Chapter Text
Ottoman’s was the only coffee shop you were willing to splurge on.
Their coffee a delight even without all the milk and sugar you could add when you needed a kick to keep up. There had been a rush of orders this week and even after waking up past noon today you still felt tired.
As per usual, there was a line. People sitting around, working on their laptops. An old man reading the papers. A woman in a sleek suit typing quickly on her phone as she waited for her order.
The bells chimed and you couldn’t help but glance over at the man who walked in. Clad in black fitted jeans, a leather jacket despite the turn in weather over a crisp white shirt and shiny leather boots. Hair gelled back with what looked like a whole tub of gel.
With a confident swagger he took his place in line behind you. He was undeniably attractive. But you were more interested in getting your cuppa and getting all your errands done for the day than anything else.
The next few people in line went up. You were probably going to go for your usual. With just a splash of oat milk.
Two people made a bee line for the man behind you. An incredibly beautiful woman, the type that become influencers on instagram, who got free drinks at bars. She had a golden glow and her hand in the man next to her.
“Al,” she greets him, hugging him with ease. She’s loud and you can’t help but overhear them as you scroll through the sales page on net a porter. “It’s so good to see you.”
“Arielle,” the man behind you greets stiffly, not leaning into the hug at all. You can’t see his eyes from behind his aviators. “Didn’t ‘spect to see you here.”
“Just a weekend trip really,” she tells him, “the wedding plannings been crazy.”
“Aaah, yes. The wedding. Congrats 'bout that again."
Arielle doesn’t seem to sense any of his discomfort, too caught up in her own happiness. Probably an ex boyfriend then.
You’re not even trying to pretend not to listen anymore, their drama better than anything on the telly since downtown abbey ended.
The man at the til calls up, "next in line."
You’re about to go up when the man behind you throws an arm around your neck, pulling you into his side and smiling down at you as he tells Arielle, "gonna order. Wait for us?”
Arielle smiles at you warmly, “of course Al just don’t take to long.”
And before you can say anything he’s pulling you along forward to order. “I’ll 'ave a earl grey creme and whatever the lady wants.” His loose hold is the only reason I don’t move away instantly.
Al turns to you, a devilishly confident smile on his lips, the type people promising a good time and more trouble than their worth give, as he asks, “please go along with it for a couple of minutes?”
Not wanting to bother the man at the register by taking forever you add, “and a cafe au lait with oat milk.” Before looking back at Al as he finally lets go and slides his card, “and what’s in it for me?"
He chuckles, "the coffee.”
“Least you could do.”
“Listening in on people’s conversations is very rude love,” Al says, wagging his finger playfully.
You snort. “Maybe you shouldn’t have those conversations in public if you don’t want people to overhear.”
“It’s just a couple of minutes love.” His deep voice smooth as you both move to wait for your order.
“All right,” you nod, letting yourself be charmed by him.
“I’m Alex.”
You introduce yourself as well, finding it funny that everything seems to be going in the wrong order with you both.
“So,” Arielle asks, joining you both along with her fiancé. “Who’s this Al?” She’s light and genuine and you think it would be all to easy to be friends with her.
“My girlfriend,” Alex replies back casually, as if remarking on the weather. You roll your eyes at him. He’s a terrible actor or maybe he’s just that much of an arse.
“That enthusiasm,” you tease, putting your arm through his, “it’s too much.”
Alex shakes his head, smiling.
“Are you two going to make it too my wedding,” Arielle asks, “it’s in Palm springs. Just a few hours from yours.”
So he doesn’t live in the city despite his accent and we won’t ever have to talk about this again. It’s a relief. Lets you ease up from whatever this was. It said something about Alex, despite his confident demeanor that he didn’t want to be alone while his ex got married.
“We shall see,” he says noncommintantly.
“Got to get going,” she adds, “hope we can get lunch before I go back to LA or when we’re in LA.”
Alex looks like he would rather die than do either one of those things, so you answer for him. “Love too but maybe this weekends a little short notice."
"Oh okay.” She looks genuinely disappointed. They both leave and the barista calls your order out. Alex grabs them both.
“Thank you love. Really saved my arse.”
“It would’ve been easier just to tell the truth,” you note. Lies got all tangled up quickly.
