twelfthsong | — I'ᴍ ʀɪɢʜᴛ ʜᴇʀᴇ, ᴅᴀʀʟɪɴɢ Dᴏɴ'ᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴏʀʀʏ 'ʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴀ ᴛʜɪɴɢ, ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴏʀʀʏ 'ʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴀ ᴛʜɪɴɢ

( for makemeasong )

[The Coffee Box was a blink and you miss it hole in the wall coffee and tea shop nestled in the heart of Lancashire. The usuals that frequented the establishment were devout in their love for it all for various reasons, but if you asked any of them why it always boiled down to two things: the magic of the quaint little shop and it's kooky, sometimes grumpy, but kind owner.

The magic was unexplainable. There was always just the right amount of tables and chairs open for you and whoever it was you were coming with. The shop kept odd hours, but whenever you seemed to need it the most - whether it was for a hot cup of tea to soothe a sadness, or a respite from a freak rainstorm - it was there. It wasn't just a coffee shop though; it sold other assortments of things like baked goods (but it was usually whatever the owner felt like making that day so there was no set menu) and was decorated with shelves that held books upon books of any kind of subject you could imagine.

And the owner - well he was another story. He was a former professor that had relocated to Lancashire 'against his better judgement' instead of moving home to his hometown of Glasgow. He seemed to have endless stories to tell each wonderful, a little hard to believe, but always with some kind of lesson. The music that played in the coffee shop was always an assortment as well but sometimes if patrons were lucky, he'd play some guitar himself if the mood struck. All of that was to say that some patrons did have their eye on him (even some of the younger crowd thought he was a bit of a silver fox); and while he allegedly lived alone he always sported a dull, brushed gold ring on his wedding finger and managed to dodge any questions about his marital status.

The bell from above the door of the Coffee Box rang on that particular rainy, drizzly day, prompting him to poke his head out from around the corner calling to whoever it was that had entered the shop.]

Umbrellas in the bucket by the door or you'll clean up the mess yourself. And we just sold out of the blackberry tarts, I'm afraid. Better luck next time.

Edited 2022-08-16 15:37 (UTC)

[ When Clara stumbles into the Coffee Box, she's been wandering around Lancashire in the rain for hours. She hasn't been home in a while, traveling around the world and taking photos for a travel website. But while she was pretending to work in Hawaii she'd gotten a call from her father that there'd been an accident and her mum was gone. Not hurt but fine, not in the hospital with serious injuries. Not anything other than dead with no warning and no time to say goodbye.

Ellie was Clara's reason for her entire career; her mother had been the one to ecourage Clara to branch out and go where her heart took her, like a leaf in the wind. Now she's home, her mother's in the ground, and her dad's gone off the deep end, locking himself in the bedroom and refusing to talk to anyone. Before trying again, Clara needed to clear her head and try to figure out how to be the adult for her dad.

Walking in, she hears someone call out instructions and looks down at the bucket before depositing her umbrella there and hanging up her coat. Looking around, she can't help but breathe in and close her eyes, feeling like she's just wrapped herself up in a warm, familiar blanket. When she opens her eyes, she catches a head of white hair before it disappears again. ]

Allergic to blackberries, sounds like I avoided disaster.

[ She steps aside as the only other person inside heads back out into the grey day. Walking toward the counter, Clara pushes a hand through her hair, trying not to look as tired as she feels. ]

Just a couple coffees, please.

[There's a clatter from the kitchen and a beat later the same man emerges from the other side. His hair seems to have a mind of its own and it's hard to tell whether or not he just rolled out of bed or if it's just like that naturally, but either way, it gives him a slightly hectic look.

He bustles over to the counter, quickly waking up the tablet to punch in her order.]

Black? Do you need cream, sugar, anything else?

[ She wonders if he's doing everything himself, then changes her mind, but only a little. ]

Actually, don't fill the to-go order yet. I'll take a coffee here, with cream and two sugars. And whatever your favorite baked good is out of what's left.

