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George knows that drinking too much coffee isn't good for him.
Excessive coffee intake can lead to an increase in blood pressure, heartburn, headaches, dizziness, restlessness, insomnia, dehydration, and other shitty things to his body.
That doesn't stop him from getting coffee.
George is twenty-four years old and spends most of his time at the office replying to emails and attending meetings that should have been emails. He deserves to treat himself to sugary cappuccinos and blueberry muffins.
George also knows that Starbucks is the sworn enemy of coffee purists. According to their department's resident coffee purist Valtteri, Starbucks is the worst thing that has ever happened to coffee. It’s overrated, the coffee they make is burnt, and every store smells like old people.
Honestly, George doesn't really care. He is a creature of habit, and he doesn't have the time nor energy to find another café that is within reasonable walking distance from the office. He also enjoys seeing Valtteri’s appalled face every time he sees George sipping on a chocolate chip frappuccino.
Which brings him to where he is now, standing in line at Starbucks and waiting for the teenager in front of him to finish placing her behemoth of an order. Something with enough iced white chocolate, caramel, and whipped cream to give Valtteri a stroke.
The girl is giggling as she steps away from the counter, and George doesn't even have to wonder why.
The barista behind the counter is handsome. Like, really handsome. He’s visibly shorter than George, but his presence commands attention. His brown hair is soft and fluffy underneath the cap on his head. His eyes are a wickedly pretty shade of blue-green, accentuated by his long eyelashes. His stubbled jaw is angled and sharp, and his smile is sweeter than blueberry muffins.
“Welcome to Starbucks,” he greets, and oh God, he has a French accent too. Was he made in a lab? How is he even real? “What can I get for you?”
“Hello,” George replies, smiling in a way he hopes looks more friendly than petrified. “I’ll get a hot grande latte with an extra shot of espresso please.”
“Of course,” the guy— Charles according to his name tag replies. “May I ask for your name?”
“George,” he replies, wincing when his voice cracks at the end of the word. Great. Now Charles probably thinks he’s a loser who can't even say his own name correctly.
“That will be ready for you in a bit,” Charles says, and it's right then and there George notices his dimples. Could he be any more perfect? What kind of young adult contemporary romance novel was he pulled out of?
Charles writes George’s name on the side of his cup. George pays for his drink, and he swears he isn't blushing when he hands over his money and their fingertips brush.
Calm down, Russell, he mentally scolds himself. There is nothing attractive about desperation.
Gulping, George takes a seat at a nearby table, one parallel to the counter. He tries and fails not to stare as Charles takes orders and charms customers with his dimpled smile.
George wonders whether Charles is new to the city, if this is his first day at work. He surely would have noticed somebody like Charles working at Starbucks of all places.
A barista, notably not Charles, calls for his name, pulling George out of his thoughts about Charles.
Charles’ face isn't the one that greets him when George gets to the other side of the counter. George tries not to be disappointed by that.
He picks up the paper cup, letting out a small chuckle when he sees it.
Jorge
Everybody knows that Starbucks employees misspell customers’ names, whether intentionally or to make people like George take pictures and post about it on Instagram.
George thought that it was impossible to misspell a name like his, but the cute new barista has managed to prove him wrong.
He drinks his latte with a smile.
Charles is there the next time George visits Starbucks.
He is just as beautiful as George remembers, looking like a dream in his tight black shirt and green Starbucks apron.
“Hello, welcome to Starbucks,” Charles says, using his pleasant customer service voice. “What can I get for you?”
“Good morning,” George says, proud of himself when he doesn't choke on his words. “I’ll get a hot grande latte with an extra shot of espresso please.”
“Alright,” Charles replies, punching a few keys on the cash register. “And your name?”
“George,” he answers. He isn't offended that Charles doesn't remember his name. George is just one of the hundreds of customers Charles sees every day.
Charles nods in response. He grabs a cup from a stack and scrawls a name on the side with a sharpie.
George is only a man, and so he can’t help but gaze at Charles’ hands, which are just as beautiful as the rest of him. Prominent veins run from his forearms to the backs of his hands, a sharp contrast to the delicate tinge of pink dusting his knuckles. His wrists are adorned with beaded bracelets and charms that George wants to know the meaning behind.
“That will be ready for you shortly,” Charles says, snapping George out of his thoughts before they stop being PG-13.
George desperately hopes Charles didn’t notice him staring. The last thing he needs is Charles thinking he is some sort of creep.
Later, when George sidles up to the counter to pick up his beloved hot drink, he chuckles when he sees the name scribbled on the side.
Jeorj
Jeorj is further from his name than Jorge. He doesn’t know if people named Jeorj actually exist. It seems that Charles is particularly creative with misspelling people’s names.
Amused, George pulls out his phone to snap a quick picture of his cup, sending it to Alex with a laughing emoji.
“It's you again,” Charles says when George shows up at Starbucks the very next day. He's smiling at George, eyes bright and dimples on display. “Do you like our coffee that much?”
