Dipping the toe into fic again just for a second, to fire up some tired synapses and also because I saw this earlier and if it isn’t a CS prompt then I don’t know what is:
Words: 1.2k
Rating: G
Tags: couples goals, relationship goals, married CS, committed relationships can still be fun you guys
It’s an offensively bright Monday morning and Ruby’s working her first shift of the summer at Granny’s new drive-thru when at just past eight a.m. a man pulls up to her window and blinds her with his smile.
“Good morning,” he says, accepting the cup of coffee she hands him. “How are you today, lass?”
“Um.” Ruby blinks. It’s far too early for her to be dealing with eyes that blue. And though she’s pretty much exclusively been into women these past few years, this guy’s face could probably convince her to give men another go. “Fine, I guess.”
“Listen, Ruby.” She’s startled for a moment when he calls her by her name, then recalls she’s wearing a name tag. Duh. Seriously, it’s way too freaking early for this. “Could you do me a favour?” he asks, with a smile she’s pretty sure no one who’s into dudes even a little bit has ever said no to.
“What kind of favour?” she asks warily.
He hands her a twenty. “I’d like to pay for the woman in the car behind me,” he says. “And tell her I think she’s hot.”
“Sir, I’m not sure that’s—”
He gives her a wink—a terrible excuse for a wink, actually—and drives off.
Ruby hesitates. She’s not about to help some dude sexually harass another woman, no matter how blue his eyes, but he’s left her something like a twelve-dollar tip and he didn’t seem that creepy. She watches carefully as the next car pulls up. The woman behind the wheel is definitely hot—creepy-ish dude has good taste—with long, blonde hair curled in princess ringlets and an expression that looks just how Ruby feels—that it’s way too early in the morning for any species of bullshit.
“Hey,” she greets the woman, handing over another coffee. “Um, it’s already paid for.”
“The guy in the car in front of you, he paid for your coffee.”
“Did he?” says the woman with a scowl.
“Yeah. And he, uh, he said to tell you you’re hot.”
Ruby figures this woman can take care of herself. She looks like she could flatten Mr Blue Eyes if she put her mind to it, and if he’s being a creep she deserves to know.
The woman heaves an annoyed huff and rolls her eyes. “Thanks,” she says. “I’ll handle it.”
Ruby gives her a nod and even manages a grin despite the early hour. She likes this woman.
The next day at about the same time, the same man with the same blue eyes and a face that Ruby decides could actually be classified as an offensive weapon pulls up to her window, the twenty already held out between two fingers.
Ruby glances at her list of orders. “She’s ordered a really expensive drink today,” she informs Blue Eyes. “Blended coffee with two shots of the specialty espresso and like four kinds of syrup, plus whipped cream and praline sprinkles.”
Blue Eyes laughs. “Well played, love,” he murmurs, almost to himself, and pulls another ten from his wallet. “Tell her she’s devastatingly beautiful and her clever tricks only serve to further inflame my passions.”
Ruby chokes. “I can’t tell her that!”
Blue Eyes widens his blue eyes and lets his lip quiver slightly, like the fucking cat from Shrek, Ruby thinks grumpily. It’s still too damned early to be dealing with this. “Fine,” she huffs. She snatches the thirty bucks from his hand and exchanges it for his drink.
He shoots her a lopsided grin that has her heart actually skipping a goddamn beat and another terrible wink, then drives away. A minute later Princess Curls pulls up, already looking resigned.
“Apparently you are devastatingly beautiful and your clever tricks only serve to further inflame his passions,” Ruby informs her as she hands over the monstrous coffee drink. The woman’s eyes narrow.
“So that’s how he wants to play it,” she says. “Thanks.”
Ruby grins. “No problem, hot stuff,” she smirks, with a far better wink than Blue Eyes could manage. Princess Curls laughs.
“Not you too,” she protests.
“If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em,” says Ruby. “Have a nice day.”
“You too,” Princess Curls replies, and drives off.
The war of wills continues for the rest of the week, escalating to the point where Ruby begins to worry that the diner won’t have the wherewithal to handle the stakes of the warfare. On Wednesday, Princess Curls orders another massive coffee with a side of chocolate chip pancakes. On Thursday Blue Eyes gives Ruby a fifty and a slip of paper on which grilled cheese, onion rings, chocolate milkshake is written in such perfect handwriting Ruby is half convinced it’s a font.
“She’ll call in this order at about twelve-thirty,” he tells her. “Make sure she doesn’t lay down a dime.”
On Friday Princess Curls orders three coffees and enough breakfast food to feed an army. Granny chuckles to herself as she cracks eggs on the grill and Blue Eyes hands Ruby a crisp hundred-dollar bill with a flourish. “Tell her that her beauty puts the dawn to shame, and add a fruit salad to her order,” he says with a smirk. “Chocolate chip pancakes and extra-crispy bacon doth not a healthy breakfast make.”
“No,” mutters Ruby, “I don’t suppose they doth.”
On Saturday she’s off drive-thru duty and feeling a bit let down. She didn’t realise how much the romance of Blue Eyes and Princess Curls brightened her morning until she found herself facing a busy weekend without them. And she has Monday off. She gives herself a bracing pep-talk then swings through the doors from the kitchen with a pot of coffee in each hand, stopping short when she sees Blue Eyes grinning his weapons-grade grin as he leans against the counter.
“Regular for me,” he tells her, just as the door jangles and opens to admit Princess Curls. “She, on the other hand, has become addicted to those sugary monstrosities.” His grin softens as Princess Curls approaches and he slips an arm around her shoulders, pressing a kiss to her temple.
“Hold up.” Ruby sets both pots down on the counter and puts her hands on her hips. “Hold the fuck up. Are you telling me that all that crap with the buying your coffee and the telling you you’re beautiful—that actually worked?”
“It did,” laughs Princess Curls. “About ten years ago.” She holds out her hand to Ruby. “I’m Emma Jones and this is my husband, Killian.”
“Husband,” repeats Ruby faintly, shaking the proffered hand.
“Afraid so,” says Emma, and Killian gives a long-suffering sigh.
“Can I help it if after ten years my wife is still the most beautiful woman in any room?” he asks. “No offence, Ruby.”
Ruby holds up her hands. “Absolutely none taken.”
Emma and Killian find seats in a booth and linger over their breakfast—more pancakes for her, toast and poached eggs for him—and when they come to the counter to pay, Ruby waves their money away.
“You’ve tipped me so much this past week, it’s my treat,” she says. “Just—never change, you guys, okay?”
Emma and Killian exchange a look, then wrap their arms around each other and turn back to Ruby. “We won’t,” Killian promises, with more solemnity than Ruby expected from him. Emma nods in agreement.
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