Chapter Text
I hate it.
There is a long line of customers waiting, looking merry and hungry and excited. The line is so long I don’t even know where it ends. There’s a huge banner up at the front of the Corner Avenue Cafe, welcoming each customer:
FREE FRENCH LATTE. TODAY ONLY!
I hate it. I hate it I hate it.
I hate it so much that I almost tear the dishtowel in my hands. Both my pout and frown are becoming more and more etched onto my face as each day goes by. And it’s been five days. Five damned days of looking at Corner Avenue Cafe across from my own—the ever famous, the ever loving, the ever-delicious makers of blueberry muffin and specially brewed coffee—Darcy’s, whose patrons are now merrily and hungrily clamoring for stupid French lattes by the stupid new and modernized so-called coffee shop, Corner Avenue Cafe, owned by an even more stupid so-called restaurateur.
Running across the street, I finally see Arya, pulling her cap down before entering Darcy’s, afraid that someone would recognize her in her disguise. As she enters, she closes the store’s blinds and removes her cap.
“Sansa, I got it!” she exclaims, actually raising a paper cup of the stupid French latte from the Corner Ave, its black cup and white font so temptingly in front of me I want to burn it. Stomping my foot, I walk closer to Arya as she settles the cup down in one of our tables. We study it for a while as if it’s some alien or meteorite so foreign we don’t know what to do with it.
“Want me to have a go at it?” Arya asks me, moving closer to the table, slowly reaching for the cup.
“No!” I exclaim, throwing the dishtowel. “I will do it.”
I feel as if I am getting executed. I take a deep breath as I lightly push Arya away and finally face the damn cup. I look at it and it looks at me, all in its black glory. I feel my anger rise even further because who would want to drink their lattes in stupid black cups? We have our drink in a welcoming white color paper cups, our logo endearing and charming (two rolling pins crossed above the calligraphy of the shop’s name—unlike Corner Avenue that has theirs in stupid white, rigid, bold font), and the taste—we sell only the best. Arya took her undercover work so wholeheartedly she actually bought a wig yesterday (but in which she showed off on the streets last night that the stupid owner of Corner actually saw her she resorted to my old, beaten cap instead).
“Brace yourself.” Arya rallies behind me as I finally move closer to the cup. I open the lid; hot moisture comes out and I almost want to cry. It smells wonderful. I clear my throat as I hear Arya take a deep breath as well and I see her shrugging apologetically. I compose myself, shaking away any other thoughts and then, I move in for the kill.
I take the stupid cup and finally take a sip.
Damn.
Damn.
I hate it.
I feel myself crying now but I try not to. So instead I offer the cup to Arya, who hurriedly takes a sip of her own, and I look away as I see the surprise and delight flash on her face.
“Oh my,” she says as I walk away, grabbing the dishtowel I’ve thrown. I am back behind the shop’s counter, trying to wipe the bar when Arya speaks again.
“It’s good. Geez, it’s really good.”
I ignore her, annoyed because I can’t find any reason to insult Corner Avenue anymore because they are, indeed, serving good drinks. I surrender and sigh, resting my elbows on the counter and placing my head on my hands and finally start to sulk.
“Aw, Sans.” Arya says. “If it comforts you, I hear Jon’s single. And damn, he’s also hot.”
**
Jon.
Jon Snow.
I’ve only seen him twice—once when Corner Avenue opened a few days back and second, when he was closing shop and saw me and Arya with the wig. I try not to stare at him to long lest I burn him with my fiery stare, but in the short span of time I did look, Arya wasn’t lying.
Jon, stupid Jon, is a looker. But that doesn’t save him from my wrath because he almost took away half of my patrons—if not for lovable Mrs. Mormont who still sits patiently in one of our booths and wait for her friends for their early round of tea and gossip.
“Oh, darling.” She spoke to me one time as I served her tea and was possibly looking murderous at the grand opening happening across the street, “Darcy’s will always remain a favorite of our town! Yours is an institution! This will be over soon, you’ll see. The people are just interested because it’s new. But they always come back. Always.”
I almost cried then but suddenly Arya shouted from the kitchen (because she almost broke another milkshake glass) that the moment was lost. But still, it was memorable.
