issy @hexyissy - Tumblr Blog

the girl next door (is not a grandma) pt 6

pairing: joe keery x reader

cw: NONE!!! Lots of pastries, sweetness, bonding moments, teasing in playful and sibling way. toooooth rotting fluff!! (not proofread, sorry. i know, i hatemyself)

summary: joe taking his sisters to your café and finally meeting them. then, the old man from 6D starts telling the whole love story from his point of view to them.

issy talks: a request from anon thank you so much mwa. i'll post tomorrow or on wednesday the drabble about the reader and the post-animal interaction mwa!

the girl next door (is not a grandma) masterlist

taglist: @bdllvr @sensiblyfreshtroll @roseosstuff @maferin @valentine-night @batmanssssss @eller41 @dramallama9 @psicodelica-me @fionaisinlove @helaenabugmom @harringt0nangel @yerxm @songkangslvr @bluehexagon8 @offbrandhandymanny @eli0eli0 @storietilman @wtfaidhblog @dopeysunflowers @joekeerysbicep @b1uegemz @keery-poynter @nakano-nanami @missnxthingg @jajabsvsjsja @projections-mortal @simsimstay2017 @purplerainx1 @msdankworthpotter @twilight-sparkle67 @redvelvetcupcke1 @princessofthefrogss @greggspinksprinkledonut @incrediblycosmicscythe @needylittlebabyintherain @thisisourforest @s3xytosomeone @oohlillie @tsuubakill @velvetciders @aquariusmermaid2626 @willyoucry13 @ladybuugg @litlmisss @unclejeezysblog @leisilver @cliffuckingdovahkiin @whoxoxovi please let me know if you wanna get tag xoxo

Joe’s sisters already loved you before they even met you. They already have a hint about what Joe's relationship is because Joe in love sounds exactly like Joe rambling.

So, the second he finally admitted the two of you were officially dating? His sisters lost their minds. One screamed. One started to pray. One demanded pictures. One immediately shouted, “FINALLY FINALLY!!”

After weeks of begging, they’re finally coming to your café. Unfortunately, you’re trying very hard not to spiral about it. Which mostly means reorganizing pastry displays that are already organized while your staff watches in amusement.

“What if they don’t like me?” you whisper dramatically while fixing the cupcake labels for the fourth time.

One of your coworkers blinks at you “Joe looks at you like you invented love.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“They’re literally related to him,” your coworker says. “They’re probably already obsessed with you.”

You groan softly, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from your apron “What if they hate my pastries?”

Your coworker stares blankly “That sentence is offensive.”

Before you can spiral further, familiar arms suddenly wrap around your waist from behind. Immediately, you melt slightly into the touch.

Joe

“You’re overthinking again,” Joe murmurs against your temple.

You sigh dramatically “What if your sisters hate me?”

Joe physically recoils “hate you?” he repeats like the concept personally offended him. “Honey, they already love you.”

“How?”

Joe laughs softly “Because I never shut up about you.”

Your face warms instantly “Joseph David.”

“It’s true,” he says shamelessly. “One time I called them just to describe your hot chocolate.”

“You did not.”

“I absolutely did.”

The café is unusually quiet today. Soft jazz hums through the speakers while sunlight spills lazily through the windows, warming the glass pastry cases.

The whole café smells like sugar and espresso and vanilla.

Home.

Your home.

Joe’s favorite place in the world.

꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧

The bell above the café door jingles. You immediately straighten. Only for your shoulders to drop again when you realize it’s not Joe’s sisters.

Instead, the old man from 6D slowly walks inside with his cane.

“Oh,” you mumble.

The old man narrows his eyes immediately “You sound disappointed to see me.”

You gasp dramatically “I would never.” Joe snorts beside you.

“Anyway, good afternoon, young lady,” the old man greets warmly as he approaches the counter.

“Good afternoon to you too, sir,” you reply with your sweetest smile. “What can I get for you today?”

