A stop on the way, and to the café

You had spotted the café a few days earlier, while out and about on your weekly errands.

It was a little closer to the core of downtown than you usually liked to go, but for the purpose of grabbing lunch on the way to the Mall, its location made it the ideal place for today.

All the while as you drove, you couldn’t help but be a little self conscious of your driving as Samantha stared at you from the back seat. Every time you looked up to the Rear-view mirror you could see her gazing at you with a dreamy look, before suddenly becoming bashful as you lock eyes with her, turning her head with a crimson blush to consider the cracking upholstery.

Mary for her part was watching the city streets and people go bye from the front seat, eyes never leaving the window. As you occasionally spared a glance to the passenger side you could see she had both her pointer and index fingers in her mouth, a bit of saliva pooling around them as she idly sucked her worries away.

Mary, you decide, would be fun to see drunk; her slipping social etiquette stone sober was amusing enough, if you were to strip the anxiety away, who could tell how she’d act?

Of course, there were other things that could motivate you to make her drunk, but that was a train of thought for another time. A more pressing concern appears as you look down to the dashboard, spotting the fuel gage; nearly empty.

“Hey ladies, I'm going to get some gas real quick, alright?” you call to your passengers, to which they both nod impassively, echoing “Okay, Arthur!” and “Ahh-riht *shPoP* Arthur”

There wasn’t really enough time to shop around for the best price you decide, so you simply pull into the next gas station you see on the way, pulling up to a pump and stopping with a screech. The pumps were old, but clearly operational, and the building next to them was a squat convenience store, every window completely covered in poster advertisements.

You get out of the car with a stretch, the girls following you politely rather than just sitting in the car, and its not long before you’ve filled up the tank, making your way to pay for the gas inside.

You’re surprised to see Samantha follow you as you go, seeing your expression she offers up an explanation “I just want to pick up some hygiene stuff.” She looks a little awkward as she says so, and so you don’t inquire any further.

Before the two of you enter the station Mary calls out, having apparently worked up the nerve to do so, “Can you guys get me some suckers?”

Samantha lets out a clipped sigh beside you, exasperation showing for only the briefest moment before her demeanor returns to its usual tenderness, “Mary, we’re going out to lunch, no.”

Mary, in turn, lets out a frustrated sigh of her own, before getting in the car with a huff and as you see through the windows, immediately stuffing her face with her fingers once more. You were beginning to see that Mary's habit was a nervous one, almost always coming out as a result of her anxiety.

A few armchair-diagnoses bounce around in your head for a time before you decide it was best to leave that sort of thing to the professionals, in the short term, it was really best if she sucked on, well, anything other than her fingers.

Your cock throbs at that thought.

“I’ll get her something for later.” You decide, communicating as such to Samantha as you both enter the store, to which she smiles at you “you really are a thoughtful guy Arthur”

Sam looks around the store for a bit as you pay, coming up to the counter just as you’re done giving the teller a painfully thick wad of cash from your wallet, she asks “Hi, uh, I looked but I couldn’t find any, do you have antiperspirant?”

The teller blinks through her bloodshot eyes, clearly caught off guard by the break in the routine, concentrating hard through what looked like the high of a lifetime “Uhh -h, I think we have some in the back.”

A pause ensues as Samantha looks around expectantly before speaking up, “well, do you mind looking for me?”

“OH!” the teller shakes herself a bit, stammering “o- oa- of course, my bad” before shuffling her way into a door behind the counter, out of sight.

Reasoning you’re going to be paying for Samantha's things anyways, you take the opportunity to peruse the candy shelf below the counter, picking out a large bag of Ring-pop’s and setting them down.

Another item of use pops into your head before the teller can return, and so you disappear into the many store isles for a time, before finding what you wanted and returning to Sam's side, placing a box of condoms on the counter as well.

Samantha eyes the box with concern, nearly panic. You hear her draw a breath in through clenched teeth as she looks at you with a pained expression, before staring at the floor.

Fuck, you really shouldn’t have bought them with Samantha in tow, what were you thinking?

Sam quietly asks you “Arthur are, are you… ‘seeing’ someone?” her voice is filled with dejection; filling you, to your surprise, with a similar sadness.

“No…” you reply, which is only partially a lie “-you just, never know I guess.”

She perks up at that a little, and her face is filled with something that looks a bit like determination, her blue eyes suddenly alight with energy and vigor, and her thick caterpillar eyebrows furrowing.

It was your turn to ask a question, as the teller returns with a literal armful of deodorants and deodorant adjacent products, showering the counter with them as she sets them down, saying “Fuck, you can decide, uh, what you want; I need a smoke.”

