The city lights flickered and danced through the cab windows, illuminating the peaks of the predominant features belonging to the man seated next to you. You glanced up at him, catching a small smile in return, studying him in the moment.
Charlie was at peace, free from the environment that no doubt only added to the otherwise overbearing weight on his shoulders. He looked so simple, so normal. Gone were the intimidating vibes and tense set jaw, what remained was human in all his simplicity, the image of a man trying to prove himself in a world that was constantly asking for more.
It was an odd thing, sitting in the back of a cab with a man you'd just met tonight, inexplicably agreeing to a quest taking you around the city with him, seeking coffee. You indulged him, positively captivated by this enigma of a man, and of course the fact that you were hungry from the social escapades of tonight didn't help your case. The idea of it all plagued your thoughts. The idea that someone—a stranger you'd only met by chance, coincidence even— undeniably captivated your curiosity, leaving you feeling at ease in his presence, bringing you to the edge of feeling what you thought was true comfort—almost. Charlie had worked his charm on you—something you thought near impossible for anyone to achieve before tonight—but what naturally shocked you most was your general content and anticipation for the situation.
He'd since turned away from you, glancing out the window, a form of pensive daze. The highlights from the liveliness outside had shifted to a soft glow, around his silhouette as the shadows overtook him, his elbow resting on the door and chin held by the palm of his hand. His mind was miles away, almost as if he was trying to distract himself from something—someone? That, you weren't sure.
It was the subtle distancing he'd been unknowingly enforcing, your own curiosity peaking with his lack of detail in destination, "So where are we going? You seem to have a particular destination in mind." You'd assumed this, the only clue to your query was the fact that he'd spoken to the driver as you'd departed from the bar.
He shifted slightly, pulling his attention from whatever he'd been studying outside and turning to focus on you, leg resting against your own in doing so, "Coffee." He said it plain and simply, almost as if you were to infer the remaining details.
You gave a soft, encouraging smile before nudging his arm slightly, "Well yeah, but I mean as in where exactly?"
Charlie chuckled, amused by your bordering insistent remarks, "Are you not fond of surprises?"
A moment of consideration passed, "I don't like possibly sharing the backseat of a cab with a potential serial killer on his way to murder me, is all."
"That's what you're worried about?" The start of a smirk formed at the edge of his lips, fingers tapping against the door as he spoke. He was contemplating something, you could see it in the expression he wore, the gears in his head like a well-oiled machine.
You crossed your legs, leaning towards him as you rested your hands on the purse in your lap, attempting to gain an edge in the conversation while you still could, "I don't hear you denying it."
A small hum of consideration passed from him, "Is this how you treat all people who pay for your cab fare?"
You gave an exaggerated gasp and brought your hand to rest against your chest as you tried to lighten the mood, offering some reassurance to him, "Woah, okay slow down there, sir. First off, it's half of the cab fare, and second, no... but I still don't hear you denying the fact that you might be out to murder me. I would like to notify the proper authorities of my whereabouts before you plot my evident demise, please."
"Since you asked so nicely," His smirk was evident now, looking down at you as he persisted, "It would make for a good script." He jokingly considered the concept you'd proposed. "But to soothe your clearly overactive imagination, no, I'm not here to murder you. I'd fear what Lydia would have to say about it. If she found out I'd murdered her best friend, I'm assuming she wouldn't take the news light-heartedly."
"Yeah she wouldn't be the only one, I'd haunt you as payback." You smiled as he seemed to drop the dissociative mindset from earlier, relaxing into the atmosphere and conversation. Charlie sat, turned towards you with his shoulders dropped with a slight slouch, evidently content in your presence.
Conversations were easy with Charlie, from what you could tell. Whether it was the general late night vibe or the drinks from earlier or just Charlie himself, it was just simple. You'd skipped the awkward small talk, giving you free reign over quips and sarcastic remarks. It would seem he'd thought the same as well, having played into your banter, matching your pleasantries with his own.