I continue to wipe the already gleaming counter top so that I could avoid looking at Corner Avenue and compare it to my still almost empty Darcy’s. There are only three people inside when normally we get fifteen this time of the day. I feel my heart break every time I look up from the counter top as if a bulldozer just came running and hit me squarely on the chest. So aside from cleaning and wiping, I just also try to reward myself with the heavenly scent of the freshly baked goods from the kitchen that Arya’s about to display and remind myself of Mrs. Mormont’s words. They always come back. Always.
I am actually about to smile, thinking of the warm, soft buns from the oven when out of the blue, I see someone from Corner Avenue cross the street and into my shop. The bell rings as the door opens and lo and behold, enemy number one has just entered my threshold. I keep my face steady and stoic—careful not to show my anger and confusion.
Jon has the confidence to actually look around the shop but his face is unreadable so I don’t know what he made out of my empty store. I ignored the lump in my throat because I know he’s judging and he knows that he’s winning. I want to throw him out of my shop but I remind myself that I am a good hostess and even if the devil has come in, I would be an angel.
“Good morning.” I say as he finally moves closer.
“Hi,” his voice is deep but almost raspy. He offers a smile and raises a hand where I finally notice he’s carrying cups from his store. “I’ve brought you guys something.”
The nerve. The nerve of this show-off, wannabe, scruffy-looking, but absolutely gorgeous man to bring his drinks over at my own shop! I want to scream at him but I force myself not to because Mrs. Mormont is now about to open the door of the shop and I don’t want to alarm her or anything. We both turn as the bell door rings but Mrs. Mormont doesn’t take notice and Jon turns to me once more.
“Here, we’ve got some extra lattes from the kitchen and I realized I haven’t really formally introduced myself to you, being the newbie here.” he continues. “I’m Jon. I’ve met your sister, Arya, a couple of days ago and I think I saw her at the shop earlier, too. Your name’s Sansa, right?”
Damn. I want to cry. I want to cry but Jon is still here and he’s funnily looking at me already because I have been silent since I greeted him.
“Just... just wanted to drop these off,” he adds almost unsurely because I still keep my mouth shut. He places the cups on the counter and I look at it as if he put some bug in front of me.
I hear him sigh.
“Look, I just really want to give these.” he tells me. “As a gift. A neighborly gift.”
I hear myself almost snorting as I finally look up, feeling his notion to be almost challenging—neighborly, friendly? Please!
Jon slightly backs away when I don’t change my expression.
Shortly though, he snorts and shrugs. “Alright. That’s how you want it.” He shakes his head. “I’m actually trying to be friendly here, Sansa.”
He pauses and waits for me to answer but I remain silent. So, he shakes his head and looks around once more. And in that sarcastic, unforgiving, man-from-hell tone, he smirks, “Oh, and nice shop by the way. Full house.”
I hate him. I hate him and I want to kill him. I feel my anger rising and my teeth clench I only manage to say, “Go away.”
Walking backwards, almost heaving, Jon gives me a small salute before turning and walking back to his own shop. I take the cups with me in the kitchen and threw them with much fury.
**
Arya tried to console me when she noticed me hurling the paper cups at the back alleyway of Darcy’s. In the kitchen as I continue to sob, she gave me one of the freshly baked muffins that it slightly made me feel better.
“Oh, just don’t worry about him, Sans. Maybe he is just trying to be friendly.”
“What, giving out his food to the needy?”
“Sans,”
“Please, Arya. Just mind the shop for me.”
So here I am hours later and I’ve baked trays and trays of cookies for God knows who since I can’t even sell five worth of trays since Corner Avenue opened its doors. I look at the cookies, so plentiful, so warm, and beautiful, that I can’t comprehend the thought that soon, if this keeps up, I might have to close and stop baking. My eyes start to water that I disregard the last batch of dough and walk-out of the kitchen, seeing an empty, darkened, and closed Darcy’s realizing it’s already late at night.
Somberly, I walk around and feel each of the wooden tables and benches, feeling as if this would be the last time I can all touch them. I go to the bookshelf and smile as I see the worn-out romance novels and detective fiction that most of the university kids frequently read when they still hang-out here. The black and white paintings that hang at my bricked wall are a little dusty but I don’t mind and still run my hands through the edges. I stop in the corner and try to digest my surroundings—my little shop once so full of life and food and laughter suddenly becomes this empty window display. The smell of the cookies still hung so painfully in the air that it makes me cry to realize no one is on the shop to enjoy it except for me, under the mere yellow pin lights.