He shrugs, “a lot less fun though.” Alex finally takes off his aviators. It’s frankly unfair. His wide brown eyes only adding to his already well formed features. A softness to them that ruins the idea that he’s a debonair devil the way he fronts.
“What are you going to do when she asks?”
“Lie.”
“So she’s your,” You raise a brow.
“Ex. She wanted to get married and I-,” he fiddled with the ring around his finger, a silver garish thing that he pulls off through sheer confidence, “I didn’t want to.”
“To marry her or get married at all?”“
Her…both?” He pouts, looking into your eyes.
“And what? You don’t want to look like the loser in the breakup or are you actually regretting not marrying her."
Alex runs a hand through his hair, ruinning the carefully done style. "No. I don’t regret breaking up with her. I just…I guess I’m feeling particularly old today,” he jokes.
You shake your head. “Honestly I’ve been feeling old since I finished school."
"So what about you love? Any boyfriends that I should worry about?”
Laughing, you explain, “not but it’s me you should be worried about. Did years of krav maga.”
“Really,” Alex says, looking your small form over. You might have a full figure, but you also have lots of toned muscle.
“Yeah. My dad was very into martial arts. Boxing was more his thing though. What about you Alex? Arielle said you lived in LA?”
Alex takes his time to answer, dipping from his drink. Looking thoughtfully around before replying. “I do have a place there.”
“But?”
“But I’m currently staying in London. Thought a change of scenery might be nice.”
“Are you like a drug dealer or something,” you ask unable to help yourself. London was expensive. Let alone having a place in Los Angeles too. “Or some trust fund posh kid?”
Alex laughs, almost choking on his tea. Rubbing his nose bride, before looking over at you and laughing again. “Neither. I promise love. I’m a musician.”
“So a rich kid,” you state, “all the musicians I know are broke.”
“A successful musician,” he amends.
“Like Beyoncé?”
“Not quite,” Alex says shyly. It makes you even more curious, having to wrestle this information out of him. “What do you do for a living love?”
“I’m a tailor. Mostly do handmade stuff. I always liked sewing. Even as a kid. In college I made my clothes a lot of the times and sometimes had to stitch things up throughout the day.” It had been embarrassing to have a seam unravel during class.
“Tailors make the world go round,” Alex notes, “Though the fittings are annoying, the results are undeniable.” He puffs out his chest and straightens out his leather jacket.
You laugh at his faux posh face, one you know very well from work. It took a certain type of customer to afford suits starting at 2000 pounds. “Most people ask if people really still need tailors what with poshmark and h&m.”
We finish our drinks, easily going back and forth. Alex is charming and sweet. The lull between his responses worth it, his voice holding the same quality as a good dark chocolate and just as addicting.
He tells you about LA, a place you’ve never been too. About music, going off on tangents about instruments and records you’ve never heard off and will be googling as soon as you get home.
It’s easy to fall into conversation with him. Telling him about your small family. Your sister still in uni. Your parents down by the coast. The amount of work you currently have, and all the ridiculous request you get from your customers. “I’m all for making people look as fit as they want me too and having clothes that make them feel good but there’s a limit. No cut will make you loose ten stone. Of have you suddenly look twenty years younger.”
“I admire your ability to but up with all those posh fookers.”
“I do too. Not that everyone’s bad. There’s also business people that are more middle class but a good suit is everything. Counts for more than having twent my prada ones.”
“Well,” he states, finally leaning back and ending the magic of the afternoon, reality coming flooding back because you both have things to do and he’s still just a stranger, “it’s been lovely talking to you darling but I’m afraid I already made plans for tonight."
"And I have errands to run before lazying about all day tomorrow.” You might still make it to the bank if you rush. Hail a cab.
“You’ve been the best fake girlfriend I could ask for.”
“How many have you had Alex,” you tease him, watching the heat rise to his cheeks. Feeling emboldened, you give him your number, scribbling it out on napkin, “in case you ever need a fake girlfriend. I hear it’s much easier than a real one. Not that you look like you have any trouble getting women.”
He smiles, looking over at you in amazement, as if he’s not sure your real. That he’d been lucky to run into a woman like you while getting coffee. It was too entente of a gaze for you to hold for long.
You look away, feeling surprised at yourself. It wasn’t like you to hand out your number. But you hoped that you might see him again. That it wasn’t just a one off.
“See you around love."