The rest of the ride itself was near uneventful though, the sounds of distant honking filling the void of silence passing between the two of you. The cab stopped, pulling in front of a Dunkin' Donuts, windows reflecting the neon lights and the incandescence of nearby stores.
Charlie was quick to pull out his wallet, paying for the fare and neglecting the opportunity for you to fight his gesture. Before you could protest, he'd given a glance to you, one suggesting a stern 'no', and you felt obligated to comply with his silent indication. He'd been polite, thanking the driver for an especially late night drive and wishing him a safe drive afterwards.
He was no doubt an absolute gentleman, offering his hand to help you out as he held the door open by resting against it, evidently making it look small in comparison. Delicately placing your hand in his, you stood, holding the side of your dress and clutch in the other. His hand dominated yours as you'd stopped for a moment, looking up at him, catching a softened smile and tired eyes as you'd passed. You'd let a quiet sigh fall from your lips inadvertently before dropping your hand from his, almost too quickly.
You waited patiently for him as he undid the top button of his collared shirt and adjusted his coat, "Didn't take you for a chain type of coffee guy."
"Look who's making assumptions now." Charlie smiled as he walked with you to the entrance and as anticipated from earlier events, held the door open for you, motioning for you to enter before him.
A near empty store greeted you, filled with only employees and few customers with unsettlingly bold orange walls as you walked in, Charlie right behind you. The vibes were stiff with oddities, 80s rock playing softly in the background, empty tables with mixed matched chairs and just a peculiar sense of unfamiliarity.
Slim pickings. Practically what you'd assume for being this late, all the popular flavors were long gone, leaving only the odd ones and any leftovers that failed to make the cut. Charlie placed a hand at the small of your back, peering down at you for a signal of reassurance, one you returned with a small smile, as he led the both of you to the register.
He looked up, surveying the menu before addressing you, "What are you thinking?"
Honestly? Nothing, you were too distracted by the events ensuing at this late of an hour to think properly.
"Well, we came here for coffee," You felt your stomach grumble a plea for some sort of substance, achingly bothersome from your lack of food from earlier, "But it seems my stomach has other plans and requires something a little more than just caffeine."
"Hmm, alright." Charlie stepped away from you, hand leaving your back cold once again as he neared the display case. You'd followed moments after, curious as to the selection before you only to be met with unappealing flavors, all besides one. You rested your finger against the glass, nail tapping lightly as you pointed out towards the tray of few cinnamon rolls.
"Those look kind of good, better than the coconut ones they have on the other tray." Giving a slight shrug, you stepped back from the glass as Charlie moved past you, motioning in the slight for you to follow him back.
"Two cinnamon rolls, and, a uh," He looked down at you, expecting a response as you'd met at his side.
"An iced americano please."
Charlie nodded, "Make that two as well." Your purse was fighting you, defying your request to open, the latch throwing a fit of denial. By the time you'd managed to wrestle your wallet free, Charlie had pulled out, swiped and put away his card.
The light chime of approval matched the small laugh that slipped from him, paired with an equally lighthearted smirk, "Too slow."
"You gotta stop doing that." You did what you could manage to avoid letting your modest annoyance make itself known. Of course, you'd been grateful that he'd even considered the fact but you weren't some charity case and this wasn't a date. A deal was a deal and you'd intended to hold up your end of the bargain.
"Doing what?" Charlies brows knit from confusion, the small crease reappearing between them as he tilted his head at you.
"Paying for me, we had a deal."
"I invited you out, did I not?"
"Yes, but-"
"Then don't worry about it." End of conversation. Charlie reached for the donuts and coffee on the counter, handing you your set before taking his own and walking towards a corner booth. "And besides, you didn't get it in writing anyways."
He'd opted for one of those half booths—the kind you'd find against the wall with a cushioned end and a chair end—sliding into the chair and leaving you the comfort of the other side.
