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Chapter Text

Lydia hated running late. From the very beginning of her career as a thespian it had been drilled into her that “to be early is to be on time, and to be on time is to be late,” and now it was a habit to arrive anywhere at least 10 minutes before the time she had been told. It mildly annoyed her friends, with Floyd and Arthur having once told her the wrong starting time for a party specifically so she would show up at their definition of on time (15 minutes late), but it tended to endear her to authority figures, which she needed at the moment. As tech week rapidly approached, rehearsals were getting longer and the temper of the director, David, was getting significantly shorter. The previous day Lydia had been yelled at for losing a prop. It wasn’t even her prop that had been misplaced, she just happened to be in David’s line of sight when he found out about the problem. So Lydia needed to avoid giving David any reasons to be mad at her, and this meant getting to the theater extra early, a plan that was currently being foiled by the insanely long line at Starbucks.

Lydia chewed the inside of her cheek as she craned to see how far she was standing from the counter. The answer was way too far. By the time she got to the front and ordered and got her drink and then walked all the way to the theater she would be late by everyone’s standards, not just her own. She groaned as she left the line and started walking down the street.

There was technically a coffee machine at the theater, it was just that Lydia found its coffee mildly disgusting and preferred her brew with several shots of espresso and a copious (Floyd had once called it “concerning”) amount of milk and sugar to drown out the taste of said shots of espresso. Unfortunately, she had gotten far too little sleep the previous night due to late rehearsal and anxiety-fueled nightmares to not drink coffee, so suffering through downing several cups of the weak gross theater type was looking like her only option.

As she speed walked down the sidewalk, she pulled her phone out of her back pocket, pulling up a search for coffee shops in the area as a last ditch attempt to find something even semi-drinkable. After several agonizing moments of waiting the page loaded, and Lydia processed that there was apparently a shop 10 feet away right before she crashed straight into someone, causing her to drop her phone and spill the contents of her tote bag onto the sidewalk. Lydia turned to glare at the human roadblock but the stranger had already disappeared into the crowd. She sighed and started collecting her belongings.

According to her phone, the coffee shop was now 5 feet away. Lydia looked up. “A Dash of Cynnamon” read the glass door she was crouched in front of. Sure. Why not.

Lydia barely glanced around the store as she entered, preoccupied with finding her wallet that she had just thrown in her bag. “Could I get a medium iced coffee with as many shots of espresso as you’re allowed to give me?” she asked as she continued rooting around her tote. “But could you put it in a large cup and then fill the rest of it with milk and sugar? Preferably oat milk if you have it?”

“Seriously?” the barista replied.

Lydia looked up. The first thing she noticed was that they were cute. Short brown hair that was expertly toeing the line between tousled and messy. Blue eyes that were crinkled in amusement as they grinned at her. A mini nonbinary flag pinned to the front of their shirt that bore the store’s logo. Then her brain caught up to what they had said. “Are you judging my coffee order?” Lydia demanded. Fueled by sleep deprivation and stress it came out harsher than she intended it to.

The barista’s smile slipped slightly, before returning full force. “Not judging, it’s just not every day a pretty girl walks in and orders a heart attack in a cup. Though I guess if it’s your first day on Earth maybe you don’t know that that much caffeine is terrible for you.”

Lydia frowned. “What?”

“I saw you fall outside, I assumed it was all the way from Heav—”

“I’m sorry,” Lydia cut them off, “but I really don’t have time to talk right now. I’m running late to rehearsal, so is there any way I could just get my drink?”

“Of course you can,” the barista replied. “Can I get a name for your order?”

“Lydia. How much do I owe you?”

“We’re having a special discount for all girls named Lydia, so it’s on the house today. Your drink will be out soon.” The barista winked before turning around and beginning to prepare her drink.

Lydia put her wallet away slowly. Every sentence out of the barista’s mouth had been more confusing than the last, but she was never going to say no to free coffee. She checked her watch. She might have to speedwalk to get to the theater sufficiently early, but as long as her drink didn’t take too long she’d be fine.

While she waited, she took a proper look around. The shop was cozy. Most of it was taken up by a variety of tables and chairs, but tucked into the corner were a few armchairs next to a stuffed bookshelf with a sign encouraging people to “Take one and leave one!” The display case next to the cash register was filled with more pastries than she even knew existed.

“Heart attack for Lydia!” the barista called, setting her drink out on the counter.

“Thank you,” Lydia said as she picked it up.

“My pleasure,” the barista replied. “I hope you have a good rehearsal.”

