The Coffee Shop AU

By Ursula Katherine Spiller

Kiki was over it. She really was. But when her old crush finds her way back into their hometown, Kiki has to realise that she was - to the surprise of absolutely no one - completely wrong.

Join Kiki in her coffee shop that brings all the nerds to the yard, and find out if, just this once, everyone gets to be happy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ursula Katherine Spiller
• Release date: Feb 14, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463531761

Ursula Katherine Spiller

Ursula Katherine Spiller was born on 19. March 1977 in Switzerland and wrote her first stories by dictating them to her mother who was much faster at typing than little Ursula. Little Ursula soon grew old enough to do her own typing and wrote what she would later learn is called "fanfiction". In fact, she wrote quite a lot of that. Incessantly. As an avid fandomer, she never lacked material, but it took some time before she eventually decided to invest in her own characters.Aside from the whole writing thing, Ursula has also raised an awesome son on her own and has a Master's Degree in English Literature and Communication Sciences. Her thesis was something about blood and Dracula and was totally cool."The True Ship" is her fifth original novel. As you'll soon see, her characters like to hop between different books/stories and genres, and "The True Ship" uncovers that. So, if you want to know how the characters would act in a completely different setting, you'll want to check out Ursula's detective novel "Cookie", the fantasy novel "Q's Key", "How a Post-Apocalyptic Vampire Librarian Saved the World", or the wlw romance "The Coffee Shop AU".

Book preview

The Coffee Shop AU

By Ursula Katherine Spiller

Copyright 2020 Ursula Katherine Spiller

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes:

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Prologue: The AU Coffee Shop

Chapter 1: Prodigal Basketballer

Chapter 2: Meeting Halfway

Chapter 3: Same Old Groove

Chapter 4: Rock Bottom

Chapter 5: Here We Go

Chapter 6: Afoot & Underway

Chapter 7: Impending Birthday

Chapter 8: Nigh Noon

Epilogue: What About...?

About the Author

Prologue: The AU Coffee Shop

The bell above the coffee shop door would have jingled merrily at the door being pushed open and letting in fresh morning air, but since it had been broken for years, all it managed was a dull clonk. Fixing the bell was one of those things that one tends to plan to do and then still plans to do ten years later, by which point it would be plain weird to still do them, because it adds character or something. A clonk is as good as a jingle to a deaf bat, after all.

Somebody call the Pope, she's actually on time! exclaimed a voice, and the accompanying head popped up from behind the counter, his name tag identifying him as Harold – Owner.

The She in question just rolled her eyes. I'm agnostic, and I doubt the Pope cares about my personal time management miracle, Harold.

Harold snickered. I shall inform the ghost of someone secular, then.

That does sound more like me. The as-of-yet unnamed protagonist hurriedly slipped out of her coat – despite her uncharacteristic timeliness – and stepped behind the counter as well. And since the author strongly dislikes epithets, the protagonist shall not remain unnamed for longer.

So, Kiki, Harold changed the topic gleefully, any news on that unspeakable television series you're watching? He already knew the answer to that question, and everyone who had ever had to listen to her ramble and complain about her obsession knew it too.

I still hate it, and I'm still watching it. Damn my poor impulse control, she called the second half of the statement over her shoulder from around the corner before popping back out again, tying the apron around her waist. There's still that godawful love triangle going on, she continued ranting.

And you hate love triangles, Harold said sagely, nodding with the certainty of someone who couldn't possibly have missed that bit of information.

Because they're terrible! Kiki insisted. If they want to go for a romance, they should focus on the romance they want to do, not on what they might eventually consider doing when they run out of other options or for simple shock value. Otherwise, there is no character development; there's... she waved around her hands, trying to find the appropriate description, "... writers playing ping-pong off the inside of my skull." She nodded once and firmly.

Harold tried his very hardest to not laugh. I see. And how does that painful image translate to the character development?

Kiki demonstratively held up her index finger and moved it from one end of her peripheral vision to the other, implying the mentioned ping-pong ball. Exactly! she agreed. The ball doesn't stay anywhere for long enough to even look at it! She turned her body and gestured at some imaginary space to her left with both hands. The moment you might get a hang of the character, she turned to the other side, moving the imaginary space to the right, they change the angle again, and you'll never notice that they never go into any details. You have a plain, white, boring ping-pong ball instead of a character. And nobody even realises it! she concluded incredulously.

Harold scoffed. You realised it, and you're still watching that crap.

Yes, she pointed at him, but I'm watching it with my eyes open.

I think you might be better off with your eyes closed entirely, actually.

Very funny.

Harold shrugged. Suit yourself.

Kiki absently checked the specials menu for the day. I will. And that doesn't even take into account the outlandish names that apparently have to make up for the complete lack of personality, she continued her rant.