Charlie had wrapped the bottom half of his roll with the bag, seeming to want to get a stick free grip as he prepped to devour it. You'd only started to sip your coffee, condensation already dripping around the edges as he took his first bite, nearly inhaling a quarter of it at once.
You fingers tapped against the edge of the table, anxiety starting to gather in the form of restlessness, "So...you smoke?"
He looked up at you, shoulders hunched as he leaned down for a near aggressive bite, "Only when I'm stressed."
You started reflexively stirring your coffee, one hand around the base, collecting condensation while the other started spinning the straw in lazy circles, ice bumping against the cup's walls, "What's got you stressed?"
He took a deep breath, one weighted with consideration before he let it go, more of a scoff than a simple exhale, "What doesn't?"
"That's fair, especially considering how you could be home getting some rest but instead you're out here treating me to coffee and donuts." It was practically instinctive, taking a sip of your coffee to fill the silence of his contemplation.
He hummed in acknowledgement as he took another bite.
Leaning back, you further pressed, "No, but in all seriousness, what specifically?"
He mimicked you, leaning back as he gave a sigh before looking up at the ceiling as if he'd been compiling a list of all his stressors, "Well, uh, Broadway for one. The logistics of the move, the reception of the piece, the preparation-"
You tilted your head, confusion washing over you as he started listing the items he compiled on said list, "Wait, hold up. Don't you have an assistant or someone to help out with any of this?"
He gave an unconvincing nod, looking down with his hands fidgeting with the wrapper as he spoke. "I have a stage manager."
"And do they help manage any of this?"
A pause, a hesitation in remark. "Mary Ann has... other things... that occupy her time." His tone was threaded with what seemed like guilt, or discontent of sorts? Clearly something personal, something you considered further exploring before ultimately deciding to disregard it. It wasn't your job to pry into his personal life, you barely knew the man.
Despite your reluctance to pry, you leaned forward, your elbows rested on the edge of the table, naturally intrigued by what he had to say. There was something mesmerizing about the way he spoke, brief and direct but undoubtedly genuine. His words weighed with bona fide interest, his stature engaging and present with how he physically reacted to the conversations at hand.
"Okay well how about a personal assistant, someone to help with the little things like organization or notes or something?"
Almost to prove your point, Charlie leaned forward, matching your position, mirroring your composure and getting dangerously close with the space the table allowed. With how close he was, you were able to catch emerald flecks in his irises, freckles ever so slightly on his nose and the slight purse of his full lips, "Are you asking for a job?"
A sharp but faint, near inaudible gasp fell from your lips, taken aback by his offhand question. You sat back, leaning against the backing of the booth, crossing your legs as you attempted to create a distance, needing the space to process. "No. What? I'm just trying to make sense of this."
He folded his arms in front of him, still supported by the table and resting his weight on his elbows as he looked at you, "Lydia mentioned earlier that you had been looking for a job recently, correct?"
"Well, yes, but-"
You could easily tell he was trying to hide a smile, the corner of his mouth slightly turned up as the sentence fell from his lips, "Would be nice, would help alleviate the stress a little bit and let me feel like a human being again. You know, feel alive for once?"
Accepting defeat, you slouched a bit in consideration knowing Charlie would inevitably find a way to keep prodding the question. You certainly empathized with his situation, work stress especially. Not far and few, you knew long nights with tiresome scheduling and demanding hours—hours you'd lost on projects you'd been left unsatisfied by, a feeling of emptiness occupying part of yourself that you'd wished housed comfort and stability. He'd no doubt experienced the same—if not more intensive as you had—professional and renown, overworking himself to the bone.
Sighing, you resigned, "Yeah, I can imagine." Your fingers tapped lightly against the side of your cup, looking up at him with anticipation for an inaudible sign of resolution.
Instead, he stayed forward, staring at you with intrigue. "So you accept?"
"The job?"
Giving a slight nod, "What else?"
"And it would entail..?"