“Me too.” Lydia checked her watch as she exited the shop. Still good on time. She took a sip of her coffee as she started walking, and then immediately stopped dead in her tracks. She had tasted what she thought was good coffee before, but this was on another level, with a richness that she wasn’t expecting. She glanced back at A Dash of Cynnamon, nearly walking back and insisting that she pay for her drink because it was just that delicious. She shook her head. She was being ridiculous. It was just coffee. She started walking again.

By the time she reached the theater, Lydia’s coffee cup was ¾ empty, and she was feeling significantly more ready to face rehearsal. She signed in and then began getting ready. As the start time approached, the room filled up with actors.

Floyd appeared eventually. “Hey,” he said, joining her on the floor where she was stretching. “Ready for today?”

Lydia shrugged. “As ready as I ever am.”

“That’s the spirit!” He glanced over at the now-empty coffee cup sitting on top of her bag and quirked an eyebrow at her. “That’s not a Starbucks cup. I thought you loved your routine.”

“You can recognize their cups that easily?”

Floyd shrugged. “It’s a talent.”

“Well the line was too long today, so I just stopped at some little coffee shop that was on the way.”

“Do they always do drawings on their cups?”

“What?”

“There’s a drawing on your cup. Did you not see that?”

“No, I didn’t.” Lydia reached over and grabbed her cup. Sure enough, on the side there was a black marker drawing of two drama masks with speech bubbles. The first one read, “What’s the difference between having a latte and being late?” and the second one replied “Whether or not you have time for t!”

Lydia snorted. “I didn’t notice that. It’s cute.” She showed it to Floyd, and then tucked it back into her bag.

“What do you think it means?” Floyd asked, leaning forward eagerly.

“Does it have to mean something?”

“Yes. Obviously.”

“You’re ridiculous. It’s just a goofy little doodle, I’m sure it’s something they do for everyone.”

“So there’s a they? Are they cute?”

Lydia glared at him. “They as in the coffee shop. Stop trying to make this something it isn’t, I’m probably never going to end up going back there.”

“If you say so,” Floyd shrugged.

“I do say so.” Lydia returned to stretching. Tomorrow the line at Starbucks would be a normal length, and she would go back to her normal routine that didn’t involve cute baristas saying weird things and drawing on her coffee cup. She barely even had time to think about coffee when tech and then opening night were so soon. A Dash of Cynnamon would be nothing more than a funny story to tell her friends.

Despite telling herself this, she couldn't get the barista and their smile and their coffee out of her head for all of rehearsal.

Chapter Text

True to her word, the next morning, this time running on slightly more sleep, Lydia went to Starbucks, as per her routine. Thankfully, the line was a reasonable length, and after a few minutes Lydia was handed her coffee. There were no comments about how her drink was going to give her a heart attack, or how she was apparently acting like an alien who crash landed on Earth. It was normal. It was what she was used to.

The coffee tasted exactly the same as it always did (perfectly fine), but in comparison to her coffee yesterday… Lydia shook her head to rid herself of the thought. She should have been happy to return to the comfort and security of a schedule she had been following for months, but something was off. Despite all attempts to convince herself otherwise, Lydia found herself wanting more than the same old routine.

The thought distracted her all through rehearsal. At one point, Floyd had to physically shake her out of her reverie so that she didn’t miss a cue. David didn’t outright yell at her, but she had noticed him pursing his lips several times while looking in her direction, which was almost worse.

Somehow, she made it through, and on the walk back to her apartment she attempted to organize her thoughts.

Objectively speaking, A Dash of Cynnamon had better coffee. But that couldn’t be it. Because Floyd and Arthur’s weirdly fancy coffee machine also made better coffee than Starbucks, but she didn’t feel the need to switch around her daily routine for that.

It could be because A Dash of Cynnamon had an incredibly cute barista with strange sayings and a stunning smile. And Lydia was not good enough at lying to herself to believe that they weren’t a factor in her desire to go back, but she could certainly try and pretend it was just about the coffee. Besides, her brain was packed too full of acting notes and blocking to deal with anything outside of that, so although she made the decision to go back to A Dash of Cynnamon, she also resolved to only go for the coffee. Nothing else.

The next day Lydia woke up earlier than usual (she needed the extra time because non-chain coffeeshops were usually slower to make orders), double checked that her makeup and hair were flawless (she couldn’t afford to give David any chance to criticize her), and then she returned to A Dash of Cynnamon, thankfully without falling on her face on the way there.

“You’re back,” the barista said as she entered, grinning widely. “Lydia, right? I was worried all those espresso shots might have hospitalized you.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Lydia replied. “Was my order that memorable?”

“Well it’s not exactly common, but I think I mostly remembered it because of the person who ordered it. What can I get you today? Coffee? Tea? Something hot like you?”

Lydia blinked at them. She definitely hadn’t heard that correctly. “What?”

