Auguste knew a lot of things could go bad in a divorce. He had been prepared that Francesca would get primary custody of Mikhail, but getting the house? His lovely villa in the woods that he spent so many resources on?? The one where he had his precious writing room? With his entire book collection?? And all of his miniature figurines of torture devices?!
She took it all. Allllll. She even had the gall to send him pictures of her renovations. Truly, Francesca was the definition of a spiteful woman!
Not that he hadn’t earned her spite--but still! She could have shipped those miniature torture devices instead of throwing them out.
Well, he supposed tiredly as he unpacked the last box of books in his new apartment, his old office will make a great study for Mikhail…or a dressing room for her. He didn’t rule that out, despite his distaste for the idea. Though maybe if he had given her a giant dressing room in a corner of the villa, they would still be married.
He’d just have to make do with this tiny apartment for now. Once he’s saved enough money, he could upgrade to something nicer. She thankfully had to pay him alimony, as she made more than him in general, but whatever she gave him went right back to her as child support. So a null gain, all in all, though it meant he could safely save up through his own effort.
With unpacking finally over, Auguste allowed himself a celebration of a new notebook for a job well done. A notebook he put to use as soon as he left the bookstore, already jotting down ideas for his next novel. His current bestselling series was at its end and he needed a new one, though a few standalone books would also net him a great gain. So he wrote down everything that came to mind and was delighted to discover an idea already coming together. He went home and wrote and wrote and wrote, and by the time he looked up from his work, he realized he had fallen asleep in a very uncomfortable position. He moved to the bed, but the sun was already rising on the new day, and he had no curtains to stave it off.
Well.
Nothing he could do but stay up, he supposed tiredly. He would need a very strong coffee for that--
But then he remembered--Francesca had kept his very fancy coffee machine too. He groaned and rubbed at his temples. That thing had cost him plenty! And he couldn’t afford another one yet! He needed coffee--good coffee! There had to be a Sterorrabucks close by. No grand city like Theateropolis wouldn’t have a Steorrabucks every few blocks, even at the outskirts!
At least, he hoped so. So he pocketed his notebook, washed his face, and headed out to hunt for coffee and pastry.
Auguste walked for all of three minutes before he found a Steorrabucks, tucked into the side of an office building. He threw his arms up in the air and let out a tired cheer before he headed inside, heedless of the odd stare a passerby gave him. The line in front of the register was short, so he stood at the back of it and shambled along until it was his turn.
“Good morning,” greeted the barista with an easy smile, far too perky at this early of the day. “What can I get you today?”
“A cold brew coffee. Trenta,” he stifled a yawn, “with double espresso.”
“Anything else?”
“Three of those chocolate croissants, if you’d please.”
“Gotcha.” The barista punched in the order. “Can I get a name?”
“Auguste.”
A nod, a tally, a payment, and then Auguste moved to the side to await his order. He pulled out his notebook and wrote down quick descriptions of the people around him, in case he needed extra characters and fillers.
“Order for August!”
Auguste grumbled under his breath and pocketed the notebook. It was the same barista that took his order, so there really was no excuse. “Auguste, not August,” he said coolly as picked up his order. He frowned at the cup, as his name was written correctly.
“Sorry,” the barista chuckled and smiled, though Auguste didn’t see a hint of remorse or embarrassment. The yawn that escaped him didn’t let him linger on it, however, as he needed his elixir of awakening. He just hoped that the next time, he would get a different barista.
He came into the shop two days later to find a cute little blond thing behind the counter. He ordered a black coffee and waited on the side for his order, in a decent but exhausted mood, only to suddenly hear--
“Order for a Gust!”
Auguste looked up with a glare. It was the same barista as before, wearing a cheeky grin that let Auguste know that he was doing this on purpose.
Ooooh!! He was so mad!!!
He walked over with a huff and stood at his full height as he chided, “It’s Auguste.”
“Huh,” the barista looked at the name on the order then smiled at Auguste. “So it is. Do you still want it?”
“If I didn’t terribly need that coffee, I would leave you with it.”
“Nah, I like mine with creamer,” the barista winked. Auguste rolled his eyes, took his order, and walked away.
“Coffee for a Guest!”
Auguste’s eyebrow twitched. He knew that voice. He knew that name butchering. He glared towards the pickup area and sure enough--that same barista with blue hair and dark eyes. Auguste walked over there, mind fully made up to get his name this time so he could report him.