Charlie sat for a moment, lips pressed together as he pondered a viable answer, "Wouldn't be grueling, I'd respect your artistic timelines if they seem to conflict." He paused, running his hand through his soft jet black waves. "You'd take notes, help with scheduling and would take the minor questions that don't necessarily need to be addressed by me."
"So, the usual." Removing your hand from the edge of your cup, you flicked it away from you in an attempt to rid the condensation that had dripped during your conversation, attention focusing on that for a split moment.
"Maybe act as an art consult."
"Art consult?" You froze, hand stuck in mid motion while raising your eyebrows. A hint of interest peeked through your demeanor as you returned to your position of leaning in at the edge of the table.
"Yeah, does that not work for you?" Charlie sat still, only the slow rise and fall of his shoulders evident as he peered at you. His chin resting in the palm of his fist and nose settled on his knuckles, holding something in between his fingers.
"No—I mean yes, it does but dont you already have a team of designers for that?"
"I do, wonderfully talented." You hadn't noticed until now that he'd finished his cinnamon roll as he wadded up a napkin to dab the edges of his lips in an effort to rid them of any sugary evidence.
You tore your gaze from his rose tinted lips and brought it back to eye level near immediately, "But?"
He hesitated, letting the napkin fall from his softening grip, "But I have trouble processing some of those aspects and critiquing them to fit the vision. I struggle with being stubborn, sometimes-determined, competitive. Limits me, narrows my focus."
"So, to keep you in check, is that right?"
"That's correct."
You smiled, face beaming with pure delight, "Alright, I accept."
Charlie faltered, attention fixed on something other than the conversation at hand,"I'm sorry, do you always do that?"
"Do what?"
"Unravel your cinnamon rolls." You looked down, self-consciousness flooding over you as you realized what he meant. It was a force of habit, taking the end of a cinnamon roll and unravelling it until you reached the best part—the center. The center was the softest part, not too sweet and perfectly surrounded by the proper amount of cinnamon without it being overbearing. You always saved the best for last and the anticipation built by the prolonging of eating it was certainly unmatched.
Apparently, in the midst of your contractual drafting, you'd started to pick at your own, having not touched it prior to this moment, "Why, is it distracting?"
"No. Yes. A little bit." Charlie wadded up his wrapper, discarding it to the side before reaching for his iced coffee, leaving a ring of condensation on the table.
"So..." You smirk, unravelling the roll at a slower pace, making direct eye contact with him as you pull off a small section, "You don't like when I do this?" Charlie gave a meager glare, not daring to break the eye contact and as if to test your willpower.
"You're twisting my words."
Bringing a small piece to your lips, you held it there as if to tease, to test Charlie, "And you're so easily annoyed Mr. Barber, loosen up a bit."
He sighed and you couldn't tell if he was amused or simply angered by your games, "You're testing my patience."
"You're making assumptions. Again." You smiled as you wiped your hands. "I've got some conditions."
He stopped, "Conditions? What kind of conditions exactly?"
"Pen. Paper. Hand it over please." You held your hand out patiently, waiting for him.
"Why?"
"I'm getting it in writing this time." Charlie took his pen and notebook out from his pocket, placing the pen across the cover as he slid both across the table to you.
You flipped past his notes, finding a spare page in the back where you scrambled to get your thoughts down, your handwriting faltering between normal and cursive with the rush:
I'm not here for you to only give me busy work.
Dry cleaning and coffee runs are off the list of requests.
You didn't want to feel pushy so out of compulsion with a hint of guilt, you scribbled a small smiley face under your requests and signed your name by your artwork.
Noticing the detail, Charlie chuckled, dimples returning to his cheeks with the corners of his eyes crinkling, "Alright, laundry is off limits and you won't have to worry about coffee runs. I genuinely enjoy having that as a part of my routine. And besides, they're pretty set in their coffee ways, even negotiated a deal with our usual shop. They get a free slot in our playbill, full page, for a small discount on our usual order."
