#cannot tell me pop didn’t matchmake for Tabitha before jughead

[godheadjones]

50s jabitha- "I don't know who you are, but I do know that I can trust you."

“He’s here again.”

Tabitha almost ignores her grandfather at this jest and continues to clean one of the countertops, but she looks up at him. “Whomever do you mean?”

Pop rolls his eyes. “You know exactly who. I see the way you look at him.”

Her gaze trails to a booth far in the back where, lo and behold, he is sitting, with his typewriter perched on the booth’s table and an intense expression, focused on writing. 

“You probably know who everyone is, right?” she asks, crossing her arms. “Why not just tell me his name?” 

“Yes, he is one of our regulars, but if you want to know his name, you need to talk to him yourself,” Pop responds quickly. He nods his head to the boy in the booth. “If you go and take his order, maybe you can ask him.”

She wants to. She wants to talk to him and figure out what it is about him that makes her heart race. But how could she just admit that? 

Strong hands are placed on her shoulders, moving her forward. “That’s it, he’s been waiting far too long for a waiter. Take a pad with you,” her grandfather pushes. 

“Fine, fine, I’ll go talk to him,” Tabitha agrees grudgingly. She gathers a pad, just like Pop had said, and heads in the direction of the booth her eyes had been laid on. 

Upon arriving, she coughs. He looks up at her and she notices his blue eyes, which almost sparkle. “Um, hi there.” 

After a beat, he replies, “Hey.” He stares back at her, and Tabitha forgets what she came over to do. 

As she stumbles over her words for some reason she doesn’t know, trying to explain herself, he asks, “Do you… want to sit?”

Unable to trust her tongue, she nods and takes the seat across from him. Her heart turns in her chest and Tabitha tries to order it to spin back into position. 

She shoots a look to her grandfather, who’s watching eagerly with two thumbs up for encouragement. She glares at him, the action not unnoticed by the boy across from her, who raises an eyebrow. She smiles awkwardly.

Tabitha fiddles with the frames of her glasses. “I don’t think I know your name,” she spits out in hopes to start a conversation. 

A beat of silence passes. “Yeah, right. I’m Jones. Jughead Jones.” 

She almost snorts, but controls herself. What kind of name is Jughead? Surely she’s not developing a crush on someone named Jughead? 

“Well, Jughead, I’m Tabitha,” she responds slowly. 

He nods. “I know-“ He stops himself, then explains hurriedly, “It’s, uh, on your chest, the name tag.” 

Now she raises an eyebrow at Jughead, whose eyes go wide. “No, it’s not like that. I wasn’t looking-“

“Relax, Jones, I’m teasing you,” Tabitha laughs, then notices his expression go blank. Was it something she had said? Maybe he didn’t enjoy being teased by complete strangers and she was intruding his space. 

That was the last thing she wanted to do. She didn’t want to hurt Jughead. She felt calm when she was around him, but she doesn’t know why. 

Before she can stop herself, Tabitha’s lips are moving to say, “Look, I know we just met and I don’t even know who you are, but I do know I can trust you. Is that… weird?”

His face softens and he shakes his head. “No, that’s not weird at all, Tabitha. I feel the same way.” 

A hand clamps her shoulder. “Tabitha, what are you doing, talking to the customers on the clock?” She looks up and sees Pop standing over her, a light tone in his voice. “I swear, teens these days have no respect for their jobs.” 

“What are you talking about, grandpa? You literally pushed me over here!” she whisper shouts, standing up. 

Pop waves her off. “That doesn’t sound like me. Now come on, it’s back to work of back to Chicago,” he jokes, now guiding Tabitha to the counter and calling over his shoulder, “Can I get you the usual, Jug?” 

Tabitha manages to turn so she’s facing the booths again and locks her eyes on Jughead’s, who, after an eager nod to Pop, makes perfect eye contact with her and holds her gaze until she’s dragged back to work by her grandfather. 

She picks up her cloth and begins to wipe down the countertop again as Pop whispers in her ear, “I knew there was something between you two.”

“Grandpa, shhhh, he might hear you!”