“Coffee? Tea? Heart attack?” the barista repeated.

“Medium iced coffee, lots of espresso—”

“So heart attack,” the barista interjected.

“—and then lots of oat milk and sugar please.”

“I’ll make sure to make it as sweet as you,” the barista quipped.

“I’m sorry?”

The barista winked in response as they set about making her drink.

Lydia ducked her head to hide her blushing, choosing to stare intently at the pastries rather than make eye contact.

“Are you a Virgo?” the barista asked, breaking the silence.

Lydia’s head snapped up. “Yeah, how did you know?”

The barista motioned to the Virgo pin on Lydia’s tote bag. “Call it a hunch. That’s perfect though, because today all Virgos get a free drink.”

“There’s no way that’s a real thing.”

“On my honor as a barista,” they said, pressing their hand to their heart, “I would not lie to a customer about our promotional events. It’s an ongoing sale, yesterday was for Leos and tomorrow we have the same deal but for Libras.”

“Yesterday you said there was a discount for people named Lydia.”

“There was. Today there's one for people named Max.”

“Do you have an answer for everything?”

The barista just smiled, their eyes crinkling in amusement, and then turned back to the espresso machine to continue preparing her drink, leaving Lydia with the distinct impression that she had missed something in that conversation.

“Here you go,” the barista announced moments later, setting her drink on the counter. “Off to rehearsal again?”

“Every day until the end of time.”

“Then break a leg. That’s what you theatre types say, right?”

Lydia nodded as she took a sip of her coffee. It tasted just as incredible as the previous time, possibly even better. “I don’t think I can go back to Starbucks ever again,” she sighed.

“Then don’t. I personally recommend coming here every day.”

“I think I will be taking you up on that. I’ll see you tomorrow…” Lydia trailed off as she realized she didn’t know the barista’s name. They didn’t wear a name tag, and she had never asked. She cleared her throat. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she repeated. “Bye.”

“See you tomorrow Lydia,” the barista called after her as she headed out the door.

Lydia checked her cup as she started walking in the direction of the theater. Just like the previous time, there was a drawing. This time it was a coffee mug on a stage saying “What’s a coffee’s favorite Shakespeare play? Macbrew!” She smiled to herself as she kept drinking it.

Thankfully, rehearsal was much smoother that day, with the ensemble (Lydia included) even earning an approving nod from David after nailing one of the more intense dance numbers. This further cemented her decision to keep going back to A Dash of Cynnamon, as their coffee appeared to be a good luck charm.

Lydia officially started her new routine the next day. Every day she went to A Dash of Cynnamon, chatted with the barista as they prepared her drink (she made sure to wake up early enough that she could linger without it making her late), and then headed to rehearsal with a bounce in her step that wasn’t just because of the caffeine.

Every day, there was a new reason that she didn’t have to pay. The store had a special sale for actors, or people wearing berets, or people whose favorite color was orange. Every day, there was a new doodle on her coffee cup, with a little message. It started off with terrible puns (“What’s it called when you steal someone’s coffee? Mugging!” “What do you call it when café customers joke about their coffee? A brewhaha!” “What did one coffee bean say to the other? I brewlieve in you!”), but eventually they began to have a more flirty tone.

Or at least that’s what Floyd called it when he snatched the coffee cup out of Lydia’s bag as they were leaving the theater after the first day of tech.

“What’s this?” he asked, peering at it. “You didn’t tell us that the cute barista was flirting with you!”

“Because they’re not,” Lydia replied.

Floyd just raised an eyebrow at her as he handed the cup over to Arthur.

“You mocha me smile,” Arthur read out loud. “I’m with Floyd on this one, they’re definitely hitting on you.”

“They’re not,” Lydia insisted. “I’m sure they draw on everyone’s cups.”

“Right,” Arthur said slowly. “Isn’t this the same barista that keeps making comments about how you’re hot?”

“I did not say that,” Lydia said, hoping it was dark enough that no one could see how hard she was blushing. “They made a comment about me being hot exactly once, I still think I might have misheard them, and I’m sure it’s just some… customer service tactic or something.”

“Yeah, that’s definitely it,” Floyd deadpanned. “Well, if you’re so sure, why don’t we put it to the test? We can all go visit the coffee shop, meet this cute and mysterious barista, and find out if they like drawing or if they like you.”

“Wait–” Lydia said.

“Why don’t we do it tomorrow morning?” Arthur interjected. “We can meet at your apartment and walk together.”

“But–”

“Perfect,” Floyd said, ignoring Lydia’s protests. “See you tomorrow! Bright and early!”

Floyd and Arthur turned down the street towards their apartment, leaving Lydia standing on the corner and trying to process the last 30 seconds. What had she just agreed to?