"Nice to know you've got a caffeine dealer on the ready if I ever need it. Now sign on the dotted line please. This is a formal agreement."
"Ah yes, in a Dunkin' of all places." He glanced up at you, taking the pen from your hand and initialed along the uneven mock line you'd drawn, "So you accept?"
"I accept."
"This calls for celebration then," Charlie cleared his throat, grasping his cup as he lifted it to cheers towards the new agreement, "To new and exciting opportunities."
Smiling, you followed, tapping the edge of your cup gently against his so as not to spill, "New and exciting opportunities."
—
The remainder of your night had gone swimmingly. You and Charlie hashed out the details of the position, talked about the specific tasks you'd be asked to manage and how it'd work with the company's move to Broadway. The mocked agreement you'd had him sign sat folded in your wallet, tucked away for safekeeping.
You finally reached your apartment, exhausted from tonight as you attempted to search for your keys in your purse. The jingling taunted you, causing you to pull out and balance a majority of its contents before finding the keys hiding in the corner. You let out a frustrated sigh as you shoved everything back in, struggling a bit as the items refused to cooperate.
"Oh, fuck it. Whatever." You stopped fussing with it and let the top drape over the spilling contents as you tried unlocking the door, forgetting how temperamental the door itself can be. Ever since you and Lydia moved in, the door always threw a fit, needing a bit of rough-housing to get it to open—usually calling for slamming nearly all your weight against it while shaking the handle a bit, something you really didn't have the energy for tonight.
The desire to sleep forced you to reconsider, giving you a minor boost of energy, just enough to get the door open and get you inside. You locked up, hanging your keys up on the hook by the entryway, starting to daze off with each step as you made your way towards your room.
Flicking on the light switch, you yawned and let your purse drop to the floor, contents sprawling in the pathway. You dropped your jacket onto the same spot—a problem for future you to deal with. Shorts and a tshirt were calling your name, begging you to free yourself from the confines of your dress and heels, only increasing your urge to sleep but you resigned, abandoning tonight's attire and replacing it with the other.
You let yourself fall back into bed, staring up at the ceiling as you watched the city lights flicker across, mimicking the stars. Physically and mentally you were drained but emotionally you were still attempting to process the incidents from tonight, mind running a mile a minute with a playback montage that unfortunately prevented you from drifting off.
A soft knock at your door brought you out of your daze, Lydia standing in the frame looking disappointedly at the mess you'd dropped on your way in, "You're home late."
You stayed still, too worn to even consider shifting your position, "Oh, hey Dee, didn't realize you'd be up this late."
"Yeah, the bar closed at midnight and we were all pretty tired anyways." Lydia smiled and sat on the edge of your resting her weight against one arm as she looked down at you.
You tapped your phone screen, 1:13AM, "And you're up now because...?"
She laughed, a tired one but one to signify her attention, "I can't be concerned for my best friend not being home when she clearly left before me?"
"You can, that's just not the case." You tilted your head in her direction, giving a faint smile.
"That's part of the case."
"Uh huh, and the other part?"
She shrugged, repositioning herself to lay next to you but still leaving a decent amount of space in between as to not disturb your comfort, "Self care kinda night, the whole mile. Candles, bath, music, face masks, the whole shebang. I'm not called for rehearsal tomorrow which means I don't have to get up early, a blessing really." You could feel her beaming with delight at the mere thought of a day off. "I don't know, I guess I've still got some closing night jitters or something left in my system."
"Yeah, definitely well deserved. Anything interesting after I left?" The end of your sentence fell off as you yawned, trying your best to make it subtle.
"Not really, the group talked, drank, same as before you left. Charlie went out to smoke and I think called it a night afterwards—didn't end up coming back in. He did seem a bit exhausted though so I wouldn't doubt it, man works himself to the bone and then some."
You rubbed your temple, reminded of the headache that had greeted you earlier in the night when you had your little Charlie confrontation, "Oh, uh, Charlie and I actually went to grab coffee."
