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You’re The) Devil in Disguise ❥ - Chapter 1 : La Temps De L`Amour (◡‿◡✿)

NOTES: “ I never just walk past your workplace. I stop. I look in through the window, every time. It’s become a habit. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and I find myself thinking about you more than I should. “ — Arthur Kirkland

All you need—all you want—is a simple, decent break. Just a moment to breathe, to sit down, to let the exhaustion catch up to you. But your boss, a stubborn old French man, doesn’t believe in breaks. He believes in hard work, in pushing through, in the idea that rest is something you earn later—if at all. So you keep going, running on fumes, counting the minutes, holding yourself together until the shift finally ends…which was in ten minutes! You just needed to hope no other customers came in, while you were almost done with work.

You were busy wiping down the tables abandoned by the last of the late-night stragglers, the diner miraculously empty for once. No customers in sight. You glanced at the clock and nearly prayed—just ten minutes left. Ten. If no one swooped in right now, you might actually survive this shift without losing your mind.

As you cleaned, you hummed along to the song crackling through the diner speakers, “She Loves You” by the Beatles. Of course it was the Beatles. Of course you were singing. You loved the Beatles—yes, you were one of those girls, and you felt zero shame about it. John, in particular, owned your soul. You proudly considered yourself his number one fan, which felt objectively correct considering the borderline-concerning number of photos of him plastered all over your room—roughly a hundred, give or take.

And the proof? The holy grail. A guitar pick he’d tossed into the crowd at a concert, now preserved like a priceless artifact. Honestly, calling it a “shrine” might have been an understatement—but in your defense, if John Lennon gives you a guitar pick, you simply don’t act normal about it.

Suddenly, the front door creaked, and the little jingling sign let out its familiar warning: someone’s here. You groaned, half in annoyance, half in disbelief. Really? Now? Just as you were about to close everything up and maybe, finally, breathe. Of course. Perfect timing. But rules are rules—you still had a job to do.

You looked up and froze for a fraction of a second. A tall, striking man stood there, like he had wandered straight out of a magazine—or a dream. His blond hair caught the dim diner lights, and those green eyes practically glimmered, glaringly out of place among the muted reds and browns of the interior. He looked… impossibly out of place, but somehow entirely natural.

You forced a small, polite smile—fake enough to make it obvious to anyone paying attention—and guided him to the worst seat in the house. Naturally. You weren’t about to make it easy for mysterious tall men who might just waltz in and ruin your carefully timed escape. Yet, there was something about him. Something that made your chest tighten just a little. He seemed… like a new customer. But somehow, you had a feeling he wasn’t just any new customer.

He gave you a polite grin and cleared his throat. “It’s my first time here. I just want your best tea…and your thumbprint cookies.”

His green eyes wandered over the menu, like he was plotting his next move. You felt a little flutter of exasperation—handsome as he was, he had this way of looking at you that was equal parts intense and… slightly creepy. Still, you couldn’t help but give him a small, teasing smile.

“Best tea, huh?” you said lightly, pouring the tea with practiced ease. “I’ll do my best. And the thumbprint cookies… well, I can’t promise they’ll survive my clumsy clutches, but I’ll make sure you get the good ones.”

He chuckled softly, leaning forward like he was genuinely intrigued, and you noticed how he seemed to enjoy your little playful attitude. You shook your head, muttering under your breath but with a smile tugging at your lips. “Of course. Of course the last ten minutes of my shift are going to be…interesting.”

Even as you moved to set his order on the table, a tiny spark of curiosity flickered inside you. There was something different about him, something that made him more than just another customer. And maybe, just maybe, that was okay.

Ten minutes ticked by, and you groaned inwardly. You were supposed to be walking home by now! Mr. Altair better be paying you extra for this nonsense. You set his order down, and he chuckled at the faint edge of frustration in your expression. Oh, he noticed alright—and somehow, he seemed to enjoy it. He patted the empty seat next to him like it was an invitation.

Was he seriously trying to get you to sit down? What an absolute idiot. You rolled your eyes but ignored the gesture, pretending to fuss with the napkins instead.

“You really don’t mind me sitting here, do you?” he said, his grin teasing, but there was a spark in his eyes—like he was daring you to call him out.

You shot him a look that was equal parts exasperated and amused. “Do I look like I have time for this?” you muttered, though your lips betrayed a tiny smile.

He only laughed, clearly enjoying the challenge, and leaned back in his seat, letting the quiet tension stretch just a little longer. You shook your head and muttered under your breath, Of course. Of course my last shift minutes are spent babysitting a charming idiot.

And somehow… even through your annoyance, you couldn’t deny it was oddly entertaining.

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