Taking another deep breath, shaking myself awake from the nightmare because I know there’s still tons of work in the kitchen, I wipe my eyes and walk to turn off the lights. But as I move, I see him again.
Jon.
He’s on my side of the road, on the pavement, hands inside his sweater and he’s studying me, looking curious and intent. I feel another wave of embarrassment and anger that my face turn into my automatic bitch-mode face and ignore him. I stride the room, anger swelling in my chest but I hear hurried knocks on the glass door.
“Wait!” Jon muffles from the outside.
I’m almost in the kitchen but Jon keeps on knocking that I actually contemplate and stop in my tracks. If I face him, what have I to lose? He has insulted me already and he can’t do anything anymore to hurt me. But if I ignore him, he can use that snobbery to further destroy me.
I turn around and finally face him. I keep my composure as I unlock the door.
“What?” I say as the door opens.
He exhales and smiles. “I deserve that.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“About earlier,” Jon explains. “I shouldn’t have dropped in on you like that—and with the shop’s latte too. That was...”
“Rude?”
He looks sheepish, “Yeah, rude.”
We stand in silence as I still debate whether or not to accept his apology.
“Are you still baking?” Jon suddenly asks, slightly turning his head to see behind me.
Disturbed, I frown and almost mumble, “Wha—”
“It smells good, chocolate chip?” he gives me a lopsided smile and it took me off-guard I am prompted to look away.
“Uhm, yeah.” I nod. “Dark chocolates.”
“Nice.”
I dare myself to look back at him again, thinking that ignoring him and not looking directly at his eyes would completely create new meaning and that is not what it means. No, really, it’s not!
So, slowly, I move my head and damn, he’s still staring. When he doesn’t budge despite me looking directly and questioningly in front of him, I give out a sigh and roll my eyes. This man is absolutely tiring and I can’t afford to waste an ounce of energy for him. The faster I get this over with, the better.
“C’mon, let’s get you some.” I finally tell him, opening the door widely and letting him in.
**
I lead Jon into the kitchen, unmindful of the warning bells in my head that tell me I’m absolutely crazy for leading him to my shop’s secrets. At this point, I honestly don’t know if having him in the kitchen would do me any worse seeing that he’s practically capable of doing it on his own.
I push the kitchen doors open and the delicious and homey smell of the cookies whiffs around me I’ve forgotten I am with someone for a moment I am transported into my dreamland of cookies and cakes I actually close my eyes.
I am only about to reach the cream puff house when Jon whistles behind me.
“Have you been baking the whole day?” he asks me, carrying two trays of cookies and looking at the other—uhm, twenty or so more on the steel counter. “Are you going to a children’s party or something?”
I roll my eyes again and take the trays, setting them down back on the table.
“I’ve been distressing, if you have to know.” I say defensively. “And I’m sure you probably know the reason why.”
He smiles and shrugs, acting innocent but his eyes gleams. I turn away to grab some paper bags for his take-outs.
“It’s been really rough.”
I see him lean on the table and put his hands back in the pockets of his sweater. “It’s business. And I seem to be on some pretty good competition here.”
I snort and hand him a cool tray of cookies again, “Here, have some and see for yourself.”
He gives a little bow as he takes one cookie. I watch him chew and frown as he’s digesting and reflecting on my creation. With a nod,
“That’s some insane, cookies, Sansa.”
I pretend not to notice and I don’t ask but I wonder how he knew my name. I shrug at him and offered him the entire tray and in which he fully accepts.
“Seriously, these are really, really, really, good.”
I walk around to the other side of the table and start to load the brown paper bag.
“Family recipe. And in which I won’t tell you.”
“I don’t mind.” he says, munching on what seems to be his third cookie. “I’m just happy eating here.”
“I bet.”
“This is a really nice town, you know.” he tells me, looking very comfortable with his surroundings here in my kitchen. “Never been to a quaint and sophisticated town as this.”
“I believe it was even better.”
“Before I came?”