[ Clara never chooses things for herself the first time she goes anywhere. She likes to know what other people enjoy and can't turn it off, even at home. Tugging out her wallet, she rifles through her bills of foreign currencies before finding what she should cover everything. ]

I'll grab the other coffees when I leave.

So is that two coffees or three? [John's finger hovers over the tablet looking at what someone could call skeptically.] You know what you decide that and I'll get you the pastry.

[And he's off again in a blur towards the display cabinet. There isn't much left with it being almost the end of the day but there's still some croissants from this morning that are fluffy and buttery, filled with an earl gray cream filling. He hands it to her on a plate along with her coffee in a mismatched cup and her request fixings.]

Decided yet?

[ She watches him moving and comes to the conclusion that he must be the owner before he faces her again and she gives him a small but still dimpled smile. ]

Three coffees, two to go.

[ Taking the plate and coffee she looks around at the shop as she makes her way to a tiny table. ]

How long has your shop been tucked away here?

Years. Can't keep track of them anymore to be honest but it's younger than you are. Probably.

[It's both a lie and a truth. There are some days when he wakes up and it's like the week has bled into the next. He punches in the order and hands her back the change noting the foreign bills from before.]

Did you just come back from somewhere else? Rome? [He nods towards her wallet.]

Edited 2022-08-16 20:59 (UTC)

I guess it's been a while since I've been home.

[ She says it under her breath but it's audible. At his comment, she shakes her head. ]

No, that was before. I was in the States before I landed here. I travel for work. more than I thought, apparently.

[It's enough to make him cock his head but he doesn't comment on it otherwise. Instead he heads around the counter to clean some of the books that have been strewn about the place.]

Ah well I guess a welcome back to Lancashire is back in order then. [He was perceptive but it didn't mean he was great at reading people.] What do you do for work?

[ At his welcome, Clara looks away and out of the window for a second, not even bothering to reply to that part before letting out a breath and taking a sip of coffee. ]

I take photos on assignment for a travel magazine. [ Looking up at him she smiles but shows no teeth. ] I don't even have my own flat, that's how often I stay in one place.

Or not? [He mutters it under his breath as he turns away from her to put the books back on the shelves before casting a glance over his shoulder.]

Ah a real traveller then. So I'd assume that you're here to visit...family?

[ Clara lets his question hang there for a few beats before answering. ]

You know that huge accident in downtown London last week? [ She looks up from her plate and shifts in her seat. Over thirty people died, and it's been in the news constantly so it'd be difficult to miss she supposes. But she hasn't said it out loud yet. One whole week and she's avoided it, so she stalls with the question. ]

My mum was one of the victims. Which is...a hell of a thing to say. [ Her vision blurs but she stubbornly clears her throat and keeps going. ] I've been taking care of things for my dad.

[He's collecting the dirty dishes from the trolley and the clatter of dishes signal him pausing briefly.]

Ah. Not the best circumstances to come home then. I'm sorry to hear that.

[And it sounds like he does mean it despite his slightly gruff tone. Death wasn't an easy subject to talk about in general, perhaps even more so with a stranger you had just met. There wasn't anything else you could do to comfort someone you didn't know. Her words hung in the air of the Coffee Box mingling with the acoustic guitar that played on the speakers and the patter of the rainfall outside.]

You're welcome to come here again if you need to clear your mind. And I know how it sounds like a sales play with me being the owner, but the offer stands.

[ It's the sincerity in his voice despite the gruffness that makes Clara glance over at him. ]

Thank you. But I don't wanna take up a table when there aren't very many to begin with. [ She's nothing if not polite. ] I wouldn't mind reading all the books one by one, though. It'd be a nice distraction.

[ Finally taking a bite of her pastry, she blinks down at it, then talks with her mouth half full. ] Holy shit that's good.

What, little you, taking up all the space? [He motions to the empty coffee shop and grins.] There's always room for people here if they need it. And the books need reading after all that's what they're here for.

[He's read them all at least once; part of having them down here was so that others could get joy out of them too. John has already started making his way to the back with his tray of dirty dishes and plates when he hears her speak and let out a brief laugh that echoes from the kitchen.]

