular. Even being short, he still has a few inches on you. His height is made up for with his delicate bone structure and striking eyes that are focused on you. “This one leans to be more citrusy, whereas this one is more floral and heavier on the bergamot, and this one is a darker brew, almost a breakfast tea flavor.”
He seems invested in your every word, eyebrows furrowed as he looks over the selection. “I’ll try this one,” pointing to the one you said was floral. You nod and smile at him, taking the large jar off the shelf and carrying it over to the brewing station. Erwin’s tea is complete, and you bring it to the table they settled at, the same one as last week, as Levi’s choice brews.
“What’s on the menu for scones today?” Erwin asks, blue eyes bright as he looks up at you.
“I have lemon raspberry and green tea lavender, along with a spinach and cheese quiche.”
“I’ll take some quiche,” Levi mutters, and Erwin chooses a green tea lavender scone. You bring Levi’s tea and their food selections over, wishing them a good meal and brew. You return to your station, wiping up drops of tea from the counter while you make yourself another cup of coffee. Levi and Erwin talk quietly, looking around at the art as they sip and eat. You see Erwin break off a corner of his scone for Levi, who seems reluctant to try it but eats it anyway. You can’t read his reaction which disappoints you.
Customers filter in and out, someone even buys a painting. That makes all the paintings for a local artist, who goes by the moniker Sappho, painting beautiful skyscapes depicting the beginnings of dawn and the setting sun. You were sad to see them go, but hopeful Sappho would continue to sell art at your shop.
You eat a scone yourself, thinking you did a fine job balancing the green tea and lavender with a hint of lemon and cinnamon to offset the earthy tones. You hum to yourself as you snack and clean, helping intermittent customers as they appear.
Eventually, you retire to a bar stool behind the counter, opening a book about medical science while you relax with a cup of coffee. You idly bounce your foot as you read, underlining interesting information and writing questions in the margin.
“Thank you, it was delicious. Levi was even impressed by your knowledge of tea, the scone, and the quiche.” Erwin’s voice startles you out of your book and you exchange change for the purchase. Levi’s cheeks turn slightly pink during Erwin’s sentence.
“Come back anytime, I’ll be here.” You smile at Levi shyly. He nods stiffly, not saying anything, which seems to amuse Erwin. They bid you goodbye and leave, bell jingling behind them. You sigh, not realizing how much you had enjoyed their unfamiliar presence at the shop.
The next Saturday, Levi comes in alone. You’re surprised to see him again, but it makes your stomach flutter. He chooses to try your bacon and cheese croissant; you have no idea what motivated you to make croissant dough this morning. It certainly wasn’t the potential of seeing any handsome soldiers walking in the door. He asks for another tea recommendation, and you serve him a dark breakfast tea, often nicknamed “poor man’s coffee”. He snorts at this description.
“Coffee is disgusting,” he mutters, and you frown at him, taking a sip of your coffee as you do. “Well, why would you drink coffee when you could have tea?”
“Coffee is…” you’re at a loss for words. “I don’t know, it has its own flavor profiles. I’ve had enough tea to probably last me a lifetime.”
“That’s just not possible.” You raise an eyebrow at him, amused at his obstinacy. He takes a seat at the same table as last week and you can feel his eyes on you from time to time as you serve other customers and clean up.
After an hour, he walks up to the register to pay, thanking you for the tea and croissant sandwich.
“I’ll take two of those croissants to go. And the tea is surprisingly good,” he remarks.
“It’s my favorite, when I’m not in the mood to drink coffee.” You smile at him as you talk. He leans against the counter while he waits for you to make change and pack his food.
“Have you tried all of them?” He’s gesturing at the wall of jars, and you nod.
“Of course, I have to be able to sell them, so I need to know what they taste like.”
“Well, maybe I’ll be back for more recommendations.”
“Please do, Just Levi; I’ll be here.” He rolls his eyes at your nickname but gives you something you’d almost call a smile but is more of a smirk.
“Your name?” He asks, tucking his change into his pocket.
“Cassandra.”
He does seem to award a small smile then, turning to walk to the door. You watch him go, shamelessly appreciating his lean figure perfectly clothed in black slacks and a dark green button-down shirt. You wave at him through the window after he exits, and he nods to you.