“Just a banana pudding and peppermint tea.”

You nod immediately, preparing it carefully while he watches you fondly. When he reaches for his wallet, you shake your head. “No, it’s on the house.”

The old man pauses “And why is that?”

“A thank-you for watching Ponkan last week after he escaped into the hallway again.”

Joe laughs immediately. “That cat thinks survival is a game.”

“He fears absolutely nothing,” you sigh.

“Except baths,” Joe adds.

“True.”

The old man smiles softly before glancing toward Joe. Then suddenly points his cane at him accusingly “Don’t you ever break her heart.”

The old man was the first ever person both of you told that you two are finally dating. Well, you and Joe have no choice when the old man catches you and Joe kissing inside the elevator.

Joe straightens instantly like he’s being interrogated by the police “Sir,” he says seriously, “I would literally die first.”

The old man nods approvingly “Good answer.”

About ten minutes later, the bell jingles again suddenly the quiet café fills with overlapping female voices.

“You said LEFT!”

“I DID say left!”

“Joe, your directions suck!”

“You all ignored my texts!”

You freeze immediately. Joe grins “They’re here.” and that makes your stomach flip harder.

Four women walk into the café carrying the exact same chaotic energy as Joe.

One notices him immediately. “There he is!”

Another points accusingly. “You made us walk around the block twice.”

“That’s because none of you listened to me,” Joe defends.

“You text like a forty-year-old father.”

“That’s genetic!”

Then, their eyes land on you. And suddenly all four sisters go suspiciously quiet. Joe notices immediately “Oh no,” he mutters. “Don’t do the thing.”

“What thing?” one asks innocently.

“The evaluating thing.”

“We’re not evaluating.”

“You absolutely are.”

Joe guides them toward the table near the windows while you wipe your suddenly sweaty palms against your apron. Then Joe turns toward you, his expression softening immediately.

“So,” he says warmly, “this is my girlfriend, Y/N.”

Girlfriend, the word still makes your heart flutter embarrassingly hard. You smile nervously. “Hi,” you say softly. “It’s really nice to finally meet all of you.” Immediately, all four sisters light up.

“Oh my god, she’s adorable.”

Joe drops his head dramatically against the table “Please don’t bully me in front of my girlfriend.”

“No promises.”

One sister grabs your hands instantly “You have no idea how much we’ve heard about you.”

Another nods “He talks about you constantly.”

“Like constantly constantly,” another adds.

Joe points accusingly “I trusted you people.”

“You called me once just to asked what’s the best give for a girl who loves to bake,” one sister says.

“I panicked!”

You burst into laughter while Joe turns red instantly. Unfortunately for him, the more embarrassed he gets, the more his sisters enjoy themselves. You start taking their orders despite their protests.

“Joe already picked everything for us,” one sister says.

“He has favorites,” another adds knowingly.

Joe shrugs proudly “Her food changes lives.”

Before you can retreat back behind the counter, one of your coworkers physically nudges you toward the table.

“I got it,” they whisper. “Go sit with your boyfriend before he starts looking emotionally distressed.”

“I do not look emotionally distressed,” Joe argues.

“You literally stare at her whenever she walks away.”

Joe gasps “I’m being attacked.”

“You’re in love,” one sister corrects calmly.

Eventually, you slide into the booth beside Joe. Immediately, his arm settles behind you naturally, fingertips brushing your shoulder absentmindedly. Easy, comfortable, like loving you became muscle memory already.

The pastries arrive one by one.

Honey Lavender Latte Cookies.

Strawberry shortcake.

Ensaymada.

Leche flan.

And for a moment, the table goes completely silent. You panic immediately “Oh no,” you whisper. “You hate it.”

Then one sister slowly lowers her fork “This,” she says emotionally, “is the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”

Another points dramatically at Joe “You undersold her somehow.”

“I told you!” Joe says proudly.

“You described the hot chocolate as if it healed your childhood.”

“It DID.”