I don’t hesitate because it feels like he’s challenging me so I look up from what I’m doing and point-blank say, “Yes. So much better.”
He laughs loudly, nods, and happily takes another cookie. I walk back around and when I reach him, I give him the cookie bag.
“Here, take this home with you. It’s possibly going to be the last time I’d be baking this for a long time.”
He frowns, “Why’s that? This seems like a best-seller.”
“It was.”
Jon keeps still before exhaling. “Don’t say that.”
“It’s true though.” I explain again and push the bag to him again. “It’s only been a few days but it’s killing me.”
“Sansa,”
“You’re killing me.”
“This is business, you can’t just give up, you have to...”
“I’d probably be closing soon because...”
“... just enjoy the compe—closing? Why are you closing?”
“... I will not be able to afford the expenses anymore, the ingredients, all these...”
“.... closing is the stupidest thing to do, I hear you are the best...”
“...maybe it’s time to move on and away from here...”
“... don’t be ridiculous...”
“...maybe just go to Paris and marry a prince or build my spaceship and write a song. Or maybe I could train as a zookeeper. I do love some animals. You know how swans and lobsters stay with their mate for the rest of their lives? Yeah, they do, like really. Or maybe, maybe I could start a new business! Car rentals? But that sounds weird—”
“Sansa,”
“... boutique stores? I love vintage, you know.”
“Sansa.”
“... or I could teach? Yeah! That’s absolutely a great idea I could have workshops and all that, have cooking lessons and wha—”
He’s kissing me. Jon, stupid Jon, is kissing me. He pulls away even before I could take it all in, my senses all in shock I can’t look away even if I want to.
“Sansa, shut up.” he says finally, holding me in arm’s length.
**
I remain quiet about the whole thing with Jon. I couldn’t even remember what happened after but I know he forgot to bring with him the bag of cookies because Arya complained about it earlier saying it would get spoiled. She doesn’t ask questions but she gives me side-way glances whenever I pass by the kitchen but I ignore her. I can’t even wrap my head around what happened and my hand is throbbing painfully I can’t even wipe the counter top.
The entire day I try avoiding looking at Corner Avenue but sometimes I see Jon in his black apron serving his customers, all jolly and as if nothing trivial has happened last night. I sigh as a thought occurs to me because I may be the only one making a huge deal out of it. Maybe it doesn’t bother him one bit because it’s not important to him. Maybe a kiss is something he just gives away so nonchalantly to strangers. Maybe I’m just over thinking things because nothing happened last night. Just that kiss and then all hazy after.
I rest my arms on the counter, seeing an empty Darcy’s once again but all troubles about the shop flutters away as I can still clearly picture him from last night—watching me from the pavement, eating all those cookies, saying unfathomable things about not closing Darcy’s and then abruptly just kissed me. He was so close then that I remember smelling the aroma of pastries that hung to him from his own kitchen; he was so close I can see the stubble that grow in his jaw line; he was so close that I can’t help but be amazed at how handsome he truly looks—dark eyes, long nose, strong features. But behind his undeniable good looks, as I continue to wipe again the already gleaming counter top, one question remains in my head.
“Why did you kiss me, Jon?” I murmur.
The day ends uneventfully and the cash registry remains tad bit empty but I am just glad that I can finally go home and think about things again where Arya nor Jon from his shop’s window can disturb me. But I am just closing the shop door when I hear him.
“Hey,” he says from behind me.
I keep quiet, momentarily regaining sense and composure, and then I take a deep breath before turning around, knowing that I can’t just possibly ignore Jon.
“Hi,” I reply and offering him a small wave.
“Hi,” he echoes me. “I’m just wondering how you’re doing. I mean... you know...”
I can’t answer him because I don’t know what I feel about it. So I just give him a smile and a shrug.
“You can definitely hit a man.” he chuckles.
Wait, I can what?
“What do you mean?” I ask him.
Jon frowns at me, but seeing my complete confusion, he laughs. “Oh, Sansa.”
“What?”
He smiles almost so affectionately I can’t help but feel shy. “Sansa, you are absolutely one of a kind.”
“Tell me!” I now insist, moving closer and wanting to shake him. “Tell me now!”
“Sansa, you punched me.” he smirks, pointing at the lower left side of his lips where a bruise is taking shape. It’s small but quite evident I almost cringe.