The next Saturday begins the same as all Saturdays, except you have art to rotate out. Many paintings sold, and you have a stack of new ones to hang. Sappho the artist dropped off a fresh batch of paintings for you, statues in fields of wildflowers, stunning sunsets behind marble columns that have crumbled over time, starry night skies. Between baking and hanging art, you missed opening by five minutes, so you hurry to the door. To your surprise, Levi is waiting, leaning against the brick wall near the plate glass window.
“I’m so sorry, I lost track of time, please come in.” You gesture to him to come inside, and he follows you through the door, walking over to your jars of tea. “What can I get for you?”
“What’s another tea you recommend here?” He asks while observing you, instead of the tea.
“If you like jasmine tea, we have jasmine tea pearls that I love.”
“I’ll try it,” he murmurs softly. “And one of these, please.” He’s pointing to a plain lemon tart you made this morning in the display case.
“Not to be boastful, but my lemon curd is good. Excellent choice,” you remark as you grab the tart. You also warm a piece of your quiche you made, with sundried tomatoes and a herb goat cheese from a local farmer. You grab the correct jar from the shelf and bring it to your brew station, heating water and scooping some pearls into a small bowl.
Levi takes a seat as he waits, looking over the new art on the walls. You bring over the tray of tea and his food, seating yourself in the chair next to him. He looks somewhat alarmed, and you laugh, holding up a finger to tell him it’s only for a moment. You take the tongs and place three pearls in the cup in front of him, and pour the hot water over them, indicating for him to look in the cup. The pearls unfurl, fingers of tea leaves unwrapping and reaching out across the cup as the water soaks into them, releasing brown tannins that infuse.
It’s your favorite tea for this reason, and you never get tired of watching them loosen in the steaming water, a smile lighting up your face. You look up to gauge Levi’s reaction, but he’s looking at you, silver eyes taking in your expression. He quickly looks down, nodding at the cup, telling you it smells good.
“I didn’t order the quiche,” he says, leaning back in his chair. His eyes always seem to be keenly watching you when you meet his gaze, but you’re not sure if that’s truly the case or the color has something to do with it. Regardless, you feel exposed under his look.
“I know, I wanted you to try it and let me know what you think. Always looking for feedback,” you give him a small smile before you leave him to enjoy his tea.
You walk to the front and begin hanging the rest of the art. Levi watches you as you switch out paintings, not subtly. You struggle to reach some of them but are careful to keep your balance on the step stool. You stack the unsold art in two piles near the door, waiting for the artists to come pick them up. The shop is quiet today, leaving just you and Levi to enjoy your respective drinks in peace.
After almost two hours of eating, drinking, and reading a book, he comes to pay and tells you that you undersold the tart. “The quiche was good, as always. Your lemon curd is impressive, you weren’t lying. All your baking, really. I’m not one for sweets, but I can’t seem to get enough of it.”
“That’s how I keep people coming back,” you whisper and wink at him conspiratorially.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you next week then,” he says with a smirk, and you feel your face get warmer.
“I’ll be here,” you say sweetly. He leaves and you wave at him, but this time he gives you a small wave back.
You’ve starting to look forward to Saturdays more than you care to admit. The next Saturday, you make croissants again, with sliced Turkey, tomato, and cheese. Not because Levi doesn’t prefer sweets, just because that’s what you found at the market. At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself.
You make yourself a steaming cup of coffee, enjoying it black as you observe Sappho’s art on the wall. It’s been a daily habit for you to look through the art, always finding new details or meaning in the latest collection of pieces. You flip the sign at 9, only feeling a tiny bit disappointed when Levi doesn’t appear at opening. You retreat behind the counter, opening a book about first aid and field medicine. You take notes in the margins, so absorbed that you don’t hear the bell over the door.
“Good morning, dear,” a familiar voice says. You look up and smile brightly, coming around the counter to hug Mrs. Jones. Mrs. Jones was one of your regulars that you hadn’t seen for a while.
“Mrs. Jones! My goodness, it’s been a few weeks since I’ve seen you, I was worried about you!”
“Oh, I went to see that surly daughter of mine in Stohess. What a waste, honestly, she’s such a pill. I came back early because I missed seeing your beautiful smile.” Mrs. Jones smiles warmly at you as you prepare her usual, a bright, citrusy green tea and a large slice of your tart lemon cake.
