brown sugar and cream. (grayson x reader)
★ synopsis: you’re down bad for your favorite customer at the coffee shop and you fail miserably to hide it.
★ cw: meet-cute, shameless flirting!! age gap? whatever age gap that makes you comfortable, modern au, grayson my love, tooth-rotting fluff
The leaves on the trees outside aren’t orange anymore, but different shades of brown, crisp, dry, ready to crumble under boots that step over them without a thought.
The wind bites in the mornings now, sharp enough to sting your skin when you forget your gloves. Coats have gotten longer, scarves thicker, and every child getting dropped off at school gets a scolding for not wearing their beanie.
Everyone’s nose is red when they step inside somewhere warm, and it might be your favorite time of year, even if it rains more days than not.
There’s something about the change that feels comforting. Another season, another celebration creeping closer with the incoming holidays. The air buzzes with a mix of excitement and fatigue, and people are either glowing with anticipation or so exhausted they’re dragging themselves through the week until they can rest again.
The coffee shop you’ve been working in for months now has changed too. Nothing drastic but enough to make your chest melt a little with fondness sometimes when you pay attention to details.
A girl you work with hung a few strings of tinsel around the chalkboard menu and the front door, and a tiny artificial tree sits near the register, leaning slightly to one side like it might fall at any moment.
The warm light inside glows against the chill outside, and it’s really easy to think this might be your favorite place in the world.
You’ve just opened for the day. The regulars have claimed their usual spots: a pair of old men sharing the newspaper with their usual black coffe, no sugar. a student typing with ease on her laptop in the corne until 10am, the same old lady who always order her tea with just a little honey, not too much.
You hum quietly along to the lo-fi music playing through the small speaker near the counter, half-dreaming as you pour yourself a cup of coffee to survive the day.
Then the bell above the door rings, that familiar chime that makes your head lift automatically.
You turn with a smile already on your lips at the sound of the bell because a foolish, lovesick part of you hopes it’s her every single time.
And like almost everyday, it’s her.
And ugh— that woman. You would gladly go to war for her.
Tall, musuclar, broad-shouldered even beneath that dark blue uniforme.
She walks in the coffee shop, a slight breath of cold air following her inside as the door closes slowly behind her.
Her hair’s gone slightly grey at the temples in that devastating beautiful way that makes your knees weak… her beautiful eyes, those beautiful lines and wrinkles, and her nose, sharp and so perfect, is just slightly tinged pink from the wind.
You swear you feel your knees almost give up the second she looks your way. You’re so whipped for her.
“Hi, Sheriff,” you greet, soft and warm, trying to sound casual and normal.
You lean back against the counter, one hand braced behind you, pretending it’s just another customer and not the woman who has single-handedly made you reconsider the concept of professionalism and your entire life.
Grayson’s lips curve into a slow smile. “Morning, darling,” she says, voice low, smooth, fond.
Your heart gives one of those dangerous little flutters, if it weren’t for the solid counter behind you, you’d probably be melting into a puddle right now.
You can’t stop the warmth creeping up your cheeks, no matter how hard you try to play it cool. But she doesn’t mention it, just watches you with that knowing expression that makes it worse.
“Your usual?” you ask, your voice coming out steadier than you expect and you’re almost proud of yourself.
Grayson chuckles, a soft sound that rumbles low in her chest. “Yes,” she says, stepping closer to the counter, her gloved hand resting lightly against the cash register.
She leans her weight onto one arm, casual, but there’s something about the way her eyes linger on you that makes it impossible to think straight. “The usual sounds perfect.”
God knows why, you suddenly feel brave enough and you huff a quiet laugh, before asking,
“Talking about the coffee or me?” you ask, your tone steady and casual but your heart is already hammering in your chest.
Grayson’s eyebrows lift, amusement flickering through her eyes. You’re scared you’ve gone too far for a short single second, but then she chuckles, low and warm, and the sound sends goosebumps down your spine.
“Who knows?” she says easily.
You bite your lip to keep from grinning too wide, she catches you doing it, turning toward the machine before your face gives you away.
You press the button, the familiar hum filling the air as the coffee starts to brew in that professional and very expensive coffee machine, the smell rich and comforting.