The table dissolves into laughter again. and somewhere nearby, your staff are very obviously pretending to mop the same spotless floor while listening.

Terribly.

Suddenly, the old man from 6D speaks up from the next table over. Without even looking away from his tea, he says: “It took those two MONTHS before they finally met in person.”

Silence.

Then all four sisters slowly turn toward him.

Joe chokes immediately “Sir.”

The old man continues calmly “I’m basically the matchmaker.”

Your eyes widen “Oh my god.”

“I watched the whole thing happen,” he says proudly. “Cupcakes outside doors. Sticky notes. Jazz through the walls.”

The sisters are already giggling uncontrollably “No way.”

“THIS is the cupcake neighbor story?!”

The old man takes another slow sip of his peppermint tea like he’s about to tell the greatest romance story of the century. Which, apparently, to him, he is. Meanwhile, you are actively trying not to slide underneath the table from embarrassment. Joe looks about two seconds away from doing the same.

One of his sisters leans forward immediately, fully invested. “No, wait,” she says. “Start from the beginning.”

The old man hums thoughtfully “Well,” he says, setting his cup down carefully, “it started with cupcakes and jazz.”

You let out a tiny horrified noise. Joe drops his forehead against your shoulder “I’m begging you.”

The old man ignores him completely “She moved into our floor carrying too many boxes,” he begins fondly, nodding toward you. “Tiny thing looked like she was one bad trip away from falling down six flights of stairs.”

“I was fine,” you mumble weakly.

“You were absolutely not fine,” the old man says immediately. “I remember because you tried carrying a lamp, three books, and a plant all at once.”

Joe laughs beside you “That sounds exactly like you.”

You glare at him “You’re supposed to defend me.”

“I can’t defend something that’s true.”

The old man points his spoon dramatically toward Joe now “And this idiot comes back from tour the next day.”

Joe sighs deeply, “Why am I the idiot already?”

“Because you heard jazz through the walls and immediately decided she was seventy years old.” The entire table erupts.

One sister literally wheezes, “THAT’S DEFINITELY JOE.”

Joe points defensively. “There was baking involved!”

“And Ella Fitzgerald!” the old man adds.

“AND Ella Fitzgerald!”

You bury your face in your hands while laughing, “Please stop.”

The old man continues proudly “Every evening after that, the hallway smelled like vanilla and butter. Like a bakery decided to move into the building. His voice softens slightly “Honestly,” he says, “the floor felt warmer after she arrived.” And suddenly everyone quiets a little because somehow that sounds exactly like you.

“She baked for everyone,” the old man continues. “Me. Neighbors from the fifth floor. The mailman once, even the landlord.”

“That landlord cried over her brownies,” Joe mutters.

“He did,” the old man agrees seriously.

One sister gasps dramatically, “She weaponized baked goods.”

Joe points immediately, “EXACTLY WHAT I’M SAYING.”

“And then,” the old man says with a grin, “she always left cupcakes, tarts, croissants, and post-it notes outside his door.” The old man looks delighted now that he has a full audience. “Sometimes, he’d come asking me questions.”

Joe immediately shakes his head “No.”

“Oh yes,” the old man says smugly. “‘Do you think she’s really old?’ ‘Do old ladies usually listen to this much jazz?’”

The sisters are crying laughing now. One wipes tears from her eyes “You were profiling her based on Ella Fitzgerald.”

“She has a cat and listen to lots of jazz, not just Ella!” Joe argues helplessly.

“Meanwhile,” the old man says, turning toward the sisters now, “this young lady here kept pretending she wasn’t curious.”

You groan softly “Sir.”

“She’d ask me things too.”

Your eyes widen “I asked ONE thing.”

“You asked seven.”

Joe looks scandalized beside you “You asked about me?”

You immediately avoid eye contact “No.”

The old man nods calmly “She asked if he always played guitar that late.” Joe’s entire face softens instantly “And,” the old man continues, “she’d stop her music sometimes just to listen.”

