Macchiato to Stay

(Based on the CW television series, The Flash)

IIris could see Barry in the line-up, looking a bit sheepish—at least to her eyes.  He gave her a quick grin as he ordered to go, and had the money all ready to hand over; but he was running late as usual, and they both knew it.  Her eyes followed him as he headed out, even as the next person in line said, “Decaf latte and a honey-glazed doughnut,” and she filled the cup.  So she caught his start of surprise when a remarkably handsome man came through the door and passed him with a suddenly raised brow.

Barry swung round on his heel.  “What are you doing here?”

She could just make out the words; then she had to turn to the pastries.  Yet, as she made change, she looked past the customer to see the stranger join the other line-up.  So it was Tony who took the order:  espresso macchiato.  Her own next customer wanted a double shot cappuccino with whipped cream on top, to which Iris paid enough attention that she felt, more than saw, the stranger take his cup, pay, and turn away.  She assumed her brother had left for work as he ought.  Only as she sprinkled cinnamon did she look up again.

No, she’d been wrong:  they both now stood by one of the booths.  Oh, Barry was going to be late late!  He was obviously tense; the stranger almost ostentatiously relaxed.  Yes, quite deliberate:  he had a little smile on his face.  One could almost call it a smirk.  Who he was, Iris didn’t know; but it was incredibly obvious that Barry did.  Knew him well, in fact.

Someone from work?  Off the top of her head, she would say no.  The man was in skin-tight black, over which he had a leather jacket with fur trim.  Off-duty night shift, maybe?  Only Iris had been in the precinct often enough that she’d certainly have spotted a guy who looked that good; and she couldn’t place him.

Someone Barry knew in his private life?  Iris had always thought Barry told her everything, right down to the crush he’d once had on herself.  “White chocolate mocha with extra foam,” said the woman in front of her.  But, as Iris added the foam, her eyes were drawn once again to the two men by the booth, each holding a still-full cup.  Maybe, she thought, there were things that Barry might not want to tell his foster-sister?  The sort of things a young man might not want their father to overhear.

The stranger said something … something that Iris dearly wished she could make out … that brought a quick flush to Barry’s cheek, and then slid lithely into the booth.  Barry hesitated, cast a quick glance to the door and sat down opposite.  He took the lid off his coffee and blew on it gently; and, over the rim, his eyes met those of the stranger.

Oh, yes, thought Iris.  That’s what’s going on.  Not that I’m going to tell Dad, of course.

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