Chapter Text
When Harry met Ella
Ella Lopez was running late. Again.
She darted through downtown traffic with the nimbleness of a woman who had balanced forensic reports, crime scenes, and a chronic caffeine addiction for years. Her sneakers slapped against the pavement as she muttered under her breath.
“Five minutes. I’ve got five minutes to get coffee or I’m gonna end up examining blood spatter with a migraine.”
Her usual café was three blocks the wrong way. But then—she saw it.
A new shop tucked neatly on the corner just around the block from the precinct. The windows glowed warm and inviting, with neat little tables pressed against the glass and faint jazz music filtering out. A painted sign swung overhead:
The Wandering Cup.
Ella grinned. “Oh, hello, destiny.”
She pushed through the door and froze.
The place smelled like heaven—freshly ground coffee beans, cinnamon, and something buttery that reminded her of childhood. The kind of smell that made you believe all your problems could be solved with just one pastry.
Behind the counter, a man glanced up from the espresso machine. His dark hair was untidy in that infuriatingly natural way, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The thing that really struck her, though, were his eyes—green, sharp, but tired. He nodded politely.
“Morning. You look like someone in need of a coffee.”
Ella let out a laugh, pointing at herself. “Oh, you have no idea. I’m like ninety percent caffeine, ten percent glitter, and maybe one percent blood, depending on the day.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, just slightly. “Right. Well, can’t help with the glitter. But the coffee’s good.”
“Sold!” Ella leaned against the counter, already scanning the menu. Then her gaze caught on something else.
The walls.
Framed photographs lined them—wide deserts, snow-capped mountains, ruins half-swallowed by jungle.
Ella gasped, spinning to take them all in. “Whoa. These are amazing. You took these?”
The man shrugged. “Most of them, yeah. I traveled a bit before this.”
“A bit?” Ella’s jaw dropped as she pointed. “That’s Machu Picchu. That’s the Giza Plateau. That’s—oh my gosh, is that the Himalayas? Who just casually has the Himalayas on their wall?!”
“Someone who ran out of fridge magnets.”
Ella barked out a laugh so loud one of the customers at the back looked up. She waved them off, still grinning.
“Okay,” she said, pointing at him, “you’re officially my new favorite person. And also, uh—coffee. Before my boss kills me?”
He nodded, turning back to the espresso machine. “One latte coming up.”
---
Ten minutes later, Ella bounced into the precinct with her new paper cup in hand, eyes shining like she’d just uncovered the Ark of the Covenant.
Chloe raised an eyebrow from her desk. “You’re in a good mood.”
“This,” Ella declared, holding up the cup like a holy relic, “is the best coffee I’ve ever had. Ever. And that includes the time I accidentally ended up at a Michelin star restaurant because I followed the wrong Uber.”
Lucifer, lounging in his chair with a smirk, tilted his head. “Do tell. What’s got our little Miss Lopez buzzing brighter than usual?”
Ella plopped into a chair, already launching into her story. “New café! Just around the corner! It’s like destiny, Chloe. And the guy who runs it—British, polite, super dry sense of humor, and—” she pointed dramatically at Chloe—“he has walls covered in photos from his travels. Like, actual Machu Picchu and stuff. I swear, he’s like an Indiana Jones who makes lattes.”
Chloe exchanged a look with Lucifer. He arched an eyebrow knowingly.
“Sounds positively fascinating,” Lucifer drawled. “And how many times do you intend to visit this… mysterious new barista before you’re hopelessly smitten?”
Ella flushed, waving him off. “It’s not like that! I just really like the coffee. And the scones. And maybe the pictures. But mostly the coffee!”
Lucifer smirked, Chloe pursed her lips, and Ella took another sip, already planning her next visit.
---------------------------
The bell above the door jingled, and just like that, she was gone.
Harry set the latte he’d just made on the counter, taking a slow breath as the café quieted down again. He leaned against the edge of the counter, staring at the door for a moment longer than strictly necessary.
A small, slightly exasperated smile tugged at his lips.
She’s… energetic, he thought, shaking his head. Like someone shook up the world and sprinkled glitter on top.
He wiped a spot on the counter, but his mind wasn’t on cleaning. The way she had marveled at the photos on the walls, the way her eyes lit up when she laughed at his “fridge magnets” comment… it made him chuckle quietly to himself.
British understatement is going to take on a whole new meaning, he mused. She’d probably think I’m dull as dishwater if she knew the truth about some of those places.
Still, there was something refreshing about her. She didn’t ask the usual questions people did about him, about his accent, or the strange air of quiet he carried. Instead, she was just… curious. Bright, unrelenting curiosity that made him feel… normal.
He shook his head again, stepping behind the counter to tidy things up. Normal. That’s what I’m trying for, isn’t it? Normal life. Coffee shop. Peaceful mornings.
Yet somehow, he already knew that having Ella wander into his mornings would make “peaceful” a little more complicated. And for some reason, he didn’t mind at all.
Harry glanced at the photo of a mountain range above the counter—Himalayas, 2018—and smirked.
Maybe some complications are worth it.
He poured himself a cup of coffee, black, and sipped slowly, already thinking about how he might sneak a few more pastries her way next time she came in.
Harry lined up the freshly baked scones, croissants, and cinnamon buns in the display case, arranging them just so. The smell of warm pastry filled the café, mingling with the rich aroma of espresso. A customer at the counter greeted him, and he pushed the lingering thoughts aside with a practiced nod and a polite smile.
“Morning! What can I get for you today?” he asked, taking their order efficiently.
As he steamed the milk and poured the coffee, he kept his professional rhythm. Yet, no matter how many orders he filled, the last customer—the one with the impossible grin and sparkling enthusiasm—kept intruding on his thoughts.
Her eyes. The way she had tilted her head at the photos on the wall. The way she had laughed so freely at his terrible fridge-magnet joke.
He shook his head slightly, trying to refocus on the latte in front of him, but the image of her beaming, wide-eyed, was stubborn. She had wandered into his café for coffee, and somehow, she’d wandered straight into his mind as well.
By mid-morning, Harry realized he’d caught himself glancing toward the door every few minutes, almost unconsciously, half-expecting her to walk back in. He caught the reflection of himself in the espresso machine and smirked.
Great. She’s got me thinking about scones and smiles. And I barely know her name yet, he mused.
He poured another cup, set it carefully on a saucer, and tried to tell himself it was just a regular day at the coffee shop. But he knew it wasn’t. Not anymore.
The last customer—the one who’d left with a latte and a smile—was staying on the back of his mind, long after the bell had stopped jingling and the café had settled into its usual hum.