You settle her at her usual table near the front when the door opens again. A slightly huffy Levi enters, and you smile at him, holding up a finger to show it’ll be a moment. He nods, walking over to the shelves. You finish serving Mrs. Jones and walk over to Levi.
“Anything pique your interest today?” You ask him quietly, as his mood doesn’t seem quite so neutral today, irritation showing in his expression. His hair is slightly out of place, and he runs a hand through it, mussing it more and sighing. His mouth twists as he looks through the selection.
“What the hell is rooibos tea?” he asks, though not unkindly. You giggle, taking the jar off the shelf and removing the lid so he can smell it.
“It’s a red tea, kind of earthy and grassy. Not one of my preferred brews.” His nose scrunches at the smell, shaking his head.
“What about that?” He’s pointing to a lavender green tea blend. You put the rooibos back and take it off the shelf, letting him smell it again.
“Lavender and green tea, it goes really well with lemon and honey,” you tell him. He seems intrigued by the smell. “If you liked the earl grey from the first time, I think you’ll like this. Maybe just lemon, no honey, since you don’t like sweets.”
He looks a little surprised that you remembered, but nods. Instead of taking a seat, he follows you to the counter, looking in the display.
“Croissants are an awful lot of work to make, aren’t they?” He asks casually, but when you glance at him, his eyes are focused on yours with intensity that makes your stomach flutter.
“Oh, uh,” you stumble over your words, cheeks heating as you turn to the brew station, hoping he can’t see. “They are, but sometimes I feel inspired to make them if I find good ingredients at the market. The tomatoes were perfect, and I didn’t want to make soup.”
“Hmm. A lot of work for someone who runs this place by themselves.”
“I love baking and cooking,” you say, turning to look at him, so caught up in the conversation you forget your earlier embarrassment. “It’s relaxing for me. The tea is just an added bonus.”
He hums, telling you he’ll take a croissant. You heat it for him and add a dab of whole grain mustard to the plate for serving. You bring his food and tea, encouraging him to let you know if he needs anything. His dour mood seems to lighten as he savors the food.
You return to the counter, wiping it down and taking a seat at the register to read again. Mrs. Jones walks up a few minutes later, handing you coins and not allowing you to administer any change in return. You hug her again, thanking her for coming to visit.
“My, he’s quite handsome, isn’t he? And to think, Captain Levi frequents your tea shop!” She whispers to you. Well, whispers in the loudest voice you think could possibly be considered a whisper. You have a feeling it’s intentional. “You ought to snatch him up, what a catch!”
“Oh Mrs. Jones, you are ever the character. Lovely to see you,” you say sharply, heat flushing your face and neck. She winks at you and waves at Levi as she goes, who observes her silently and nods in return. You walk to the kitchen for a moment, hands over your face as you try to slow your rushing heartbeat.
Mrs. Jones is a nosy old woman who likes to play matchmaker for you with any relatively attractive man who walks into the shop. And captain?! No wonder he and Erwin held themselves so authoritatively. If Levi is Captain, Erwin must be…. that’s when it dawns on you, that he’s Erwin Smith, commander of the Scout Regiment. You feel dumb for not being able to place him when you met him. You shamelessly flirted with a commander of the military. You think you might be regretful of your actions for a moment, but shrug, knowing you have to take chances sometimes.
You return to the stool at the register, opening your book on medicinal herbs but not really taking in the words. Eventually, you give up and make yourself another cup of coffee. Levi is reading his own book, it seems, a journal of sorts. You walk to the front of the shop, looking over Sappho’s art again while you sip your coffee, and take a seat at the table in front of their six paintings. Much to your surprise, Levi walks over to you, taking a seat at the table you’re at in front of the art wall, looking over the frames with his tea in hand. You notice he holds the cup by the rim, which strikes you as odd.
“You seem to enjoy this artist,” he observes.
“I do. Something about their style…it speaks of deep emotion to me. It’s captivating,” you say softly.
“Which one is your favorite?”
“This one,” you say, pointing to the one on the left in the middle. It’s one with the ruined columns, the bust of a woman looking to the side in the middle; behind her is either a rising dawn or setting sun, a mix of orange, pink, and red coming together to make a dynamic sky, soft purple clouds near the top.
