It's Time to Do Things (1/1)Warning:
Sort of kind of poking fun at Starbucks' pumpkin spice lattes. Rating:
Um... PG? G? Something there.Summary:
One Saturday afternoon, Annie decides to Do Something.Author's Note:
How long has it been? I've been so busy, every time I've had free time I've been too lazy to write. And anyway, too much of my college life revolves around writing. Papers, mini-theses(es? is? eses? ises?), college paper, internship work... Oh well. My foot is broken (I broke it on a college trip to a different state. Joy, no?), though, which means bed rest. Which means I will spend the next month writing things. :D
This is a result of a Ficcy Friday prompt from oneofthemuses
. I'm not entirely happy with the ending. I feel like I started out strong, but it sort of... wilted. Do stories wilt?
One sunny Saturday afternoon, Annie Edison decides to Do Something. She is twenty two years old, she can legally drink, drive, get married, buy a house, vote (should she have listed that before drinking?)... she shouldn’t waste good Saturday afternoons inside her apartment, surfing 9gag and Foursquare and watching stupid (but adorable) videos on Youtube. (It’s the first Saturday she’s had free in a while, since she has no homework, no prep work, and no work
work, so she’s not exactly sure of what to do with the free time.)
She washes her face, puts on bit of makeup (what if she meets someone? She doesn’t know what the world is like on Saturday afternoons!), slips into an oversized t-shirt and shorts (going for a different style sort of fits into her mission to Do Something) and walks out of the apartment. She rushes back in a few minutes later, because phonephonephoneforgotmyphone
What constitutes as Doing Something? She immediately discounts going to a bar because she doesn’t feel like sticky tabletops and dull bars. And, you know, she’s not really the sort to go to a bar and enjoy two fingers of scotch (or whatever) on her own.
This is how Annie ends up browsing the library for an hour (it still constitutes as Doing Something). Once she has a good book, though (she’s picked a murder mystery thriller from an author she’s never heard of
... she is aware how odd it is that she thinks picking an unknown author is a major risk, but it is, shut up), she doesn’t feel like she’s Done enough.
Which is how Annie ends up in the Starbucks next door.
Because she is Doing Things, because she is wearing Different Clothes and because she’s starting to feel a little silly, she orders blindly off the menu.
She regrets this almost immediately, because she has ordered a pumpkin spice latte. Looking furtively around, she half expects Britta to pop out at her and berate her for this (she’d once spent an entire hour complaining about stupid pumpkin spice lattes with Britta). When the girl at the counter asks for a name, something impish rises within Annie.
“Britta.” She blurts before her brain can stop her.
“Like... the water-”
Annie gives her a bright smile.
There’s a surprising crowd behind her, so Annie quickly moves to a table she’s been eyeing in the corner of the room. As she’s sitting down, her phone buzzes.Been in court all morning.
Smiling, Annie hits reply.Your fault. Nobody forced you to be a lawyer.
Almost immediately, Jeff texts back.Not true. It might be a conspiracy that leads all the way to the top.
Dimly, she remembers an exploding toy car.Or just slightly below the middle. True. You know what’s cool though?What?Your shorts.
With a gasp, Annie looks up and searches the room. Her eyes meet his easily, and he smirks, then gives her a little wave.
Narrowing her eyes (her smile, unfortunately, doesn’t go away), she hits reply again.Creepy. Are you stalking me?Sure. I left community college, where we studied together, and decided to stalk you now that I see you only like, once a fortnight.Shut up and come here.Good idea.
She gives him a hug (he feels even more stupidly tall because she hasn’t hugged him in ages
) before he folds himself into the chair opposite her. He places a half-full cup of coffee in the center of the table, and between surreptitiously admiring the way he looks in his suit and trying to convince herself to stop doing so, Annie has the terrifying realization that she’s ordered a pumpkin spice latte and he’s going to know.
“What did you order?” It’s a question she didn’t expect, and she feels like a jumpy fugitive. “Um, hot chocolate.” She replies, trying to keep her voice nonchalant. There’s no way he knows, Annie, calm down, you can get away with this...
“I got a pumpkin spice latte for Britta!”
Jeff instantly looks like the happiest man in the world. (In retrospect, her panicked expression probably gave her away.) “You ordered...” he begins slowly, sounding like he’s actively suppressing laughter.
She sighs and gets up to go collect her latte.
She drops it on the table once she returns. With a dark glare aimed at the cup (Doing Things is stupid and overrated and I hate it),
she nods. “I ordered a pumpkin spice latte and told them my name is Britta. On purpose.” She doesn’t want to, but she lifts her eyes from the evil cup to look at Jeff.
He isn’t even trying
to stop laughing now.
She leans forward and swats his shoulder with her library book. This, however, serves to only make Jeff laugh harder, because he sees the title of the book. (The Hunter of Secrets. It’s a horrible title, she knows. But she had decided to Go With It, in the name of Doing Things.)
“If you’re done giggling,” she says pointedly, taking a sip of her latte.
“Sorry, sorry,” he says finally, raising his hands in surrender. “I got a little carried away.”
She raises her eyebrows.
“A lot carried away. But it felt nice, after a morning of dealing with the worst client in history.” She accepts his not-so-subtle offer to change the subject, and the afternoon is spent merrily abusing his fifty-year old client and a stuffy judge. (She takes great care to keep the part of her cup with ‘Britta’ on turned towards her, however.)
“How’re you free now, anyway?” Annie asks suddenly, as they’re walking out of Starbucks. He shrugs. “I have a lot of paperwork, but I’m going to do it at home. I don’t feel like going back to sit in the office right now.”
“Are you really allowed to do that?”
He smirks at her. “I think I’m done duping other lawyers, Annie. I'm completely above board here.”
She elbows him (he sidesteps her neatly). “Not what I meant.”
They walk in silence towards her car. It’s a nice, friendly silence, though.
“I’m totally telling Britta that you basically stole her identity to order an overpriced coffee from a coffee chain.”
She stops, horrified. “You wouldn’t!”
“You know how long she’s going to yell at you about evil commercial middle aged men and coffee that-”
“I will end
He sniggers. “Or just, make it up to me somehow.”
Silence falls again, but now it’s different. Anticipatory. Charged.
Annie pulls her keys out and opens the door to her car.
“I have an idea.”
Jeff steps closer. “Yeah?”
She grins. “It depends, though.”
He raises his eyebrows. “You’re not in a position to make demands...”
“Oh, too bad,” she says, turning to get in. His hand encircles her wrist and she is suddenly in his arms.
“But if you were?” His eyes are playful, but his voice is low and husky. It’s hard to remember that they’re standing on a sidewalk in the afternoon.
“I’d ask you to ignore the paperwork tonight,” she says, letting her hands creep up his chest.
“That may be possible.”
She steps out of his arms. “May?!”