I don't know, Harold mused, you have more than enough personality for at least two people, and nobody knows how to pronounce your name.

"I am not, Kiki emphasised, while dragging out a stepladder to put her impeccable handwriting to good use on the blackboard above the counter, a character in a terrible soap opera. And, my name isn't that hard to pronounce, it's just that you lot don't know how to read it."

"You introduced yourself with, and I quote, 'Ignore the name on my CV and call me Kiki.' In case you've forgotten," Harold reminded her, both of them ignoring the non-jingle above the opening door.

Experience, Harold. Years of experience. Can't go wrong with Kiki. And indeed, her name tag said, Kiki – Barista (she'd had the training and everything). She wrote the specials as furiously as she knew how, while still keeping the result aesthetically pleasing. Without turning around, she called, Good morning, Peer.

Peer waved at Harold and at Kiki's unseeing back. You're discussing names this morning, I hear.

Harold leaned his forearms on the counter. Well, it's always one thing or other, isn't it?

Don't try to tell me you don't love it, Kiki said from atop her perch. She grinned over her shoulder at the newcomer. It's not like the customers are just coming for the coffee.

Harold's hand histrionically darted to his chest. "I beg your pardon? Our coffee is excellent."

Don't get me wrong, she placated absently, our coffee's good, but so's the coffee down the street.

Harold sighed and shared a look with Peer. Leave it to that woman to believe she is single-handedly responsible for my customers.

Peer snickered. To be fair, I did originally walk in here because the name of your establishment intrigued me. He pointed at Kiki with his thumb. And the queen of nicknames came up with it, didn't she?

Yes, yes, Harold agreed dismissively. Bringing us back to the naming conventions. He turned to glare up at Kiki. I still think the café's name is silly.

Whatever, Kiki disagreed just as dismissively. It sparks imagination.

"In people who even know what a goddamn AU Coffee Shop even is!"

It's called a coffee shop AU, Kiki corrected. And we're the AU coffee shop in it. On her first day at work, Kiki had vehemently argued that people loved imagining their favourite characters of all kinds of stories in an alternate universe where they would all work in a coffee shop. And since Harold at that time hadn't been used to her particular brand of babble, he had been unable to disagree. The shop was given the new name the very next day.

I mean, Kiki continued – while still writing at the same time, which was quite the skill, if not a marketable one, who doesn't want to see Captain Kirk make coffee?

Me, Harold grouched.

Or Frodo, Peer piped up, ignoring Harold. You could call the café Bag End, then.

Kiki grinned in delight. "A Lord of the Rings themed café would be awesome."

Harold glared at her again. We're not renaming and remodelling the whole damn café again, just because you two are having a brainstorm!

Kiki giggled, finished writing the last two words and climbed back down. "Of course not. And that's the beauty of calling your café The AU Coffee Shop! We could be anyone! I could be an alternate version of Captain Kirk, and we'd never know."

Harold crossed his arms. Why can't I be Kirk?

Because you're much too grumpy. You're obviously Bones, she said matter-of-factly.

At that, Peer could no longer hold in his laughter, and even Harold had to snort.

Right then, Harold said, giving up the argument as a lost cause, if an amusing one. What can we get you, Mr Sulu? he asked Peer, cracking him up all over again. Your usual?

Peer still snickered when his words returned to him. I'm feeling adventurous for some reason. I think I'll go for caramel today.

Kiki manned the coffee maker. "I'll get you your daring choice, and you will be able to punch it, Mr Sulu," she declared seriously.

Peer smirked. Actually, if you're providing the fuel, I think that makes you Scotty.

Kiki, as expected by everyone present, just rolled with it, grinning at the steam from the machine. I will have the warp drive fixed in no time, Mr Sulu.

Harold just shook his head in despair. Jesus Christ.

Leaning forward, Kiki stage-whispered at Peer. He's still Bones, though.

The good doctor declined to comment.

That was the most entertaining bit that morning. Oh, there were enough customers. It tended to be an almost eerily regular trickle to keep all of Harold's employees busy but not too busy. Sometimes, Kiki (almost) seriously considered the option that they were indeed just an alternate universe of some particularly exciting version of them, because she'd tried to run the numbers on their shop that one time and had concluded that there was no way they were making a profit. Harold had dismissed her queries and informed her that he wasn't running that business just to make a profit. Kiki had remained quiet and not mentioned that she didn't even know how they could stay afloat. She knew that Harold didn't have to rely on the café for his livelihood. He had his fingers in other pies, and – so rumour had it – something of an inheritance. Still. Running a café for fun would be quite an expensive hobby. Not that Kiki had reason to complain, mind. She loved their little shop and had done so since she'd first set foot in it. It felt like a welcoming headspace where people could be their crazy selves and express it... or just sit there with a coffee and exist in peace for a bit. It was almost as if, well, they were sat atop some cosmic gateway that brought together people who would instinctively click. Either that, or Kiki's naming strategy brought all the nerds to her yard. That seemed much more plausible, if decidedly less epic. And if she, in the privacy of her own mind, entertained the outlandish option a bit more often than was strictly sane, it was nobody's business but her own. She chose to believe that it was therapeutic to view one's life as an adventure twice removed.