The café suddenly feels too warm, way too warm. Joe looks at you carefully now “You listened?”

You shrug shyly “You sounded nice.”

Joe stares at you like you just handed him the moon itself. One sister gags dramatically “Oh, he’s in DEEP.”

The old man chuckles softly, “They spent nearly two whole months dancing around each other.”

“Not intentionally,” Joe mutters.

“Oh, intentionally,” the old man argues. “Both too shy.”

Joe gasps “I was not shy.”

The old man raises an eyebrow, “You thought she was a grandmother and tried to set me up with her.” The sisters lose it again. “And then,” the old man says dramatically, “came the great revelation.”

Joe immediately points, “Okay, no—”

“He told her to thank her grandmother for the pastries.” The entire table explodes into laughter so loud that even customers glance over. You physically lean against Joe because you’re laughing too hard. Meanwhile, Joe looks like he wants the earth to swallow him whole.

“I DIDN’T KNOW.”

“You thought your girlfriend was seventy,” one sister wheezes.

“In my defense—”

“There is no defense,” you laugh.

The old man wipes imaginary tears from his eyes. “She looked at him and said, ‘My grandmother is dead.’”

Joe groans loudly, “I remember.”

“You turned white as flour,” the old man continues happily.

“You witnessed all this?”

“The walls are thin.”

Even your staff are openly laughing now. One of them literally sits on the counter to listen better. “But honestly,” the old man says softer now, glancing between the two of you, “I knew before they did.” The teasing fades slightly from the table.

Joe looks over at him curiously “Knew what?”

“That they’d fall in love.”

"Some people arrive loudly," he says. "like fireworks, you see them all at once. Bright, impossible to miss. They light up the whole sky, and for a moment, everybody stops to look." He glances between the two of you. "But the loves that last..." He shakes his head softly. "Most of them don't arrive that way."

The table falls quiet.

"Sometimes they arrive quietly. Like a song drifting through an apartment wall. At first, it's just background noise. Something you're barely aware of. Then one day you realize you've started listening for it." His eyes settle on Joe. "You notice when it's gone."

Joe goes very still.

The old man chuckles. "That's what happened with these two. One moved in with flour on her hands and jazz on her turntable. The other kept pretending he wasn't waiting for the next batch of cookies." Laughter erupts around the table. "She brought sweetness into that hallway," he continues. "Not just the kind you can eat. The kind that makes a place feel warmer than it is."

He points his spoon toward Joe.

"And this boy..." he says. "Before her, he walked through that building like he was always heading somewhere else. After she arrived, he started lingering. Started smiling softer. Started looking like he had somewhere he wanted to be." Joe immediately ducks his head while his sisters lose their minds.

"Our brother yearns," one of them whispers.

The old man ignores her. "And she wasn't any better." You groan while everyone laughs. "Every time she'd leave something outside his door, she'd stand there for an extra second, listening." His eyes twinkle. "Like she was hoping the door might open." Your face burns. "Then she'd walk away pretending she wasn't disappointed when it didn't."

Your jaw drops “You noticed that?”

“I’m old, not blind.”

Joe looks unbearably pleased suddenly “You lingered too?”

“Don’t start.”

“You lingered,” he repeats with the most lovesick grin imaginable.

"The funny thing about home," the old man says quietly, "is that sometimes it isn't a place. Sometimes it's a person." His gaze moves between the two of you. "And from where I was sitting, it looked like you two started finding your way home long before either of you realized it."

The old man leans back in his chair proudly “I’m telling you,” he says to the sisters, “those two were practically married before they even properly introduced themselves.”

The sisters burst into laughter again. Joe nearly chokes “Sir!”

And you, you’re laughing so hard your eyes water now. But beneath the embarrassment, beneath the teasing, your heart feels impossibly full. Because beside you, Joe is still holding your hand under the table. Still looking at you like you’re his favorite thing that’s ever happened to him.

꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧

After that, Joe offers to walk the old man to the bus stop despite the man insisting he can manage perfectly fine on his own.

“You just want an excuse to stop me from embarrassing you further,” the old man says knowingly as he stands from the table.

Joe points accusingly. “You told my entire love story to my sisters.”

“And I’d do it again.”

“You’re evil.”

“I’m old,” the man corrects calmly. “It’s different.”

You laugh softly while Joe shakes his head, already helping the old man with his coat anyway. Before leaving, the old man pats your hand gently. “You take care of this boy, alright?”

You glance toward Joe instinctively. Joe is already looking at you , softly. Always so softly these days.

“I will,” you promise quietly.

The old man nods approvingly before pointing his cane toward Joe one last time. “And you..still don’t mess this up.”

Joe places a hand over his chest dramatically. “Sir, I’m trying to marry her eventually.”

The entire café goes dead silent. Your eyes widen instantly, Joe freezes. His sisters scream.

“JOE!”

“Oh my GOD.”

“THAT SLIPPED OUT.”

“I’M GOING TO PAINT THE ENTIRE WEDDING!”

Joe looks absolutely horrified at himself while your face burns hot enough to rival the espresso machine behind the counter.

The old man, meanwhile, looks deeply satisfied. “Hm,” he hums. “Good.”

Then he walks out smiling to himself while Joe groans into his hands. “You’re unbelievable,” Joe mutters while leaving with the old man.

One sister immediately leans across the table toward you, the second they leave.

“Eventually?” she whisper-screams.

“I—”

“Oh, please,” another interrupts dramatically, grabbing your arm. “He’s NEVER said things like that before.”

Your heart stumbles clumsily against your ribs. “He was joking,” you say weakly. Four identical looks immediately tell you they absolutely do not believe that.

One of Joe's sisters reaches for another Honey Lavender Latte Cookie. "Can I be honest?" she asks.

"Always."

She points the cookie at you dramatically. "You know what's funny?"

You tilt your head. "What?"

The sisters exchange looks immediately. The kind of look that says oh, we're about to tell on him. "Joe never stays on the phone."

You blink. "What?"

"Seriously," another sister says. "Growing up, we'd call him and twenty minutes later he'd be like, 'Okay, love you, bye.'"

"He'd disappear."

"Vanish."

"Evaporate."

The sisters nod solemnly "Like a Victorian ghost." You laugh.

"No, really," the oldest says. "We love him, but he's never been a phone person. You get twenty minutes if you're lucky."

"Thirty if he's feeling generous."

"Forty if mom guilted him first."

The table erupts into laughter. Then the oldest sister smiles "And then suddenly..." She drags the words out. "He starts calling us for over an hour."

You blink. "An hour?"

"Longer."

"Way longer."

"Painfully longer."

Your eyebrows shoot up. The sisters start nodding "Because he'd start talking about you."

You nearly choke on your coffee. "He talks a lot about me, huh?"

"Oh my God, yes."

The oldest sister points at you "YOU."

You stare at them "No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yeeees, hespent forty-five minutes talking about tulips."

Your face immediately warms. The tulips. The ones sitting in the vase in your apartment right now. The ones you'd pressed between pages of a book because you couldn't bring yourself to throw them away.

"He called me," another sister says, raising her hand. "To ask if buying someone a mug was weird."

The others burst out laughing "Oh my God, the mug phase."

"The mug phase?"

"He was obsessed."

You stare.

"He literally called me from Japan."

The sister places a hand over her chest dramatically "'Do you think she'd like this one?'"

"'What color would she pick?'"

"'Do you think she already owns this one?'"

Your heart does a small embarrassing thing inside your chest. You remember those mugs. The Sanrio collection now displayed proudly on your kitchen shelf. The mugs you use constantly. The mugs Joe always reaches for first whenever he's at your apartment.

"He really asked all that?"

The sisters look at each other, then immediately burst out laughing. "He asked MORE than that."

