Work Text:
Anthony Bridgerton was a creature of order, discipline, and a carefully arranged routine.
Every day for ten years, since he had assumed the leadership of his family company, he rose at six without the need for an alarm, hopped on his treadmill for thirty minutes, then showered, groomed his face and dressed for the day. He then read three newspapers during a gourmet breakfast prepared by a private chef, and arrived at the Bridgerton Holdings offices no later than seven-forty-five. His calendar was blocked out in fifteen-minute intervals for maximum efficiency, his phone calls scheduled with military precision. There was no room for errors, and he was intolerant of delays.
His daily schedule was immaculate.
Until one Tuesday morning.
Edwina had been roped into staying late to help another department with a deal with a partner from China, while Anthony put out a fire with investors from Dubai, and his electric kettle decided to break down on him. He had half a mind to just order some intern to go out and buy him a new one, but it was five thirty in the morning, Edwina was taking a nap on her desk; he had no idea who was in the building or if there was even a store open where he could buy it. Of course, he could have had a store open just to sell to him, but it was just an electric kettle, and it would’ve been too much fuss. As much as he wanted his tea, he preferred not to take anyone away from their current attempts of figuring out how to fix an incompetent mistake and lose him even more money.
The need for some fortifying tea - and time away from the building, lest he make yet another intern cry - sent him out of his building and wandering down a street in search of a replacement. He entered the first place he had seen.
The bell above the door chimed. He glanced up, prepared to order an Earl Grey - a safe bet, most of the time - and then he saw her for the first time. And his world had shifted by a fraction of a degree.
The woman behind the counter was small, with a tumble of copper hair tied up in a scarf and eyes as startlingly blue as the summer sky. She smiled at him as if it were the most natural thing in the world — as if she hadn’t just levelled one of London’s most stoic CEOs with nothing more than good cheer and freckles.
Her smile was warm as sunshine, her blue eyes alight with cheerfulness he could not fully comprehend. And a voice that felt like the cheer of a Christmas morning.
“Hello! Welcome to Brew and Bookmark! What can I get for you?”
He froze.
Anthony Bridgerton, CEO, kingmaker of boardrooms, six years running as “London’s Most Eligible Bachelor,” froze. Entirely.
Anthony Bridgerton, who could negotiate mergers worth billions without blinking, found himself incapable of speech.
She repeated the question, tilting her head in a way that made his pulse do something unfamiliar and inconvenient. His heart hammering against his chest, his fingers felt like he was dipping his hands in bubbly.
She said something — he could not, to this day, recall the words — and he heard himself agree. She smiled at him, and he could feel his heart fluttering in his chest. Three minutes later, he walked out holding a paper cup of coffee.
As soon as he got to his office, he called his family doctor. He thought something was wrong with him. He wasn’t all that old, but he was a consummate workaholic. It wouldn’t be completely out of left field if he had ended up with some heart or blood pressure condition because of the demands of his job. Poor Edwina had been ready to call his mother as the doctor was examining him, concerned about his health. There was a great deal of relief when Dr Dorset didn’t find anything, but he still ordered some routine exams and asked if there was anything out of the ordinary on his day and what had happened when he started to feel his heart acting funny.
Both his PA and the doctor stared at him in disbelief as he explained the situation, before Edwina burst into a belly laugh, almost falling over herself as she tried to catch his breath.
In Anthony’s defence, he had been awake for over 24 hours. It didn’t matter to Edwina, though, who, from that day forward, never failed to remind him that he was so out of touch that he thought he was having a heart attack over a crush. He frowned and glared hard at her when she gifted him a Wizard of Oz heart-shaped pocket watch with the date and ‘Proof Anthony Bridgerton has a heart’ engraved on the back.
And he hadn’t even meant to go back. He acquired a new kettle that very afternoon. And yet his feet were mutinous. He had awakened a full half hour earlier, paid a - even bigger - fortune for his chef to show up earlier, stayed fifteen minutes by his car, trying to force himself to walk to his office, and, by seven-fifteen, and against all logic, he was back to the same little shop. The redhead - Penelope - smiled again. His heart did the same little hiccup and fluttering in his chest. Another cup of coffee was placed in his hand again, this time accompanied by a delicious pastry.
That was a year ago.
Which would’ve been fine, it was not unusual to have a coffee order and to drink some on the way to work. It was a consummated ritual in the entire world. There was just one small, tiny, little, almost insignificant detail:
Anthony Bridgerton did not drink coffee.
Not a sip, not a drop, not even when a deal had run long past midnight, and dawn was looming like an executioner.
Tea had always been his drink of choice. No matter the type, the blend, he would always give it a try and even his least favourite tea was still respected and enjoyed. He had been gifted a whole tour through Asia for his sixteenth birthday, so he could experience various new types of tea, their history, their preparation, the local culture and beliefs about them. No matter how much his family made fun of him, calling him an old lady, tea always brought warmth and comfort to Anthony Bridgerton.
And now, ordering coffee he would never drink was as much a part of his life as his morning run.
But he didn't drink any of it. He couldn't bring himself to.
He would give the cup to his assistant, Edwina, who would dutifully jot down tasting notes so he had something to say if Penelope asked for his opinion. Which she always did. Because he didn’t drink coffee, so he never knew what to order. Which, somehow, had turned into Penelope offering him suggestions and seasonal blends that he always agreed to try - because he didn’t know any better - and give his thoughts on later.
And here’s the thing, Anthony had fully intended to clear the misconception up, once he realised there was a misconception. But she always smiled when she talked to him, and it always made him melt, and his tongue got all twisted, and he never managed to say that he didn’t like coffee. And then, by the time he found a way to speak with her, like a proper human being - Edwina’s teasingly calling him Data, notwithstanding - it was too late for it not to be weird.
Especially after she started leaving him little encouraging notes on the napkins she’d pack with whichever pastries she’d choose - all of which he would absolutely not share and would devour with gusto.
Have a good day!
Hope your meeting goes well!
Looking sharp today!
The first time it happened, Anthony felt something popping in his chest. He almost called the doctor again. If not for the gooey feeling that always accompanied thinking about Penelope returning, and making his entire body soft and relaxed. He spent the rest of the day with a pep in his step. There was even a rumour that one of the interns had walked into and toppled a desk because he was smiling, but that was hearsay.
He cared not for the gossip.
He was too busy looking forward to buying his coffee tomorrow.