Chapter Text
“What types of tea do you have? All I see on the menu is Lipton Green.”
“And that’s all we got.”
“There’s a smudged section over there,” Zari offered as she pointed to the bottom left corner of the chalkboard that displayed the items and prices. “That’s where you list the other types of tea you sell. What are they?”
“That smudged section is where we used to write the names of the booze we sold, but Jim got behind on the taxes so the liquor license got revoked, and you’d think they wouldn’t enforce it, but god be damned, the week before last the health inspector came strutting in here like he owned the place to tell—”
“With all do respect, uh—” Zari’s eyes swept over Charlie’s body, desperately searching for a nonexistent name tag.
“Charlie.”
“—Charlie,” Zari continued, “this is a coffee shop. You sell more types of tea than just Lipton Green.”
“And with all due respect,” Charlie said before gesturing towards Zari expectantly.
“Zari.”
“—Zari, this is Cincinnati. Gotta head to a ritzier city than this to find yourself some descent tea.”
“No, I don’t. Tea isn’t some luxurious commodity, it’s tea. You sound British; you’d know.”
“I haven’t had a sip of tea since age fifteen, so I wouldn’t know what you’re talking about.”
Zari scoffed, smiling with irritated disbelief. “So you won’t give me any tea.”
“I’ll give you Lipton Green for two bucks and change.”
“I am so going to light this place up on CatChat,” Zari muttered as she ripped her phone from her pocketbook. “Forcing me to drink the godawful Teavana from Starbucks? I can’t even.”
“I’ll do you one better,” Charlie countered. “Let me make you a drink of my choice. You’ll like it better than you would’ve liked that tea or it’s free.”
“And I’ll destroy you on CatChat.”
“So that’s a deal?”
Zari simply glared at Charlie before begrudgingly sitting down at a table. “Decaf, please.”
---
“Your drink,” Charlie said with mock grandeur as they set a small mug in front of Zari. “Strong, dark, decaf, cardamom. Froth topped with pistachio shavings.”
“So you have this on the menu but only dollar-store tea.” Zari’s irritated gaze finally stopped its relentless piercing of Charlie’s eyes as she took a hesitant sip. “What’s it called?”
“Not sure; just made it up.” Charlie paused, giving Zari a rather eager look. “So, what d’you think?”
Zari remained silent, so Charlie quickly grabbed the stale cold-brew they’d made themself earlier and accompanied Charlie at the beat-up little table.
“Don’t you have a café to run?”
“Well, it’s just a shop, and I sure as hell don’t run it. Anyways, the only customers that’ll swing by here are day drinkers who don’t give a damn about service.”
“I thought your liquor license was revoked.”
“As long as David Fucking Reed isn’t in this shop, no one can tell the difference,” Charlie quipped.
“What about when he sends an undercover inspector?”
“Again, babe, it’s Cincinnati.”
“Yes, and Cincinnati is a responsible municipality with adequate resources to—”
Charlie suddenly stood up, knocking back their chair and nearly tipping their drink over. “If David sent you here, I swear to god I’ll—”
“Oh, so our fear of this David guy is real,” Zari whispered to herself as she looked down with wide and—admittedly—judgmental eyes. She let Charlie continue ranting threateningly as they paced around the shop, but after a few minutes, she felt the need to put them out of their misery. “Charlie, I don’t work for David,” she interrupted.
“Where are you from?”
“Manhattan.”
“Why are you here?”
“I have a guest role in a film being shot here. Cincinatti will be my personal hell for the next three months,” she said with fake cheerfulness.
“Ha! No films are shot in Cincinnati!” Charlie began murmuring to themselves, “Oh, David, your hire is pathetic,” with a concerningly pleased look on their face.
“‘No films’? What about Ides of March, Dark Waters, Rain Man, Point Blank—”
“You’re making up those names!”
“And you’re clueless,” Zari responded flatly. She took a final, indignant sip of her drink, draining the mug of the last bit of the coffee.
As Zari got up to leave the shop, she asked, “How much would you charge for the drink if I liked it?”
“Knowing you’re a pawn of David? Ten bucks.”
So she dropped a ten-dollar bill into the tip jar and left.