You hide your face behind your hands "Oh my God."

"We know about Ponkan too."

You lower your hands. "What?"

"We know everything about Ponkan."

You laugh so hard your stomach hurts. One sister points accusingly. "We know he steals bread." "He stole half a croissant once." "We know he screams outside the bathroom." "We know he sits on your recipe notebooks."

You stare at them, because some of these stories happened months ago. Things you'd mentioned once. In passing. Things you barely remembered telling Joe.

"We know about your café." "We know about your favorite Ella Fitzgerald records." "We know about your grandmother."

The teasing softens slightly, "We know how much she meant to you." Your smile grows smaller, for a moment you remembered her.

"We know about the first time you sold out of pastries." "We know about the little girl who comes every Thursday for cake pops." "We know about the customer who proposed here." "We know about your cinnamon hot chocolate."

Your eyes widen. "How do you know all this?"

The sisters exchange another look. Then the youngest smiles. “Because Joe told us."

The words settle gently between all of you. Soft as powdered sugar. Because Joe told us. Not because they asked. Not because he had to. Because he wanted to. Because somewhere between baking and music and elevator rides, you had become one of his favorite things to talk about.

The oldest sister reaches across the table and squeezes your hand. "The thing is..." Her voice softens. "Joe's always loved people."

You look up.

She smiles, "But with you?" her eyes crinkle. "He pays attention." The table falls quiet. Not awkward. "He remembers things now," she continues softly. "The day before he met you, he called me because he couldn't find his keys."

You blink "Okay."

"The day after he met you?" You wait.

"He called me because you neighbor liked jazz."

The entire table bursts into laughter. "And he smiled the whole conversation."

You feel your heart melt a little. Then a little more. Until it feels suspiciously similar to caramel left too long in the sun. And in the middle of all their stories, surrounded by coffee cups and crumbs and afternoon sunlight, you realize something.

You hadn't been worried whether Joe's sisters would like you. You'd been worried about whether you'd fit. Whether you'd belong. But sitting here now, listening to them laugh and tease and tell stories about the man you love.

Now it’s just you and his sisters sitting together in the warm little café while soft jazz hums quietly overhead. The late afternoon sun spills gold through the windows, catching against empty coffee cups and half-eaten pastries.

Then Joe’s sister reaches over and gently takes your hand. Immediately, your attention snaps back to her. Her expression softens. “Thank you,” she says quietly. “Really, for making Joe this happy.”

The sincerity in her voice catches you off guard. You glance down shyly, fingers curling slightly around hers. “Oh no,” you murmur softly. “He’s the one always making me smile.” It’s true.

You think about late-night pasta dinners in your apartment. About sticky notes left outside doors. About Joe showing up toys he bought for you cat. About guitar lessons turns into heavy make-outs. About Joe willingly to stay up late just because you’re experimenting. You think about how naturally he’s settled himself into your life.

You smile softly and add, “I think I should be thanking all of you too.” The sisters collectively melt.

One of them sighs dramatically, “See? This is why he’s obsessed with you.”

Joe’s oldest sister watches you fondly “You know,” she says softly, “I don’t think I’ve seen him this genuinely happy in a really long time.” The teasing fades a little around the table “He smiles differently now,” another admits. “and lighter,” one adds quietly.

The words settle somewhere deep inside your chest.

You glance toward the café windows instinctively, like maybe Joe will suddenly appear outside. “He deserves that happiness,” you say softly, you mean it with your whole heart.

The sisters notice, of course they do. One immediately points at you dramatically “Oh, you’re staying forever.”

You choke on your own laugh “What?!”

“You love him, you’re in deep like him.”

Your face burns instantly “I—”

“She’s blushing,” another whispers loudly.

“She’s literally glowing.”

Before you can defend yourself, one sister leans forward excitedly. “We’ve already decided,” she announces.

“Decided what?” you ask nervously.