Considering George is getting his coffee from Starbucks, he likes vanilla and sugar more than he actually likes coffee.
“I need the energy,” George says, and it’s true. Staring at a computer screen all day takes a lot of energy, and George refuses to touch a can of Red Bull.
Charles nods sympathetically. “Should I put another shot of espresso in your drink then?”
“That would be great, yeah,” George replies. He can worry about palpitations later.
For the third time this week, George orders a hot grande latte with shots of espresso.
For the third time this week, Charles spells George’s name wrong.
He should be expecting it by now, and it shouldn’t even be a big deal, but George can’t help but stare at the ‘name’ written on the cup in disbelief.
Jheorge
Surely, Charles is taking the piss. There is no way he actually thinks George’s name is Jheorge. Are there even people named Jheorge or is that a word Charles made up himself?
George is tempted to ask him about it. He stops himself on the account of looking like an idiot. Charles isn’t stupid. He knows George’s name is George. Starbucks probably has a company policy that mandates employees to butcher customers’ names in the strangest ways possible.
George shouldn’t be bothered by it. Really, there is no bigger first world problem than being bothered by a Starbucks barista spelling his name wrong.
Except, George knows the reason why he can’t let it go. The Starbucks barista in question is really handsome, and George may or may not already have a crush on him.
Lewis gently reminds George to consider supporting small coffee shops instead of purchasing from big corporations, but George has always been weak for cute boys with pretty eyes, and the cute Starbucks barista has the prettiest eyes he has ever seen.
“Good morning, George,” Charles greets, like George is an old mate and not a creepy customer who has made going to Starbucks part of his daily routine. “Are you getting the usual?”
“Yes please.”
Charles plucks a cup from the stack, scribbling God knows what on the side of the cup.
George can’t see what he has written, but considering Charles’ record, he will be bestowed a name like Jreorge or Jeaorj.
It only takes a few minutes for George to claim his drink, and when he gets it, he isn’t disappointed.
Gheurj
At least Charles spelled it with a G this time. Perhaps eventually he will run out of ways to misspell George.
The thought makes George chuckle. He takes his coffee to the office and wonders what Charles could possibly call him next.
“Let me guess,” Charles starts, the tone of his voice playful. “A hot grande latte with an extra shot of espresso?”
“You got it,” George replies. He orders a sticky cinnamon bun too, even if his wallet is screaming at him to just make his own coffee and have breakfast at home. A cup of tea might do him good too.
Gorj is what is written on the side of the cup in Charles’ loopy handwriting. It isn’t Charles’ best work, but it’s still cute. Jheorge is still George’s personal favorite.
George was sure that he had seen it all.
Between ‘names’ like Geaorj, Jhorj, Jourje, and Geoargie, he thought that nothing could surprise him anymore.
And then, after what seems like dozens of cups of coffee later, comes the word that makes George choke on his own saliva.
Gorgeous <3
He nearly drops the cup when he sees it. Right below the word is a phone number— Charles’ phone number if this isn’t all just an elaborate prank to humiliate George on YouTube.
Gorgeous, Charles had written, with a little heart beside it too. George doesn’t know much about the food service industry, but he knows that baristas don’t usually put the word gorgeous on customers’ cups.
Is George dreaming? Did Charles really give him his number? When did George’s life turn into a cheesy romance novel?
George makes his way to the counter, his heart stammering in his chest so quickly, he’s worried he might actually have a heart problem— a literal one and not his feelings about Charles.
“Excuse me,” George says, clutching the paper as if it was a precious historical document. “Charles?”
“George,” Charles says when he sees him. He looks especially pretty today, the morning light hitting his face in a way that makes him look like a fairytale prince. “Is there something wrong with your drink?”
“Is this what I think it is?” George asks, pointing at what Charles had written on his cup. George hadn’t been dreaming. Gorgeous <3 and a phone number are still inscribed on the side. “Are you interested in me, Charles?”
Charles’ cheeks turn a bright shade of pink. “I am,” he admits. “You’re very handsome, George.”
George can hardly believe his ears. Charles thinks he’s handsome? “Why didn’t you just tell me?” he asks. “Why did you have to write silly names on my cup?”
Charles looks sheepish. “How else was I supposed to get you to notice me?”
“You didn’t have to do all that to get me to notice you,” George says. Charles really is something else. “Have you seen yourself?”
Charles smiles. It’s different from his customer service smile— this one is wide and blinding and makes his eyes turn into crescent moon shapes. “Are you flirting with me, George?”
“Have you been flirting with me, Charles?”
“Did it work?”
George can’t help the grin that makes its way to his own face. “Would you like to go on a date with me, Charles?”
“Yes, of course I would,” Charles replies, letting out a little giggle. He’s so flipping cute, George can't get enough of him. “What should we do? Get coffee?”
George laughs. I think I’ve had enough coffee for now,” he says. “But we can go out to get dinner.”