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The early shift in the coffee shop is somehow the worst. From five to seven barely anything happens but then Bam! everyone wants caffeine before they can even properly open their eyes.
Alec doesn't get all those morning grouches. He likes getting up early. Before he opens up his mother's shop he already has one hour of training under his belt, the gym blissfully empty bar his brother Jace who is just as much a 'freak' as him. At least that's what their sister Izzy calls them, as if she wouldn't train as hard as they do - just after 9 pm. They all three are a bit obsessed with steeling their bodies, even though for very different reasons.
Alec does not need to make good on missing height with a killer punch. He doesn't try to find more girls for his 'book club' either. No. Alec trains because ... Well, it's a little complex.
He wants to look good, but he isn't vain; the holes in his sweater vouch for that. He wants to be strong and agile - not because he likes kicking arses, but because he might need to, being attacked for being gay in the past already. He likes the feeling of having trained his muscles until they burn - not because of endorphins or that other stuff everyone is after, but because he actually feels himself.
In the past, he lost himself in writing, didn't eat or shower for days. The training and his shifts at Maryse's are helping to structure his week so that he doesn't lose himself again.
Alec is still cleaning the counter from a sugar accident when the 7 o'clock rush starts at 6.51 today. Just his luck.
He types in the order of the blond businesswoman who comes every morning, lips pressed into a thin line and eyes tight as if she wanted to give him an x-ray. After her comes the redhead that is annoyingly awake, chattering with the spectacled nerd who might or not might be her boyfriend. They order hot chocolate as usual. Alec stopped pondering why a few weeks ago. They always tip him nicely so he smiles at them. Not fully, though. That's reserved for someone else.
Alec peeks at the clock above the pie rack. Just 25 minutes to go and the highlight of his day will chime the bell. He will order a ridiculously sweet concoction and will settle with it on his usual table, smiling softly, glancing at him repeatedly, badly faking to read his newspaper, and just being his beautiful, fabulous self. And when he will leave after approximately 15 minutes, Alec will finally be able to stop blushing and won't mess up any further orders. Hopefully.
There is always the danger that the man might wink at him again and everything would go downwards from there. Alec brushes his finger over his wrist just thinking about the steam burn he managed the last time. God, he's pathetic. Everyone tells him to slip him his number but Alec would rather die. Literally.
The man is way out of his league. He's a little older but not much. He's definitely well-off, wearing designer clothing (Alec wouldn't know, Izzy told him after sneaking in one morning). The man has a flamboyant style that screams 'Here I am' from the perfectly styled hair to the perfect smokey eyes, to the perfectly manicured fingers, to the perfectly fitted wardrobe (probably tailor-made), to the perfect, surely custom-made shoes, and the perfectly kissable lips covered in shiny lip gloss. Did I mention that the man is perfect?
Alec definitely thinks so and he doesn't shut up about it. Not with his co-workers, not with his siblings, not even with the publisher of his books. But that's okay. Luckily it's his old college friend Andrew.
Alec works through the rush, his brain on semi-autopilot as there are hardly any new faces. He's frothing the milk for the cappuccino of police officer Luke when he walks in.
Alec stops breathing for a long moment. Something is different. The man isn't alone. Alec's heart is sinking fast. A woman has linked arms with him and she snickers about something he just said. She is beautiful. Black hair with stunning white streaks, a great smile, her blue leather jacket fitting like a second skin.
Alec tries to ignore the two while processing the line in front of him. Jealousy is churning in his guts. It's much less pleasant than the stupid butterflies that usually live there at this time of the day.
"What can I get you?" he asks when the couple are the next in line, hoping that his fake customer smile will cover up the turmoil in his chest.
The man looks at him frowning as if he hadn't ordered the same damn coffee for the past 22 days. Not that Alec's counting. The woman looks at Alec, too, so he rattles down their options in the most annoyed tone that he can muster.
The woman turns to her boyfriend and whispers, "You said he was cute." Alec still hears it.
Alec's brain goes offline for a second when the man answers, "I thought so, yes." And then, he orders his usual and a chai latte sans sugar for her. They also order some pie - warmed up of course - and Alec tells them to take a seat.
Alec looks out for Maia to bring the order to their table but she's busy fighting the stray dogs in the backyard. Great.
He checks out the last customer from the first morning rush and puts the warm slices of apple and cherry pie on the tray, together with their hot beverages.
"Anything else I can do for you, sir, or for your partner?" he asks when he set everything on the table. The woman snickers again and Alec just knows that he would like her in any other circumstances.
"I can't speak for my friend, but I am good," the man says with that warm voice that always turns Alec's legs to jelly.
Friend? Alec lights up like the freaking sun and he nearly misses her saying, "Ah, now I see it."
"Pardon?" You said he was cute. Oh!
The man chuckles softly. The woman nudges him with the elbow. "Come on, Magnus. You've got your backup. Now, make a move."
The man - Magnus, apparently - rolls his eyes and the glittery eye shadow makes them sparkle. "Alec, is it, right?"
Alec nods because why use words if you can look perfectly stupid instead?
"How often have I been here now?"
"22 times, sir." Of course, Alec says something cringy like that. He's an author, not a stalker, damn it! He should be good with words.
Magnus raises an amused eyebrow. "So long? That's really ridiculous, isn't it?"
"Why?" Alec asks. That's actually a good question. Alec is nearly proud of his eloquence.
"Because that means I put a tremendous amount of sugar into my system for 21 times not asking you for your number."
Alec's cheeks flame up crimson. He wants his number? That can't be right!
Both look at him expectantly.
"Um, you ... you can have it. If you want," Alec stutters and fumbles for the order pad. The woman snickers again. But Magnus beams at him, putting the sun to shame. Alec messes up his number only thrice.
He slides the paper over the table. Magnus takes it as if it were something precious.
"Alec Lightwood," he reads out loud. "I know an author of that name. Oh, no, I think he's called Alexander."
Alec loves how his full name rolls off Magnus' tongue. He brushes his hand nervously over the back of his neck.
"Do you like his books?" he asks.
"I love them!" Magnus exclaims.
"Good," Alec smiles. "Good." He motions to the queue. "I need to head back. Call me?"
"I sure will," Magnus replies.
Maybe, the early shift in the coffee shop isn't so bad after all.