But despite the rampant imagination, everyone agreed that The AU Coffee Shop was almost uncanny: familiar from the first foot that was set inside but still slightly out of phase. Hence Kiki's unorthodox questioning of reality.

Her adventure twice removed got livelier around noon when an on-and-off visitor popped in for water and plain coffee. She always sat in a corner near the door from which she could observe the entire shop and hide behind a newspaper. Kiki was convinced that if there was a real-life version of James Bond, that woman must have met him at some point... either as allies or enemies. But that just made it more interesting. The silent and observant customer could be a secret agent or a super villain who built a giant laser in her basement. Much to Kiki's chagrin, she didn't know the mysterious woman's name, but, as was her habit, she had a line-up of potential pseudonyms.

Can I get you another coffee? she asked in lieu of anything substantial to ask.

The agent-slash-villain smiled at her from behind her newspaper that she'd almost finished. No, thank you. I'm almost ready to leave.

Oh, I didn't mean to kick you out, Kiki quickly added. You can stay as long as you like.

She tilted his head in acknowledgement. Thank you.

As Kiki turned to get back behind her counter where she belonged, the secret villain called after her.

Is that an emergency exit? she asked, frowning curiously and pointing to the side.

Kiki blinked. Oh, you mean the side door? Sort of, I guess. It's always been there, but we don't use it. It does open from the inside, though.

That comment didn't remain unanswered as a third party entered the discussion from two tables over. That door is ridiculous at best and a security risk at worst, I keep telling you.

I didn't put it there, Sterling, Kiki said, crossing her arms with a wry smile. As I also keep telling you.

It's not even useful as an emergency exit, because, if there was a fire or something, we could reach the front door as easily as the side door.

Ah, Kiki cautioned, but if there was a burning and tipped over truck out front, we could get out using the conveniently positioned side door.

Sterling sent her a look, clearly unimpressed by the abundance of imagination. One day, I'm going to walk out there, just to see if there's an alarm on it.

There isn't. So, feel free to leave through there. Kiki rolled her eyes, walking over to him. It's not like we have windows all over and can see you exit through the side door as well as the front door, she added sarcastically, gesturing at the glassy front and side.

The third side did not have windows due to the fact that they used the outside for crates and bins and the likes. Office and pantry were in the back, and the utility room to the side led to the unsavoury rubbish corner in the fresh-ish air. A helpful fence and gate hid their dark secret from the street out front, giving the whole shop a quaint appearance that lent itself to romantic comedies.

Anyway, Kiki said, seamlessly leading the reader from the description of her workplace back into the plot. Coffee?

I was just about to come to you and get one, Sterling said, apparently setting up camp with his laptop and a pile of what looked like reports.

Your sister not with you today?

No. Helena's writing a paper and claimed that I distract her.

I wonder why... Kiki didn't wonder at all.

Also, she works here. She doesn't live here. He raised an eloquent eyebrow, implying things about Kiki's private life.

Kiki ignored the quip that her life apparently revolved around her workplace and returned to her post, completely forgetting about the maybe-secret-agent in the corner, and instead running her mental calendar to remember when Helena would be back at the shop. Not that it did any good, her memory for schedules was rickety at best, but there was the hint of a recollection about the paper that needed to be written. So, Helena would probably not be by for another few days. (Of course, Kiki could have just actually looked it up, but that would have been way too organised and sensible.)

When Kiki looked out into the shop again from her vantage point, the maybe-villain was gone. Damn. She hadn't even heard the clonk of the doorbell. That sneaky snake. It really only fuelled her ridiculous theories about the nameless swashbuckler.

You're deep in thought.

Kiki blinked and looked up at one of her aforementioned co-workers. This one going by the name of Travers, which probably meant something important, but Kiki always forgot to google it. The secret agent just up and disappeared, she explained her wayward thoughts.

No, she didn't. She walked out like a normal person when you were busy arguing about the side door with our resident almost-celebrity.

He's not a celebrity, she argued, mostly out of reflex. His parents were just rich, and he'll soon run the family business.

If they had their own reality soap, people would undoubtedly watch it.

People will watch almost anything.

Travers stared at her for a moment and then raised an eyebrow for good measure.

Kiki frowned at him. Shut up.

He just laughed at her and went back to cleaning the counter.

There was another little rush a couple of hours after the usual lunch crowd when a group of students had apparently decided to discuss their project with coffee and a change of scenery. Other than that, the door clonked open and closed with its digestible regularity until the end of Kiki's shift when she