Glad you like it. I wasn't sure how they'd turn out to be perfectly honest.

Really good! [ She shouts it back with her mouthful and then gets up to pick up her first book, what looks to be a well-read print of Little Women. It's a little adorable and makes her smile softly before sitting back down. ]

When he returns, she looks up at him I'm Clara, by the way. And...do you need any help? I don't mind.

[His laugh is lost to the clatter of dishes as he begins loading them into the dishwasher. Baking hadn't been something he had thought he'd get into, but there was something soothing about it that helped distract him from the rest of his day-to-day. It was so wonderfully different than lecturing and he had always enjoyed eating - so it made an easy fit for a hobby for him to pursue.

When he comes back he's got a cloth to wipe down the tables.]

John. Nice to meet you, Clara. [He's about to tell her not to worry, but he recognizes that the offer might be coming from a place of needing to distract herself and maybe prolong returning to see her dad.] Enjoy your croissant first. I'll have to pay you if you start helping me.

[ If she's here long enough, she's going to need a job. Can't exactly work for a travel blog when not traveling. But for now, she takes his advice and settles in. ]

What part of Scotland are you from? My grandparents are from Edinburgh, used to visit every summer holiday.

[ As she watches him, she tries to figure out his vibe, checking out his wedding band, his general appearance. If she had to guess she'd say widowed, but she doesn't. He's handsome though, very distinguished professor - she has no idea how on the nose she is. ]

Glasgow. Taught at the University of Glasgow for a bit before landing at St. Luke's - and now I'm in this corner of the world.

And are they now? Clearly you didn't visit enough to have the accent stick.

[He's lived in the UK long enough now to still take the piss at the accent. In his younger years he had been far more arrogant but it had since watered down.]

[ She nearly chokes on her coffee when he says he taught at the University but manages to keep it together. ]

If only we could all sound as angry as the Scots. [ She bats her eyelashes at him, giving him a smile before dropping it and shrugging a shoulder. ]

As it happens they died a while ago. I'm down to a parent and a grandparent, and all before thirty.

[ It's a joke that falls flatter than flat and she takes another bite of her croissant, savoring it. ]

You'd all be so lucky.

[He catches the batting of her eyelashes but doesn't seem to register it otherwise. Maybe she had dust in her eyes.

Thankfully John is used to silence and despite the flat joke and he considers his words before speaking again.]

Sounds like a lot of life experience though. People would call you resilient.

Edited 2022-08-17 02:00 (UTC)

[ She tries really hard to be positive, to not be sad, but this time it's harder. ]

Nah. Don't think so. I'm here, runnin' away from my dad because nothing I do is the right thing, so here I am telling my problems to a stranger who made great coffee I'm dangerously close to crying into.

[ Clara gives him a wobbly smile and clears her throat. ]

I'm not usually like this, sorry.

[Funnily enough this isn't the first time a scenario like this has happened to John. When he opened up the coffee shop no one told him that he might end up a bit of a therapist in the process. Initially it had been uncomfortable for him. He'd never considered himself someone with the right words to say especially at the outset, but over time he had gotten slightly better at it. And he thought he'd always been a decent listener.

Still, if he wanted to go into therapy as a profession he would have.

He stops wiping down the table to look at Clara, giving her something of what he hopes is a comforting smile.]

You don't have anything to apologize for. [There's a tissue box on a nearby table that he brings to her table. It's just a small gesture, but he hopes it's enough to convey that it's fine if she cries.] There are worse place to run to - or so I'm told.

It really is a nice shop. And thank you. [ She says that of the tissues and takes one but for now, she's managed to hold them off. ]

What made you decide to give baking a go?

[ Talking about him is better than crying. ]

[A small part of him is relieved to see the tears have been staved off - for now. And he returns to his cleaning.]

Always enjoyed eating. Consider it a bit of a past time in fact. And then I met a pâtissier on a trip to Paris - sat beside her on a train - and we got to talking. She invited me to her boulangerie and the rest is history.

I'm nowhere near as good as her of course, but I do bounce ideas off her every once in a while.

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