“Why?”
You look at him, surprised he’s taking such an interest in you.
“I don’t know, I think it tells a story. The columns are crumbling with age, but there’s the bust, untouched by time. However, who is the woman? Probably someone lost to history, forgotten but still standing. Is the sun setting or rising? Is it the end or the beginning? I just feel like I could stare at it for hours and keep asking questions without knowing the answers.” He looks directly at you while you talk, although you’re looking at the painting, pointing out the details. He nods along, clearly listening although you think he must not give a damn about the painting.
“I see what you mean. Their work is…beautiful. Delicate but fierce.” His thoughtful observations make you smile, propping your chin on your hand and looking at him. His eyes are roaming the artwork now, and you take the opportunity to stare unabashedly. The light makes his eyes seem almost translucent, like mirrors, which is a silly thought. He turns to look at you, raising an eyebrow at your prolonged glance. You smile at him instead of turning away. Maybe Mrs. Jones is onto something…
“Well, I should probably get back. Can I pay?” He asks, voice a little gruff. You nod, smile fading, and lead him to the register. You exchange payment and change, and bid him goodbye, wishing him a good weekend.
“You too. I might not be able to make it next weekend,” he tells you and you fight to keep your expression from falling. He looks a little disappointed too but maybe you’re just trying to convince yourself he does.
“Well, I’ll be here, if you do,” you smile at him.
“So that you can snatch me up?” He quirks an eyebrow at you with a coy smile, and you giggle in mild embarrassment, cheeks rosy.
“Please ignore Mrs. Jones, she’s always trying to set me up. Something about being 24 and unmarried seems to set her off when it comes to me.” He only smirks at you, waving goodbye as he leaves the shop. You spend the rest of the day in a daze, thinking of his lovely silver eyes on yours.
The next Saturday though, Levi is there as soon as you open, and you smile at him warmly. You chat as you prepare his tea, while he leans on the register counter, watching you. He chooses to try your three-cheese pasta you made that morning after getting a great deal on cheese at the market. He notices that you bought the painting you talked to him about last weekend, and you told him you couldn’t resist hanging it behind the register.
Instead of taking a seat while eating, he stays leaning against the counter and talks to you while you make tea and coffee, enjoying his bowl of pasta. The conversation is easy and light-hearted, and you get to see him smile—a real smile—when you tell him about the new teas you purchased. It makes your heart flutter, and you feel like you’re falling into the silver pools of his eyes.
“I thought you weren’t going to be able to make it today,” you comment during a lull in conversation as you place the bowl in a tub for dirty dishes. Levi pours himself another mug of tea while you sip your coffee.
“I made time for it. I enjoy my Saturdays here,” he says, shrugging at you indifferently. With you, he seems to imply, but leaves it unsaid. You wish he would say it.
“What did you push off?”
“Just a meeting.”
“What was your excuse?”
“Confidential,” he says. When you give him a questioning look, he clarifies. “Confidential to them, that is.”
“I enjoy your Saturdays here too,” you say, feeling bold although you could swear your knees are shaking. He gives you a soft smile, looking at you with those damn eyes you can’t stop thinking about. He leaves shortly after and promises to see you next week and you promise to be there.
Most of your Saturday mornings pass the same, you and Levi talking and laughing, him trying new teas. You convince him to try most of your cakes and sweets, but always make sure to have a savory treat as well. Levi admits that he looks forward to your croissants every week. You make him try coffee and he hates it, but he drinks the whole cup for you. You notice that customers don’t come in on Saturday mornings when Levi is there, and you hear a whisper around town that Mrs. Jones has something to do with it.
You feel like you wait all week until Saturday, and then it passes so fast, you spend the next week pining for it. Time seems to stop when it’s just the two of you in the shop. You and Levi continue to flirt, neither being brave enough to make a move but not willing to let go of your Saturday mornings. It’s your time with him, however brief it may be, and you come to cherish it.
“Does it scare you, being a solider?”
“Not at all, I’ve seen worse.”
“Like what?”
“My childhood.”
“I’m not eating chocolate cake, it’s sickeningly sweet.”
“But I promise you’ll love this one, just take a bite. For me?”
“Brat...well, that’s delicious. Is there tea in this?”
“Yes, I thought you might enjoy that.”
