#abrewofhistory

[f3mme-f4tale]

a brew of history

Part One

content warnings: modern au, no real warnings except explicit language word count: 1.3k additional tags: mutual pining, embarrassed ellie, barista!ellie, just fluff really, best friend jesse a/n: first ellie post omg hehe. i haven't written fanfiction in so long, so i apologize for how scattered this may seem. i'm (finally) graduating with my undergrad in april, so i'm hoping that i can dedicate some more of my free time into creative writing this year! lmk if any of y'all wanna be mutuals mwah

important info about palestine

prologue

You couldn't recall exactly when you started to look forward to your morning routine more than usual. Perhaps it was when the aroma of freshly ground coffee beans began to mingle with the scent of aged manuscripts and artifacts. Or maybe it was when you first noticed the cheerful smile of the barista across the street, Ellie, as she handed over the perfectly brewed cup of coffee.

The local history museum where you worked stood tall and proud, its grand facade a testament to the stories held within its walls. As the assistant collections manager, your days were consumed with cataloging, preserving, and inputting the items into the online database. It was a job you adored, one that allowed you to immerse yourself in the past and connect with the present through the lens of time.

But there was something about Ellie that added a new dimension to your mornings. Each day, like clockwork, you would step off the 48 bus line and make your way across the cobblestone street to the cozy coffee shop. And each day, Ellie would greet you with a warm smile and a knowing twinkle in her eyes.

"Good morning," Ellie would say, her voice as inviting as the aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

"Morning, Ellie," you would reply, returning the smile. It was a simple exchange, yet it never failed to brighten your day.

As the weeks went by, the interactions evolved beyond mere pleasantries. You began to exchange snippets of conversation—small talk about the weather, musings about the latest museum exhibit, and eventually, deeper discussions about the shared passions for art. You found yourself eagerly anticipating the morning conversations, the moments of connection amidst the hustle and bustle of the city. There was something about the way Ellie listened intently, her eyes sparkling with genuine interest, that made you feel seen and understood in a way you hadn't before.

So when Ellie had begun to leave doodles on your to-go cups, you felt obligated to return the favor in some way. It started innocently enough, with a simple "thank you" scribbled on a napkin, accompanied by a smiley face. But as the days passed and your interactions became more frequent, your gestures grew bolder, more playful.

On this particular morning, the one after you had meticulously scoured the back office for a set of pencils to match the parcel in your bag, you realized you were running late for work. You were supposed to be at your desk ten minutes ago, and yet here you were, still a block away. You tried your best to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach as you glanced at your watch, until the familiar awning came into view and you practically ran into an older gentleman as you swung open the door.

As the jingle of the large oak door signaled your arrival, the familiar gleam of the girl behind the counter drowned out your previous anxieties. Her hair was tied back in her usual low bun, a gray flannel adorning her slim torso, a black apron tied loosely around her hips. As Ellie handed you your usual order – because of course she already had it made – you slid a journal across the counter, a mischievous gleam in your eye.

"For you," you said with a grin, watching as Ellie's curiosity piqued. Ellie's eyes widened in surprise as you flipped open the sketch pad, revealing a whimsical drawing of the two of you—coffee cups in hand, surrounded by swirling patterns and doodles.

“Well this is quite…” she began, laughing quietly to herself.

“Oh you are the artist, that’s for sure. But I always feel guilty putting your little doodles in the compost bin, so I figured I’d offer something more…” You flipped through the remaining blank pages, turning the leather bound book in your hand, “Permanent.”

“Oh, I can’t just take this,” Ellie suddenly felt flustered. A pretty girl gifting her art supplies when she could barely afford rent?

“Dude,” You pushed the journal into her reluctant grasp. “We have like a hundred of these just floating around from overstock at the giftshop.”

Ellie's cheeks flushed with gratitude as she traced her fingers over the smooth leather cover of the sketch pad. "Thank you," she said softly, her voice tinged with emotion.

"You're welcome," you replied, feeling a warm glow of satisfaction at her reaction. You dug around in your purse trying to find the exact amount of change for your latte, the line of people now forming behind you a reminder that you were, in fact, still running late for work.

“It’s on the house,” Ellie rushed out, attempting to reach out and stop your anxious rummaging. You raised an eyebrow in response.

“Are you even allowed to do that?” You replied, tucking a portion of your hair behind your ear. Could Ellie tell how clammy you were? The barista only shrugged and offered back a sly smile. Knowing you didn’t have the time to argue, and before thinking it through fully, you grabbed a pen from the cup next to a collection of straws and napkins. As your fingers grazed Ellie’s arm, the ink diligently showcasing the swirling of your writing on the other girl’s forearm, Ellie could swear that every patron in the shop could hear how loud her heart was beating.

"In case you ever need someone to cover your shift," you said with a playful grin, grabbing your coffee and at last making your final trek to the building next door.

As you grabbed your coffee and hurried out the door, Ellie stood rooted to the spot, her mind swirling with a million thoughts and emotions. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was over analyzing the interaction. A sudden jolt to her side earned her best friend, Jesse, a sharp kick to the shin.

“Ow!” He whined, putting his hands up in defense. “One conversation with a pretty girl and you zone out. There’s customers and I’d love to be done by three.” Ellie rolled her eyes, going back to actually doing her job and not drooling over the woman who had become a regular.

“Dina won’t care if we’re late,” Ellie mumbles, running the espresso machine for another order.

“That’s bullcrap and you know it,” Jesse shakes his head, restocking the ice and rolling his eyes. “She’ll have both our heads.”

“Whatever,” Ellie groans, opening up a new carton of oatmilk. God, she complains, why do queer women love oatmilk so much?

Despite the flurry of activity at the museum, you sat quietly humming to yourself in the back storage rooms. You put your anxious energy into your work, trying to focus on deframing old pieces. You made quick work of the frames, carefully utilizing a box cutter to slice the paper backing and removing the mat – the acid-free board that most of the artwork in the collection is taped to – from the plexiglass. As you work through this older collection, you evaluate the condition of each print and place it in a pile to either be put into storage or deaccessioned.

And yet, amidst the meticulous work of evaluating, your mind kept wandering back to Ellie and the uncertain exchange at the coffee shop. You couldn't shake the feeling of anticipation mixed with apprehension. What if you had misread her signals? What if your attempt at playful flirtation had come across as presumptuous? These questions circled endlessly in your mind, distracting you from the task at hand.

As you carefully removed the last print from its frame, you mentally checked off one of the various tasks on your todo list. The little remaining coffee from this morning had gone cold, a frown adorning your face as you rinsed the cup and tossed it in a bin. Your phone, which has been balanced precariously on the edge of your work station, buzzed softly.

[xxx-xxx-xxxx]: leaving your digits on my arm, huh? trying to make sure I don't forget you?

Your heart fluttered at the sight of her message, a mixture of anticipation and relief washing over you. She hadn't outright rejected your gesture, and her playful tone hinted at a mutual interest.

you: guilty as charged! wanted to make sure to leave my mark :p