She sat up, almost painstakingly obvious that she'd been offended—maybe because you'd neglected to tell her again about a situation with Charlie. In your defense, you were caught up in the moment with him, most definitely entranced by his charm, "Hold up, coffee? At midnight?"
Nodding lazily, you glanced up at her. Strike two. "And donuts—at Dunkin'."
"Mhm, I see," Dee smirked, coming to the realization of the intimacy of that situation, "Don't be shy, spill. I want to hear all the gross details. Spare absolutely nothing."
You reluctantly forced yourself to sit up, propping yourself up against the headboard like a rag doll, "It's not like that Dee,"
"Then what is it like?" Her curiosity peaked and there was absolutely no way she was letting you off the hook until you fed into her insistent pestering.
You sighed while running your hand through your hair, recalling the events from earlier as best you could in your sleep-ridden state, "Well, like you said, he went out to smoke. Ended up catching me before I could flag down a ride home—you know, with how the New York transportation system has some kind of vendetta against me and all."
She nodded, "I've heard the tales."
"We talked for a bit, small talk, nothing serious. Then out of the blue he just... asked me to coffee."
She squealed, piercing your ears and making you scrunch your nose in return, "I knew it. I fucking knew it wasn't just meaningless bar convo you two had earlier!"
You held your hands up in defense, trying to get her to settle from this level of excitement at 1am, "Okay no, stop. Don't assume."
"I saw what I saw." Lydia shrugged, crossing her arms—the way a child would when saying 'I told you so' or something similar.
"Do you want to hear about the rest of the evening or not?"
"Alright, sorry, continue please." She grabbed one of your spare pillows, clinging to it as if life depended on it, but also it was Dee, you weren't surprised at her eagerness to hear all the latest.
You let yourself slide down a bit, pillows supporting your neck and back as you rested your arms lazily on your head, "Anyways, we shared a cab. He was being cryptic about the whole destination and all so naturally I had to ask if he was on some serial killer type of shit—priorities, of course. We made it to Dunkin', ordered iced coffee and cinnamon rolls, I asked why he smoked and he offered me a job as an assistant-slash-art consultant type of gig. Now I'm home." You gave a small shrug, "That's it, swear."
"So what, you do his bidding, run his errands?"
The note was etched into your mind like a painting in a museum, rewarding you with a slight smile, "No, actually. I made it explicitly clear that I had my stipulations, laundry and coffee runs were out of the question."
"So you start when?"
You sighed, uncertain if you were leaving anything out, "I'm assuming Monday."
"Assuming?"
"Shit. We forgot to exchange contacts." In your tired haze you'd forgotten nearly the most important aspect, communication. Not that you sucked at communication, you spent the whole night with him talking about all sorts of things—you just had trouble focusing at times, especially when being in the company of Charlie and his banter. At least that's what you thought, it was innocent, all textbook.
"I've got his email, don't worry. Oh! You could go with me Monday—if that's when he wants you to start. We'll get up early, grab a smoothie, maybe go for a run?" Oh, she was all too excited about getting up at the crack of dawn. One of the major reasons you and Dee worked so well together was the fact that your schedules complemented each other, not mimicked. There was absolutely no way you were getting up earlier than required, you'd made that one of your specialties over the years.
"Dee, as much as I love you, you can enjoy your run and your smoothie. I'll be here, sleeping in and grabbing a coffee on my way, thank you very much."
She smiled, "Alright fine, pick-up starts at 11 sharp. Charlie does not like when people are late to his rehearsals."
You gave a hum of approval, mind clouded with only the thought of a sweet and desperately needed sleep,"Wouldn't miss it."
Lydia stood, placing the pillow back in its place, giving it a small fluff before she started to walk away. Standing in the doorway, she held the frame for a minute, stopping herself to turn back and glance at you for a second, "So that's it? Just coffee and donuts?"
"Just coffee and donuts."