“What led you to run a tea shop?”
“My parents died when I was young, this is my aunts’ shop. It’s lonely sometimes, but I love it here.”
“Not lonely on Saturdays, though.”
“Not on Saturdays.”
“Early grey scones? Is there no limit with you?”
“But I made them special for you.”
“Well, I can’t argue when you pout at me like that...it is delicious though. Do you put tea in everything?”
“Only the things I want you to try.”
“Where do you think we go after we die?”
“Hopefully nowhere. After this life, I want peace.”
“Peace can be found anywhere, not only in death.”
“Anywhere but the battlefield. But I think...peace for me is here, in your shop. That’s why I come every week.”
“Lemon cake is a monstrosity. Lemon is a pure flavor that should be untouched by sweetness.”
“But there’s green tea in the batter and I cut the sugar in half.”
“For me?”
“Of course.”
“This is incredible. I hate that you’re always right.”
“I’m not having a good week.”
“Well, I’m pleasantly surprised you came in today then.”
“You are the best part of this shitty week.”
“Just this week?”
“Every week.”
“Where do you see yourself in five years?”
“Probably dead.”
“Surely not the famed Captain.”
“Everyone dies.”
“I suppose.”
“What’s the bandage for?”
“I burned myself on the oven making croissants this morning.”
“Why do you bother making them?”
“I think you know why.”
“I was initially hired to kill Erwin.”
“Really? Why didn’t you?”
“He knew about the plot. Then, I lost my…family on my first expedition. He became part of the new one.”
“Alright, let me try that rooibos shit. It’s the only one I haven’t tried.”
“You’re not going to like it.”
“Let me decide that...okay you’re right, this is garbage.”
“What’s your favorite color?”
“Pink. What’s yours?”
“I don’t have one.”
“Everyone has a favorite color.”
“Not me.”
“Surely you do.”
“Well, I think my mother's favorite color was red. So, I’ll pick that.”
“You don’t talk about her much, but I can tell you love her.”
“Loved.”
“No, love. People who are that important to us never leave us, even in death.”
“Warm potato salad? Absolutely not.”
“Levi, have you ever eaten any of my cooking and not liked it? Shut up and try it.”
“…Dammit, that’s good. What kind of witchcraft is this?”
“Have you been crying?”
“My aunt died this week. Yesterday, in fact.”
“I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you take the day off?”
“I wanted to see you.”
“I’m not good with death.”
“You don’t have to be, I just wanted to be with you.”
“Do you ever date?”
“Oh, I used to sometimes. But most men want a housewife. I want a life of my own too.”
“You’re too…free-spirited to be a housewife.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“I think so.”
“Why do you hold your teacup by the rim instead of the handle?”
“Handles don’t always hold. I don’t want to take any chances.”
“Okay...”
“I broke my mother’s teacup once when the handle broke off. When I was a child. It was all I had left of her.”
“You didn’t make croissants today?”
“No, Captain, I did not.”
“…I like when you call me Captain. I’m disappointed about the croissants though.”
“Do you date, Captain?”
“No, although I probably could. No one’s, uh, caught my eye.”
“No one at all?”
“Well, there’s someone. But I’m taking it slow, so I don’t fuck it up.”
“Wise.”
“Do you dream of a future?”
“I do. In fact, I wanted my own tea shop.”
“Hmm, wanted?”
“Well, I found you…yours, so I don’t need my own.”
“What’s your dream for the future?”
“A house with a porch to drink coffee on. My tea shop, filled with sweets and paintings. Someone who loves me and lets me be who I am, someone to grow old with.”
“What if they can’t grow old with you?”
“Then I’ll just enjoy the time we have together. Love doesn’t end because of death.”
“Do you think it’s worth it if you lose it?”
“Lost love is still love; it takes a different form, that’s all.”
“But is it still worth it?”
“I think you’d be worth it.”
“Why is the shop always dead on Saturdays? I thought you had regulars.”
“Oh, Mrs. Jones spread a rumor that my hours changed.”
“Why?”
“Probably still hoping I’ll snatch you up.”
“Why do you always say, ‘I’ll be here’?”
“Because I want you to know that I’m here waiting for you.”
“It’s selfish to ask you for that.”
“Not if I want to wait.”