“I did that?” I ask.
“Seriously, you don’t remember?”
I shake my head. But that clearly explains the slight numbing in my right hand. “I guess I was too overwhelmed.”
“You bet.” he affirms this. I look up and he’s smiling at me as if punching him is no big deal and that he has actually enjoyed it. I try to smile back despite that cold trickle of embarrassment I already feel at my back.
“I’m sorry.” I whisper, looking down at my shoes.
He’s quiet for a while and then I see him moving closer until our feet are almost touching.
“Just one thing, Sansa.” he lifts my chins, forcing me to look at him. “Do you regret the kiss?”
My eyes widen and I don’t know what to say. He’s looking at me with such intensity as if he wants to kiss me—does he want to kiss me again? Now?
Do I want to kiss him again?
“Do you regret it?” he asks me one more time, leaning in closer. “Do you regret it? Do you regret that kiss because Sansa, you have to know, I surely don’t.”
He’s so close we are basically sharing the same breath, so close that I don’t have any more time to actually move, so close that there is not enough space in the world where I won’t be able to kiss him because I really want to. So, it took no amount of effort from both our ends to feel as if the kiss is forced and a choice. Because as we kiss again under Darcy’s marquee, I know I don’t regret it at all.
**
I didn’t punch Jon again. I was fully aware of what was happening—fully aware of the kiss that I actually enjoyed it. And right after, there was a stupid grin across our faces and he had actually accompanied me on my way home. Before I went in, we did the preamble and exchanged numbers, goofily talking as we realized how we’re doing all of it backwards but we didn’t care. He kissed me hard one last time before going on his way.
This morning I received a message from him, greeting me a pleasant day. And in front of Darcy’s as I open up was a brown bag with a full-packed breakfast meal from the small deli shop three blocks away. There was a note that says:
Not my cooking because I’m trying to be friendly and neighborly. I hope I’m doing it right this time.
And as I turned around and looked at Corner Avenue, there he was, looking so devilishly handsome and looking at me again, a coffee mug on one hand and giving me a salute on the other.
I’m just enjoying my turkey sandwich when Arya enters the shop and frowns at me.
“You’re happy.” she observes. “And it’s terrifying. Usually this time you’re up on your binoculars trying to spy on the competition.”
I roll my eyes at her. “I don’t use binoculars.”
“Oh, right! You use the dishtowel and wipe the counter top, say, two million times a day.”
“Arya,” I groan at her. “Just stop.”
“What’s with you?” she insists.
Definitely not telling her. “Nothing!”
I return to my sandwich and ignore Arya when a posh looking lady enters the shop with a cup of drink from Corner Avenue.
“Hey,” she says. “The owner at the other cafe says you guys bake the best chocolate chips. I just really need some sugar fix right now. Important meeting in a few. Do you mind?”
Arya is up on her heels and leads the lady to the counter, becoming the best hostess that she really is. But me? I remain in my chair at the corner table, my sandwich hang in mid-air, my mouth half-open and my mind trying to comprehend what the lady just said.
The owner at the other cafe says you guys bake the best chocolate chip...
The owner at the other cafe...
The owner...
I put down the sandwich and pull my phone out and text Jon:
You shouldn’t have done that.
It takes less than a minute when he answers back: But I just did.
I don’t know what to say. And glancing at Arya as she prepares the cookies, she smiles at me knowingly and mouthed, Flirt!
The entire day, we have customers coming in and asking for the cookies. Some are actually old patrons who seem to miraculously remember that Darcy’s has once upon a time fed them delicious food and drinks that I actually hear them say, “So glad I ate here again today!”, “God, I do miss this place.”, “Nothing beats their muffins, honestly.”
Darcy’s almost looks like how it was used to be before Corner Avenue came in. I steal glances towards Jon’s shop and it still seems to be busy as ever but the number of customers running to-and-fro the two coffee shops is such an endearing sight I could look at it all day.
