Order 73 ~DNF~

𝟙𝟚

𝒟𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓂 𝒫𝒪𝒱

"Hey," I clear my throat, and George looks up from his fingers clutching loose cash from his latest customer.

Tubbo was basically about to combust in his seat trying to keep his excitement reeled in as I explained to George the timings and obligations of his role. George looked like he was three seconds away from walking out to look for a bridge to jump off of, though he hid it well whenever the teen looked his way.

Of course out of everybody, Tubbo would ask George to be his guardian. I would have just let Leia handle it, but I'm already here. I pulled up the paperwork on my laptop, they both signed it, and that was that. We even scheduled Tubbo's first day for tomorrow, as George had a free period in the morning.

"Ah, hi." He frowns awkwardly.

"I never paid this morning...for the drinks." I clarify my sudden greeting. "I mean technically I did, you just stole my money."

"You don't have to pay, it's alright." He shrugs, going back to arranging the sugar packets on the counter neatly.

"Here." I hand him a ten and he shakes his head, pushing my hand away. He watches as I fold the bill and narrow my eyes at the tip jar, aiming to toss it inside. My attempt fails miserably and he laughs out loud, not even bothering to hide it. I glare at him and complain under my breath as I get up to put it inside.

"I don't need your money Dream." He tells me, staring at the folded up bill inside the clear mason jar.

I raise a cynical eyebrow and step toward the counter as he unconsciously takes a step back, perfectly in sync. "First, I don't like owing anyone anything, doesn't matter who it is, or what it's for,"

I hold up a second finger. "Two, your boss could look at the register and see that the money doesn't add up. I'll probably get dragged into that, and honestly I have better things to do."

I lift a third finger. Shoot–don't have a third reason. "Three. I needed to get rid of the change anyway."

It's invented on the spot, but it seems to work as I'm met with eyes half-lidded with indifference. "And here I was thinking it was out of the goodness of your heart." He deadpans.

"Are you guys gonna stop pretending I'm not here or what?" Olivia glares, looking between us. "Stop bickering with my idiot brother and come help me with the line."

We watch her retreat back to her register, apologizing to her customer for the wait. "Well, the boss has spoken." He sighs placidly, head turning towards me and dark brown hair shifting with his sudden movement.

"She's sixteen," I wheeze.

"Manager!" She practically smells our conversation, pointing at the breast pocket of her apron where her badge was clipped. "Don't you forget it! Next please–" I smile at her as she bustles around, watching as she catches George's eye and points to the register forcefully.

The Brit rushes over to help her, taking down an order and handing a woman her change. I silently retreated back to the spot by the window from yesterday, pulling my laptop out of my bag. Work occupies my attention less and less as I find myself glancing over at George and Olivia every once in a while, in awe of how fluidly they work together.

Their movements are organized and mesmerizing, dancing between syrups and teas, picking between sprinkles and whipped cream. George barely has to shout for the caramel syrup that he forgot to add before my sister is tossing it to him from the other end of the large kitchenette. Like a piece of beautifully crafted machinery–you'd think they'd been working together for years, not weeks.