And then it happens; the wall is broken in Trost on the day of the 104th Cadet Corps’ graduation, and you’re trying to evacuate and not be demolished in the pushing crowds. You’re on the edge of the mass, hoping not to be crushed in the swarm of people when the ground shakes and you hear a crack.
“Watch out!” Someone cries and you feel a set of hands push you. You stumble into an alley and trip over your feet, landing backwards on your ass. You see the building come tumbling down and try to crawl backwards as fast as possible when you notice you’re in the direct path of the rubble. The stones avoid you, but small pieces of rock fly across your skin and cut your forehead above your eye. You’re so shaken you don’t notice the trickle of blood on your face, sighing in relief at not being flattened.
But now you’re separated from the crowd for evacuation, and you can’t possibly climb over the unstable rocks piled high in front of you. You get up, brushing dust off your slacks with scraped palms, hissing in pain at the sting of dirt in your raw wounds. You make your way down the alley and find the intersection is covered in multiple buildings that have fallen and nothing looks familiar anymore.
You’re trying desperately not to panic, but every route you try is blocked by devastation and you’re losing your way among the familiar streets. You can still hear the cries of evacuees. At one point, you break into a run, hopelessly trying to find a path to safety while you hear whatever commotion is occurring getting closer to your location.
Your eyes are tearing up as anxiety floods you. You remember Levi, his silver eyes and kind smile, and you wipe your eyes, determined to get out of this mess and see him again. You’ve been dancing around your feelings for each other; Levi admits that he’s scared to take it further when he’s an integral part of a war with no end in sight. So, you’ve settled for being there for his Saturdays, praying for the day he’s ready to acknowledge the chemistry between you two. Regret twists in your chest at the thought you might not see him again if you don’t figure this out. You steel your resolve and keep trying to find a route to safety.
You climb over rubble instead of going around it, slipping and scraping your legs on the rock, tearing your slacks. You finally find a street you recognize, you think. A Scout whizzes to a stop in front of you in their ODM gear. To your shock, it’s Erwin.
“Cassandra?” He asks, although you never told him your name. You nod at him dumbly.
“What the hell are you doing here?” comes a familiar voice to your right. It’s Levi, who looks absolutely dumbfounded to see you.
“I got cut off by a falling building, then I got lost. I’m pretty sure I’m getting close to the gate, though,” you say tentatively, voice shaking a little. Erwin shakes his head with a wry chuckle and looks at Levi, appearing to have some kind of telepathic conversation. The ground shakes suddenly and Levi curses.
“Take her to the gate and reconvene at the wall,” Erwin says, and whizzes off, hopping across rooftops.
Before you can protest, Levi runs towards you, grabbing your waist and sinking his hooks into a house, lifting you into the air. Your arms wrap around his neck in surprise, keeping a tenuous grip on him as he flies over Trost with you. You made it deep into the city, far from your goal of evacuating safely. You wince, embarrassed that you were so far off. He lands in front of the citizen evacuee gate staffed by the MP’s, setting you down gently. You pause before letting go of his neck, turning to him to thank him.
“Be safe, please,” he begs you, silver eyes flashing as he grabs your face between his hands before taking off without a goodbye. You look after him before an MP ushers you inside the gate.
Several weeks later, the familiar bell jingles over your door mid-morning on a Saturday. Much of Trost was destroyed and it took a few weeks for the city to reopen after clearing out the bodies and bits of building. Thankfully, the shop was untouched but most of the city was leveled. You’ve been open for a week just as a refuge, a place for the anguished and heartbroken to gather. You turn to the door to see Levi, standing in the entrance, looking at you with an impassive expression.
“Good morning,” you say brightly, trying to be upbeat despite his somber face. You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face at the sight of him, even if he doesn’t return the sentiment. He nods at you and walks to the shelves. “What’ll it be today?”
“Something calming,” he says, voice cold. You’re not surprised, considering you heard about Stohess and the bounty on the Scouts’ heads not long ago. His demeanor is upsetting you, but you try to brush it off. You grab the green tea lavender blend he enjoys and start brewing a strong pot.
“Any food today?” You ask while you wait for the water to heat up, trying to be casual even though your mind is swirling with anxious thoughts.
“I’ll take a croissant,” he says, eyeing the cheese and egg croissants you have on display.