I was impatient for the day to end because I want to see Jon so badly and thank him personally for what he did. And so, as Arya bids her goodbye, leaving ahead to meet with Gendry, she winks at me and says a job well done, I close Darcy’s and hurriedly cross the street to Corner Avenue. The door’s still open and the kitchen lights are visible from the outside. Careful not to topple any of the upturned chairs, I make my way to the back, excitement giving me all the courage I need. As I near, I hear the soft melodies of jazz music and then there, as I finally swing the kitchen door open, in the corner, washing the remaining dishes, Jon is nodding to the beat.
“Jon,” I breathe.
He looks up and is surprised to find me all disheveled looking, exhausted possibly because of adrenaline. “Sans?”
I realize I’m breathing fast and there’s ringing in my ears because all my emotions are just swelling inside me and this incredible man is starting to totally flip my whole world around. As he still wonders of my presence in his shop, wiping his hands on a towel, I make my way.
I turn him to me and press my lips into his—possessively and gratefully. I wrap my arms around his neck then part myself slightly from him so that I could say a breathy,
“Thank you.”
Jon looks even more determined as I finally say it again because I may have started this entire thing, but right now, he’s definitely taking the lead. He grips my waist, almost carrying me, pushing me backwards until I feel the cold steel counter. I groan with his longing and I know there’s nothing more important than this kitchen, the jazz music, and Jon’s lips on mine.
**
There’s a piece of chive on Jon’s chest. I try to remove it without waking him up, but I fail.
“What?” he murmurs, stirring awake.
I shrug and hold my laughter, “I’m sorry. There’s a chive.”
“A chive?” he asks groggily, embracing me closer and trying to pull me back to him as we lay on the steel counter.
“Yeah, a chive.” I pick it up and show it. “Funny, eh?”
He gives me a smirk and snuggles closer. “Don’t go yet, Sansa.”
I laugh because he almost sounded pleading but I indulge him. I scoot closer and wrap my legs around his waist again. As he closes his eyes, a thought occurs to me.
“Jon,” I ask. He grunts in response. “How did you know my name?”
He opens his eyes and smiles warmly, as if remembering a certain thought too. “First day I was scouting around town I dropped by your cafe. I guess you don’t remember but I remember seeing you work behind the kitchen and I was so impressed by you. I mean, how many times can a guy say that they’ve had a hot chick cook food for them? Damn. Best day of my life.”
I nudge him playfully but he continues. “And you were wearing a cap that day. I remember.”
Oh...
“And then just a few days ago, I saw that cap again. Only this time, it wasn’t you who was wearing it. So I plucked up the courage and asked your sister. I told her she looks better without it and she grumbles about the cap being her older sister, Sansa’s. And that’s when I knew.”
I frown at him in wonderment and he chuckles. “What, do you think I haven’t done anything to get to know you? You belittle me, Sansa.”
I punch him lightly, realizing now how he’s actually trying to get to know me all this time when all I did was to insult and curse him. After a while I ask him another nagging question.
“What happens now?” I whisper. “To our cafes?”
He pulls me tighter and I feel him shrug. “Nothing. We’ll try to make both work.”
“How’s that even possible?” I look up at him. “We’re competitors.”
“Not if we can do something about it?”
Jon doesn’t elaborate but my brain cells are picking it up and I can’t deny how that idea warms me.
“Let’s not think about it yet, shall we?” he speaks again. “It’s too early to talk about business, anyway.”
I laugh and but insist that we have to, indeed, move along lest his employees catch us naked in his kitchen. We quickly dress and I’m just about to say goodbye when he wraps his arms around me.
“I’ll walk you.”
It’s cold as we cross the street and we huddle together as I open up Darcy’s.
“You don’t happen to have any of the chocolate chip cookies now, do you? I’ll pay I promise.” Jon inquires.
Laughing and pulling him in as I got the door open, I lead him back to another kitchen—my kitchen—and we start to bake. We’re halfway on our second batch—and impatiently waiting for the first ones to cool so we can finally take a bite—when Arya comes in and shrieked.
“Damn, you two!” she exclaims. After she composes and helps herself with a cookie, she proudly jeers and teases us. “Can I just say to the both of you that I knew it all along?”
I roll my eyes at her as Jon chuckles. And just when Jon excuses himself for the bathroom, Arya leans in closer to me but loudly asks:
“So, I guess this means we can have free French lattes now, too, right?” she shouts.
Then in the distance, I hear Jon laugh before answering with a resounding, “Absolutely.”