“Here you go~” the barista held out the drink for him with a coy grin. Auguste hated how his heart stuttered at that. Damn it all, he hadn’t received an iota of attention from his ex wife since well before his divorce, and none from anyone after. He knew it was only customer service, but he would be lying if he said it didn’t immediately lift his mood.
Still, he glanced at the barista's name, in case he needed it. Gilderoy.
…Cute name. Good name. It would be good for a book protagonist…
He was suddenly struck by inspiration and rushed to get his notebook out to jot down notes, heedless to the world. But he was soon interrupted by the barista.
“Hey, Gusty,” the barista said gently, “there’s a line forming behind you.”
The annoyance was back, but only barely. He needed to get home and get to work! “It’s Auguste,” he said again as he finally accepted his drink.
“Whatever you say, September,” the barista gave him a cheeky grin, but Auguste had no time for him. He needed to write down his thoughts before he forgot them. So he turned around and went to find a table to work on.
“Coffee for Septimus!”
The weeks passed, and Auguste came in at the same exact time every day to order his coffee.
“Coffee for October!”
Gilderoy never got his name right, and Auguste grew to be fine with that.
“Coffee for Ocatvius!”
If anything, it became a routine for them. It became a routine for Auguste to go up to the counter and chide ‘It’s Auguste’ and get that delightful coy smile and a variation of ‘Whatever you say.’ Sometimes he got a ‘handsome’ tacked at the end, or a ‘lovely,’ and he would feel like he won the lottery.
“Coffee for Rome!”
He changed his order sometimes, just to keep Gilderoy on his toes. Sometimes he changed the name on the order too, but Gilderoy always knew it was him.
“Coffee for Cupid!”
It grew to be a comfort. To come into Steorrabucks every day and be greeted with an incorrect name based off of the previous day’s one. To come into the shop and get that smile from his favorite barista.
“Coffee for Amoretto!”
It was also lamentable. Auguste knew that this was all part of Gilderoy’s customer service act, but he couldn’t help but be drawn to him. Drawn to his dark eyes, drawn to his long hair, drawn to his easy smile. To that scruffy chin he wanted to run the pads of his fingers over and feel its texture. To those broad shoulders and muscular arms. The man worked out, that was for sure…
“Coffee for a Casanova!”
Gilderoy gave everyone a warm smile, even the difficult customers. Auguste liked to think that the pet names were reserved for him, just like the wrong name calling, but he couldn’t be sure without asking, and he didn’t want to put Gilderoy on the spot like that, especially not while on the clock. He was a better man than that…
“Coffee for a Mister Romeo!”
…But sometimes he wished he wasn’t, especially on days where their hands touched around the coffee cup. He always felt electricity run through him at the feeling of Gilderoy’s warm fingers, even if it was a fleeting, ephemeral touch.
“Coffee for Shakespeare.”
He could scarcely bring himself to move away from the counter sometimes, lost in Gilderoy’s eyes. He liked to think that Gilderoy’s gaze lingering on him meant something, but he didn’t want to delude himself.
“Coffee for Mister Royal.”
He already deluded himself into thinking his marriage was fine for all of those years.
“Coffee for Regal.”
So instead he put all of his thoughts and feelings into his novel. Seeing Gilderoy every day did wonders for his inspiration and motivation. He wouldn't hesitate to call that man his muse--though he wouldn’t dare say it out loud, lest he put the man in an uncomfortable position. The best thing he could do, he had decided about halfway through the book was to dedicate the book to him. He’d ask for his full name then, he had decided near the end of his manuscript, and express his gratitude for his daily presence…
…and maybe flirt with him a little. See where it goes. Maybe even ask for his phone number, or ask him out on a dinner date….
“Coffee for a Prince~”
Or at least, he could dream.
Dreams turned to nightmares sometimes. Much like how his first marriage turned out. And his second.
“Coffee for Auguste!”
Auguste had almost dropped his pen when his name was called. The voice was loud and high pitched, and Auguste immediately knew it was a young woman’s voice--someone new to the job, even. He looked towards the pickup counter and saw a brunette there, one trying to do her best not to look overwhelmed.
He had a sinking feeling… She was new. He glanced around, he couldn’t see Gilderoy at all.
He approached the counter. “I’m Auguste,” he announced gently.
The young lady did a double take, checked the name on the order again, before she gasped with delight. “You’re--you’re my favorite author!”
Auguste internally groaned. He didn’t want to deal with this right now, especially not when he’d been awake almost the entire night, but he figured he could use it to his advantage.