“Of course,” you murmur. You brew yourself a cup of coffee while you’re waiting for everything to finish. You bring him a service tray with lemon in addition to the food and tea, smiling at him as genuinely as you can although you can feel emotion bubbling up in your chest.
“Will you sit with me?” His request makes you stop, looking at him in surprise. But the shop is empty, as are the streets, and you nod at his concerned expression. You grab your coffee and sit across from him, looking at him expectantly. He certainly takes his time pouring tea and squeezing lemon into it, stirring the light green liquid in the cup, oblivious to your trembling hands around your cup.
“You scared me,” he says simply. “I saw Erwin stop and you were the last person I expected to see when I landed next to him. What the hell were you doing?”
“I told you; a building came down and cut me off, then I got lost. Hard to recognize streets when all the buildings are torn down,” you say dryly. “Thank you, for saving me, though. I felt silly for not having my bearings, but I appreciate you keeping me safe and making sure I made it to the gate.”
“Of course,” he murmurs. “Where else would I get my tea from?”
“Oh, well, you could have easily found a replacement for that,” you say, rolling your eyes, a challenge in your voice. “There’s like, three other shops still standing.”
“It’s not just the tea,” he says, eyes piercing, staring directly into yours.
“I would hope not,” you say gently. He smiles at you, soft blush covering his cheeks. “I was really scared there for a minute, thinking I was going to die under rubble. I thought I might never see you again.”
He lifts his gaze to yours, eyes softening at the confession. He reaches for your hand, and you give it gladly. He runs his thumb across the back of your knuckles.
“We were on an expedition when we got the report about Trost, and you were the first thing on my mind. I wanted to look for you immediately, but Erwin told me I would have to trust that you evacuated with everyone else. Finding you was pure luck, but I’m glad I did. At least I knew you were safe.”
“I’ve been wondering if you were okay, it’s been so long since the assault in Trost and the papers…haven’t given much away besides the major details. I’ve missed our Saturdays.”
“Well, I am Humanity’s Strongest,” he says, edge of bitterness to his voice. “You can assume I’ll be fine. My death will probably make the front page.”
“Is that really what they call you?” He nods, still playing with your fingers, and you scrunch your nose. “Hmm, I guess that just doesn’t fit my version of you. You’re…just Levi. Tea-obsessed, lover of baked goods, not a fan of sweets but will try anything to make me smile. The man who lets me talk about art although he doesn’t really care for it. Stoic but soft. The man who will stop in the middle of a battle and rescue his silly damsel in distress. Just…my Levi.”
“I... like being just Levi, here with you. Out there, I’m a captain, I’m Humanity’s Strongest, a leader, a soldier. Here, I’m just a person. I mean, you didn’t even recognize me until Mrs. Jones told you I was the captain of the Scouts. It’s refreshing. You’re the keeper of the real me.” You smile at him, your heart melting to hear how he feels around you.
“Oh,” he says, gripping your hand tightly for a moment. “And you’re my damsel in distress?”
Your eyes go wide, not believing you said that out loud to him. But you’re emboldened, raising your chin to look at him.
“Only if you want me to be. More emphasis on the damsel, less on the distress.” He cracks a genuine smile at your words, pulling you up from your chair to face him as he stands.
“Yes,” he whispers in your ear. “In distress or not, be mine.” His words make you weak in the knees, and he wraps an arm around your waist to pull you against his chest. You loop your arms around his neck, looking up at him with a smile.
“More than just Saturdays?” You ask hopefully, and he nods, placing his forehead against yours. You both close your eyes, and you can feel his breath across your lips.
“Every day, whether I’m here to see you or not. Only if you can accept a soldier who doesn’t always have time for tea,” he whispers.
“I’ll be here, waiting for you when you do.”
He finally presses his lips against yours, sweetly tasting of lemon and lavender. It feels like the world stops turning, wrapped in each other's arms in this quaint tea shop. His lips are soft against yours; they feel like coming home after so long apart. You break apart after a minute and you’re breathless as he cups your jaw and places soft kisses against your lips.
You grab his collar and kiss him hard, fervently craving him after so many months of dancing around your feelings for him. He kisses you back just as passionately and you melt into his strong arms keeping you upright. All is right with the world again, just another Saturday morning in your shop with Levi.