When you turn back to her, she’s still there, leaning against the counter like she belongs there, hands tucked into the pockets of her coat now, watching you with that calm, kind gaze.
“How’re you doing?” you ask, voice softer now. The teasing fades into something real and warm.
Grayson hums, eyes flicking briefly toward the window where the wind tugs at the decorations outside.
“I’m alright,” she says after a moment. “Just a bit tired, if I’m honest. It’s always a little more complicated around this time of year.” A small shrug. “People get restless, seems like holidays make folks forget how to behave.”
You nod, understanding more than you say. The shop hums quietly around you. The coffee machine, the faint lo-fi music, the murmur of conversation from the regulars.
Then she looks at you again, soft and addicting concern threading through her tone. “You? Doing okay? I passed by here yesterday, it looked packed.”
Her voice is gentle, and it hits you somewhere deep and so warm in the chest.
The coffee machine hisses softly as the last of Grayson’s drink finishes brewing. You reach for the paper cup, careful hands moving on instinct as you pour the coffee.
You always make hers to-go, even when she ends up staying for a few minutes to chat.
“Packed, it was,” you say, glancing up at her as you work. “Loud too. But great, honestly. Mostly families and kids running around.” You smile, the sound of your own laugh mixing with the soft clatter of cups.
You add the whipped cream at the end. Just a small, perfect swirl, pretending it’s part of the order even though it isn’t.
She never pays extra for it. It’s your little secret.
“That play space in the corner was the best idea we’ve had. Now the parents can actually sit down and drink something without troubles on legs tugging on their sleeve every two minutes cause they can’t sit still.”
Grayson’s lips twitch, her eyes glinting with quiet amusement. “I can imagine. Smart move.”
You slide the cup toward her across the counter, fingers brushing hers just barely but you want more already. The warmth lingers, even after she wraps her hands around the drink.
“Hey,” you say, trying to sound casual even as your pulse stumbles a little, “will I see you at the local festival next week?”
Grayson’s eyes lift to yours, and there’s a flicker of something; amusement, fondness, most probably both.
“I’ll try,” she says after a moment, tone gentle. “Even if only for security.”
You grin, playful again. “Good to know the entire city’ll feel safe with you out there keeping an eye on everyone.”
Her laugh is quiet, low, genuine and addicting in the space between you, and it makes your chest tighten in the best way.
“Ah,” you say, “going too far?”
Grayson takes a slow sip of her coffee, her gaze never leaving yours. “Yes,” she says finally, the corner of her mouth curving upward. “I believe you are.”
You can’t help it. You shrug like you still think you’re right, then laugh softly, matching hers.
What makes you crazy is that Grayson doesn’t leave right away, she never does. She always lingers a little, like she’s savoring the quiet, the warmth, or maybe just you.
You hope it’s about you, really— Just you.
She always pulls a few bills from her coat pocket, sets them neatly on the counter, and takes another sip of her coffee.
she hums, low and pleased. “It’s amazing like usual,” she says, voice kind and sure.
You grin, leaning your elbow on the counter. “That’s because I made it myself,” you tease, a sudden little spark of confidence coming out of nowhere slipping through the nerves. “That’s why.”
Grayson’s smile grows, slow and fond. God, that smile. She straightens to her full height, broad shoulders, solid posture, every inch the picture of calm authority, but there’s something tenderly gentle in her gaze as she looks at you.
“Yeah,” she says quietly. “It probably is.”
“Would you go grab a coffee with me somewhere else one day?”
Your brain short-circuits. Black out. Gone. Nothing.
You blink, then laugh, too loud and too bright, clapping a hand over your mouth for a second. “Damn— wow,” you manage, cheeks already burning. “Uh, yeah. Yes. Absolutely. Coffee. I can—uh, drink coffee with you. Somewhere else, yeah. Of course.”
Grayson chuckles at your reaction, the sound making your knees feel giddy. “Good,” she says simply, taking another slow sip from her cup as if she didn’t just completely upend your morning before moving, turning her back with her cup and your heart in her hand.
“See you soon, darling,” she says on her way out, the little bell above the door chiming again as she steps into the cold.
You just stand there, staring after her, heart pounding, trying to remember how to use your brain—