“That is a high compliment, my dear,” he replied politely and she giggled. “Say, do you know anything about the barista who usually works this time?”
Her expression changed into worry. “He got fired this morning. He needed a long time off, and the manager fired him for it.”
Dark thoughts flooded Auguste’s mind immediately, as well as the urge to stab someone. It must have showed on his face, because the barista hurriedly added, “He'll be back though! The manager promised to rehire him as soon as he got back!”
“I wonder how long that will be,” he murmured more to himself than to her, but she overheard him and answered anyway.
“I’m sorry, I don't know.” She looked positively crestfallen, and Auguste knew he couldn't be mad at her, even if he did want to be angry at someone.
“Do you have an extra sleeve?” he asked her and motioned to the coffee cups.
“Sure,” she answered, confused. His order was a cold brew, and he didn’t need an insulator sleeve, but she dutifully brought one for him anyway.
Auguste took it from her and pulled apart the overlapping cardboard, until it lay flat. “Who do I make it out for?” he asked her as he pulled his pen out of his pocket.
“Oh! For Nanna!” she answered.
He didn’t need to look to know she had lit up. He wrote a simple thank you note that included her name and signed it, then handed the sleeve back to her. “I hope you have a lovely day, my dear.”
“Thank you!” She took it from him and read it. She was practically vibrating and it was adorable. “Thank you so much!”
She ran off to the back, either to put away the sleeve or show it off, or both. Auguste stared down at his half warm cold brew and picked it up with a sigh, suddenly completely uninterested in both coffee and writing.
It was just as well that Auguste only needed to edit his new novel, and even that took him monumental effort. His inspiration and motivation were gone. They had left with Gilderoy. Knowing that the man was ill, and not knowing what he had…
Would he ever see him again? Would the manager really rehire him? Would he even want to be back on the job?...
Auguste spent more time moping than working on anything. But with the incessant urging of his editor, his novel was polished and published in a mere few weeks. Auguste found himself dedicating the book to his lost muse, with a short poem that wished him well.
And then, the advertising campaign started. Auguste spent the next three months on the road, tending to interviews and book readings and signings. He spent hours a day fending off fans, whether it was pictures or autographs, and made a mental note to send a book to Nanna one day. Not that he saw her often--Steorrabucks’ coffee was well and good, but without Gilderoy there, it had lost that little magic that made it his favorite. He couldn’t drink his usual cold brew without thinking of the man’s eyes, of his cheeky smile, of his voice…
The teasing had annoyed him so much at first. Now, he was willing to do whatever he could to bring it back. To see him again, to hear his voice again…
To ask him out… He should have at least given Gilderoy his business card and left it up to him to decide to reach out or not. Or he could have been a bit ruder and asked him out directly. The man never called anyone else the wrong name, so surely it must have meant something…
Ah, but too late now, Auguste lamented as he flew to yet another city for yet another book signing. Alas, much too late…
He stared out the airplane’s tiny window, eyes tracing the shape of the evening clouds, and likened their color to the color of Gilderoy’s eyes.
Three months later found him back home with half a dozen books for him to do with as he pleased. By the time he finished unpacking, it was late afternoon, almost early evening, and he had no inclination to stay in the apartment. The windows had been closed for all of those three months, which made the air stale and stuffy. So he cracked open a few of the windows, signed one of the books, and headed out. He went straight for the Steorrabucks, heart in his throat, hoping to find Gilderoy. He paused at the door, seeing the place as busy as usual, even in the evening, took a deep breath, and stepped inside.
The line was long. He could see Nanna working behind the counter, no longer mostly overwhelmed, but highly focused instead. He recognized most of the faces, like the young man on cashier duty, and the two other baristas making orders…
…But there was no Gilderoy…
A deep sigh escaped him and his shoulders slouched. He put a hand to his face, to cover his forlorn expression as his heart sank. He let himself have a few seconds before he collected himself and went to the counter.
“Nanna,” he called to his hardworking fan. He startled at her name and smiled at him.
“Mister Auguste, you’re back!” she greeted cheerfully, “How was your trip?”
“Fruitful,” he answered and slid the book over to her, “here, a present for you.”
A hand flower to her mouth as she gasped loudly, eyes wide and sparkling. Her entire figure lit up with happiness. “Your new book!” she squealed and grabbed it, immediately hugging it close to her chest. She pulled back to admire the cover before flipping it open. “You autographed it!!”