As soon as she returns she’s left for the back again, and once more you and Samantha are alone in the front of the convenience store.

“Sam..” You begin “-I think this stuff is only supposed to go on your armpits…”

Samantha looks to you with what you suspect is a feigned confusion “Oh, yeah w- I mean, uhh-”

You try to breach the subject with tact, approaching it with a different angle “what I mean to say, is, I really hope you’re not embarrassed by your sweating Sam, It doesn't bother ME at all, I like you exactly the way you are.” you emphasis your own opinion, reasonably expecting it would be the most important to her.

“Oh..” She visibly tries to play it off, but puffs up nonetheless as she takes in your admirations. She seems to consider something for a moment, before unprompted, she begins to explain. “I’ve seen a doctor for it…”

She looks to you, apparently trying to gauge your reaction, to which you give her an encouraging smile. She continues “- they said that my sweating ‘should be expected’ for a 'woman of my proportions’…” she spits out ‘proportions’ with a bitterness in her voice “-whatever that's supposed to mean.”

The both of you are content in the silence for a time as Samantha perused the spilled products, before an idea strikes you, an admittedly mean, but hot idea.

You say “Well, I think antiperspirant body lotion exists, I could try and find some for you if you’d like! later I mean.”

“Really? Oh that’d be amazing! Thank you!”

You give her a simple smile in response, before pivoting the conversation slightly “By the way, If its Eileen and Maddie you’re worried about, or someone else for that matter, don’t worry about that anymore.”

Samantha gives you a confused look, “Oh?”

“Yeah…” you continue “- I think I want to hang out with them some more, and, well... That shits not gonna fly with me around, you’re too important to me Samantha.”

Samantha looks, if anything, a little shaken at your sudden insistence upon defending her, but as your words sink in you eventually settle into a comfortable wait once more, and after a while, you feel Samantha press her head into your arm, leaning on you and smiling peacefully.

***

“You really didn’t have to pay for me Arthur, you already spent so much on Gas. I’d have paid for your uh, ‘sleeves’ too.”

You glance at Sam in the rear-view mirror, shaking your head "No, I wanted to, besides we're 'celebrating' today aren't we? It's my pleasure."

You hear a crinkling to your right, and you turn your head, prepared to tell Mary that they were 'almost there', and that she 'really shouldn't open a candy yet' but you're pleased to see she's just stuffing the large bag of Ring-pops into the glove-compartment for safe keeping.

Catching your eye she gives you probably the third gentle "Thank you." of the past five minutes, to which you, yet again, tell her "No worries."

The tiny café comes into view as you wind your car past a few larger, newer buildings.

It looks to have been converted from a small wooden house from the 1800's. It was narrow, yet long, and the architecture; gothic-revival, was dripped in intricate craftsmanship, from its tall narrow windows with stained embellishments, to the arched, practically gabled front door. The cursive sign above it reads bluntly "Claire's Café & Bakery" in metallic gold letters.

Pulling up to it you choose at random a space in the empty, side facing parking lot, patting the steering wheel and wordlessly commending your car for another successful trip.

When the three of you push your way into the long entry hallway of the café, no doubt a leftover from its days as a house, you're awash with the smell of pastries and antique materials; a bit as if someone decided to do some baking in a bookstore.

The wooden door closes behind you with the sounding of bells, and you're left to take in your surroundings.

The hallway is patterned in a a dark green botanical wallpaper, which you suspect is being prepared to be stripped if the tactically lifted up and folded edges are to go by. Hugging the left wall is a fenced-off narrow wooden staircase with heavily scratched and scuffed steps, years of feet creating visible, parallel indents on every level.

There's no other way to go than forwards or up, and not being in the mood for trespassing today, you choose forwards, going deeper into the main part of the café.

Passing through an archway, you see the main room of the Café, to your relief, has been updated immensely compared to the 'work in progress' hall. The walls are a boring, though sanitary white, with colorful artwork and hand-painted baseboards helping to break up the monotony.

As Samantha, Mary and yourself enter into the main retail space a pleasant upbeat voice meets you.

"Hi, I'm Claire! what can I get for you three today?"

The woman, Claire, had just exited what you assume to be the washroom, grabbing a black apron from the counter and tying it.

She was shockingly short, a good few inches under 5 feet, you'd guess around four-foot seven or eight. Making her build understandably stocky, with short limbs and a pear shaped torso slimming gradually from her shoulders to her full ass.

