She glanced up, momentarily startled when a cup of coffee she hadn’t ordered was set down in front of her. The barista, a young and reasonably attractive male, grinned apologetically and pushed it towards her.
“On the house. You’ve been here for a while, so I thought you might like something to drink. It’s a peppermint mocha.”
She blinked in surprise and set her notebook and pen aside.
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly-“
“No, really, don’t worry about it, it’s on me.” He was really adorable when he smiled, in a rather puppy-like way, all dimples. She couldn’t help but smile back at his infectious grin.
“Well if you’re sure,” she faltered and emitted a delicate laugh at the over-enthusiastic nod he gave. “Thank you, then…” She glanced at his nametag. “Taylor.” She was starting to feel rather guilty that she wouldn’t drink it because, well,
“She’s allergic to peppermint, you know. It should have been obvious to you the moment her left hand twitched when you mentioned what it was. She shifted slightly away from it and angled her body away from the cup, also placing her notebook and pen between her and the cup, distancing herself away from it. She absently rubbed at her wrist because preliminary rash to that particular allergy starts there. So, before you decide to do anything else that might land her in the hospital, why don’t you go back to making 5 pounds an hour?”
She stiffened at the familiar voice and glared as the poor barista blanched and grabbed the cup, stuttering apologies and practically dashing away before she could get a word in edgewise.
“You know I wouldn’t have drank it.”
The chair across from her screeched as he dropped into it. He didn’t reply.
“What are you even doing here, Sherlock? From what I recall, you told me something along the lines of ‘please don’t interfere with my work ever again’ Seemed pretty final to me.”
“I missed that.”
She frowned. “What?”
“You. Saying my name.”