He gave her a smile and a small bow. She squealed again, giddy, and jumped in place, thanking him over and over again. Then she ran to the back to stow it away. Auguste watched her go before he scanned the work area again, wishing he could catch a glimpse of a familiar man, but no…
He waited, wanting to ask Nanna about Gilderoy, but she took her time coming back, and he could feel other customers starting to recognize him, so he made his way out of the coffee shop and towards his home, where he knew he’d spend the evening moping the loss of his newest love.
A few days later found Auguste shambling his way to Steorrabucks after an all nighter. He was coming to the realization that he was getting too old for such things, but it was the best time for writing when he didn't have inspiration. When he didn’t have a lovely muse, with broad shoulders and an easy smile and sensual dark eyes…
He dismissed the topic from his mind and rubbed his face with his hands, lest he groan or whimper from longing. He would get over it, he knew, but it would be a while. For now, coffee was necessary if he wanted to be able to function for the rest of the day. Or half the day. Or any part of it. He ordered a few extra espresso shots in his drink. He had been on a roll earlier, and he wanted to finish the scene before he forgot it, and sleep would certainly make him forget.
Once done with his order, he stood to the side, eyes half closed as he scrolled on social media on his phone. He only need to keep himself awake until the coffee kicked in, then he could finish the scene and crash--
“Coffee for August~!”
Auguste thought he had fallen asleep standing up when he heard the call. That lovely, teasing, familiar call. He looked up, and--there he was. Dark eyes and gorgeous hair and coy smile.
Were he a lesser man, Auguste would have leapt over the counter to hug the barista. As it were, he resisted the urge to run over to the pick up counter and instead sauntered over, not tearing his eyes away from Gilderoy’s gaze.
“It’s Auguste,” he greeted in a fond murmur, leaning a hand on the counter.
Gilderoy glanced down at the cup in his hand and grinned. “So it is, but they spelled it wrong.” He grabbed a sharpie from nearby and wrote on the cup, a cold brew with several shots of espresso, before he held it out to Auguse. “Enjoy your order.”
He accepted it with a thanks, and added, “Of course I will, now that it’s passed through your hands.”
“Flatterer,” Gilderoy teased.
“Says the man who can’t get my name right.”
“Maybe if I had it written down somewhere a little more permanent than a coffee cup?” Gilderoy grinned cheekily, “like say, that book of yours?”
Auguste snorted, “I didn’t realize you were a fan.”
“‘Came a fan when I saw ya throw your hands up in a cheer that one time,” Gilderoy replied unrepentantly. It took Auguste a second to understand what he meant--and he realized that the barista spoke of the first day he had found the shop, too ecstatic for the familiar coffee.
“A nice note might make me more inclined to read it,” Gilderoy added with that familiar, delightful grin, though with the way he lidded his eyes, it made Augsute’s stomach do flips.
“Oh, very well, I’ll bring you a copy tomorrow.” He replied, doing his best to sound flippant, and stepped away from the counter. But then stepped close again and said, “welcome back.”
“Thanks,” Gilderoy’s grin softened to a warm smile, “you too.”
With a final smile, Auguste stepped away from the counter and turned to his coffee. He didn’t think he even needed it any longer, mind awake and alight with new ideas and inspiration. But he sipped at it and sighed blissfully as he made his way to a table--Gilderoy’s touch definitely made it taste better than before, and oh, how he loved it!
He put his drink on the table and sat down, quickly fishing out his new notebook for these new ideas. Just as he pulled out his pen, however, something on the drink caught his eye--his name was written correctly on the order label. Gilderoy had scratched it out, however, and written a series of numbers…
Auguste counted them and stiffened. He glanced towards Gilderoy and caught him looking at him. The barista gave him a wink and a smile then turned away. Auguste hurriedly pulled out his phone and saved Gilderoy’s phone number. He typed a message but then hesitated to send it. Did… Did Gilderoy want his number first, before they texted? Was that the reason Gilderoy had wanted a copy of his book? Was it the reason he asked for a note inside??
Auguste pocketed his phone then grabbed his drink and practically ran out the shop’s door. It sloshed all over his hand, but he didn’t care. He was not going to wait until tomorrow!! He was going to give Gilderoy the book today! He would write his number, confess who the dedication was to, and add his business card inside of it to boot!
Then! Then he would sit and write while he eagerly awaited that coveted text! He was positively brimming with inspiration, and he only needed to stave it off long enough to woo that dreamy muse!