“You’re coming to Christmas.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh—”

“And don’t even THINK about saying no,” another adds immediately.

“Please bring those honey lavender cookies,” one says dreamily. “I’ve been thinking about them ever since Joe described them.”

“And the hot chocolate,” another says. “Apparently it changes lives.”

“It does,” you mumble automatically.

All four sisters point at you simultaneously “SEE?” You cover your face laughing while they all giggle with you.

By the time Joe finally comes back into the café, cheeks pink from the cold outside, he immediately slows when he sees the five of you laughing together like you’ve known each other for years.

Something in his expression softens instantly. Almost boyish, almost relieved.

One sister notices him first “There’s the lover boy.”

Joe groans “Can you all stop calling me things?”

“No,” they answer together.

꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧

One by one, Joe's sisters finally begin gathering their things. The table is a disaster of empty coffee cups, pastry crumbs, and laughter that still seems to linger in the air.

"You can't leave yet," you complain lightly as one of them stands.

"We literally have a flight tomorrow."

"Details."

"She's already trying to keep us."

"Joe, your girlfriend likes us more than you."

"I do not," you say immediately. The sisters stare. You pause. "...Okay, maybe a little."

The café erupts into laughter. Before they can leave, you disappear into the kitchen and return carrying four paper bags. Each one tied neatly with ribbon.

The sisters immediately gasp. "Let me take a picture."

"No."

"You did not."

You smile shyly. "I did."

Inside are boxes filled with pastries. Honey Lavender Latte Cookies. Mini brioche rolls. Slices of banana bread. A few cupcakes and extra cookies because you know they'll disappear first.

"You really didn't have to do this," Joe's oldest sister says softly.

"I wanted to."

One of the sisters clutches the bag dramatically against her chest "I'm framing this."

"Please don't frame food."

"No promises."

Before leaving, each sister hugs you and every hug feels warmer than the last. By the time the final goodbye is said, you're no longer nervous around them.

Somewhere between the teasing and the stories and the pastries, they've started feeling less like Joe's sisters and more like people you've known forever.

"Christmas," one reminds you while backing toward the door.

"We're serious."

"Bring the cookies."

"And Joe."

"Mostly the cookies."

"HEY."

The bell jingles as they disappear outside laughing. Silence settles over the café. Not lonely silence, comfortable silence. The kind that comes after a really good day.

Your staff leaves shortly after, throwing you teasing looks on the way out. "Bye, lovebirds."

You watch Joe moving around, helping without asking. His hair is slightly messy from one of his sisters constantly ruffling it, standing there with a damp rag in his hand, he looks impossibly handsome.

"You know," you say softly.

"Hm?"

Your smile grows. "They really are wonderful."

Joe glances up. The relief on his face is immediate "I told you."

"I know." You wipe down the counter slowly. "I was still nervous."

"They would've loved you even if you served them burnt toast."

You snort "That's a lie."

"Okay, maybe not burnt toast."

"Thank you."

Joe pauses "For what?"

"For sharing them with me."

Something gentle settles across his face. Your heart does that annoying little flutter again. Joe dries his hands on a towel before walking toward the counter. He leans against it and studies you quietly.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Joseph."

His smile appears "I just like looking at you."

Your face warms immediately. "That's a ridiculous thing to say."

Joe reaches across the counter and catches your hand. Just because he can. Just because he wants to. His thumb brushes over your knuckles. A tiny gesture, an ordinary one.

Yet somehow it feels more intimate than every story told today. Outside, the city keeps moving. Cars pass. People hurry home. The world continues. But here, everything feels warm, sweet, slow. Like the last bite of dessert you're never quite ready to finish.

Joe squeezes your hand gently and when you squeeze back, his smile softens into something so full of affection it almost hurts. Neither of you says anything, you don't have to. The whole day already said it for you.

issy talks again: thank you all for the comments, reblogs, likes, and support. i love you all! XOXO

divider by @sisterlucifergraphics thank youu!!

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

issy