She was wearing trendy leather boots which had a generous heel, bringing her up to 4'10 or so, nearly translucent yoga-pants which revealed, through absence on the cheeks and evidence near the lower back, a simple black thong, and a white tank top under the apron.

Her face, a little 'smushed' looking, as if her features had simply ran out of room, held a pair of warm, muddy green eyes under rimless round glasses and the tiniest button nose, Her face was framed by short chocolate-brown hair which was in no particular style, nearing a bowl cut yet parted functionally, rounding off her tomboyish appearance.

Finally, and most noticeably, her exposed forearms were covered in tattoos. The right, a half-sleeve and if you remembered correctly a homage to a recent Post-apocalyptic video game, and the left arm, a collage of smaller, more personal looking tattoos.

Speaking up, you greet the barista with a winning smile "Hi! We were hoping you had a lunch menu?"

'Claire' beamed at your group, clearly overjoyed to have customers to serve in the otherwise empty café. She quickly ushered you all to what was visibly the nicest table in the room, just around the corner from the counter and in front of a large bay window which may have once been the focal point of a stately dining room.

"Have a seat here and I'll just go fetch you the menus"

Sitting down you find you're instantly pleased with the quality of the service, and the view it provides, as she goes to fetch a pitcher of water and a selection of laminated cards.

In the meantime, Samantha has already gotten down to polite, lunchtime conversation. "So, Arthur, was there any store in particular you wanted to check out?"

Damn, you were being cornered into showing your hand a bit earlier than you expected, but whether you floated the idea now, or in the mall, would make little difference in the end.

"Actually.." You cautiously begin "- I was thinking of putting together a little backyard party before the weather turns. So, I was hoping to pick up supply's"

"Oh! that sounds so fun! right Mary?" Samantha is as enthusiastic as ever at the idea, and Mary in turn nods politely, making a sort of pleased hum before you elaborate further.

"I was actually wondering, do you girls have swimsuits? no sense in letting that massive hot-tub go to waste."

You're initially surprised when both of them nod in confirmation, before you're disappointed to hear Sam elaborate "Yeah of course! we have our swim trunks, no need to worry about us." She lets out a good natured chuckle, as if it was silly for a man to be concerned about his female companionship's swimwear.

Swim... trunks?

With a renewed sense of pessimism , and a general air disappointment in life, you're about to plead your case for buying them something new to wear, when Claire returns, bringing with her three glasses of water and a few Menus.

"Here you guys go.." She begins kindly, setting down the lunch menus along with a list of available pastries "- oh! and we recently got our liquor license! Here's the cocktail menu."

You're about to grab for the third menu, considering taking up drinking full time, before you're surprised to see Samantha and Mary take it, sharing it and flipping to a page labelled 'Non-Alcoholic'.

"Ooh!" both of their eyes are alight with glee as they read from the sober-friendly menu, talking amongst themselves in 'oohs' and 'aws' as they share their apparent mutual appreciation for the mock-tails.

They come to a decision quickly, and before Claire has even left the table they order "Two Shirley temples please!"

Instantly your darkest and most devious neurons are firing on all cylinders, formulating a half-baked scheme. "Make that three!"

"Alright, a round of Shirley Temples coming right up!" Before Claire can leave the table you grab her attention with a tap on the arm, making sure your roommates are engrossed in the menus once more before whispering to her in hushed tones.

It was a plan that could easily fail, either by Claire having noticed they were reading from the 'non-alcoholic' menu, or by her having too much faith in her own short-term memory, but it was worth the try.

You whisper to her in a deeply apologetic tone, lying through your teeth "Sorry, but could mine be Non-Alcoholic? I'm uh..." you drag it out, squeezing out the sympathy with a vice grip "-I'm in recovery."

You hope, that the barista will pick up on the interjected, false, implication that the girls in fact wanted 'Dirty Shirleys' the very much alcoholic version of the popular cocktail.

By some miracle, it looks like it might have worked, as Claire's face screws up in sympathy, and she makes no effort to correct your seemingly poor understanding of cocktail terminology, only giving you an understanding nod and saying in an equally hushed tone "Of course and, I hope I can say, I'm really proud of you!"

Minutes pass in anticipation as you wait for the cocktails to be brought out, yourself hardly participating in the conversation as you're suddenly very invested in the potential ABV% of your roommates lunch.

Finally Claire returns with a tray of tall red glasses, placing them down first in front of the girls "Two shirleys for the ladies." and with an added significance in her tone , places down yours "And one for you."

You eye the three glasses intently, trying to spot any variation, and if you focused for long enough, comparing them beside each other in pairs, it was clear to see.

Samantha and Mary's drinks were positively swimming with booze.