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There's this thing about coffee that she doesn't fully understand. It's not like she needs it to wake up, she's long ago surpassed that point in which the caffeine makes her jittery and awake for hours. It’s just that at some point coffee seemed to become some sort of magical substance that helped her feel better. Where she no longer drank it because of the need to stay awake, but because it made her feel better, like a nice warm hug. Sometime in college, she thinks, when she was pulling those all nighters for classes that were pure theory and truly didn't even matter in the end.
It was too bitter at first, a flavor she forced herself to swallow down in big gulps. She needed the caffeine it brought and didn't want the chemicals and sugars that came with sodas, and she wasn't about to go anywhere near recreational substances. (She saw what happened to Jessie Spano in that one episode of Saved by the Bell.) She doesn't remember when she started enjoying the taste.
She does remember her first time experiencing how delicious coffee could be, though. It started with her being her difficult self, of course, and her best friend rolling hazel eyes and scoffing at her.
"Honestly, Santana, you can bitch about corporate giants being evil all you want, but I refuse to get a coffee from a gas station. I want coffee, good coffee, in a clean well-lit atmosphere that doesn't immediately make me want to take a shower." Hazel eyes had connected with hers briefly, before focusing on the road before them. "And since I'm the one driving, I get to make the decision and you will drink a damn coffee from Starbucks because there will be no other choice for hours."
"Fine, Quinn, but don't expect me to enjoy it." Santana rolled her eyes, pouted and crossed her arms over her chest, sinking further down into her seat. She pouted even harder at Quinn's laughter.
An hour later, Santana had been converted, even though she wasn't sold on the service. The short, brunette, barista that made their coffees just wouldn't shut up. The girl's lack of conjunctions and, admittedly, attractive appearance was perfectly Quinn's type. So, Santana had to put up with learning far too much about Barista Rachel and her two gay dads and how she's destined to headline Broadway just as soon as she gets that transfer to the Union Square Starbucks she's put in for.
Quinn spent the rest of the drive up to NYU talking about how much of a great happenstance it was that they had happened upon Rachel in that Starbucks, and swapping information, and wouldn't it be amazing once Rachel gets to New York.
"Think of all the free coffee, Santana!" Quinn grinned, with wide excited eyes.
"And by coffee you mean orgasms." Santana smirked. Actually, if all Starbucks tasted as good as that cup she'd been forced to try, she might just have to ignore her supposed principals against consumerism. A Quinn that gets regular orgasms is always a more pleasant Quinn to be around, and if Santana got free coffee out of it, well life would be pretty damn good.
Rachel didn't make it to Union Square, but she did get transferred to the 2nd Avenue one which was even closer to the campus and therefore even more unavoidable if she wanted to remain Quinn's friend. (Which she did, and not just because she was pretty much the best roommate should've lucked into for her freshman year of college.) Rachel's relocation to New York, after that brief connection between Quinn and her, was the beginning of Santana's inevitable coffee snobbery, she just didn’t realize it at the time.
It wasn't long before that Starbucks felt like a second home to her. There was something warm about the atmosphere there in that little store, especially after Rachel had introduced her to the other baristas. She'd originally started coming in, purely to be Quinn's wingwoman (and the scant possibility of free coffee), but soon found herself coming in before, between or after classes. The free and consistent wifi, twenty five cent refills and warm atmosphere was preferable to study in than hunkering down in the library like she used to. She liked that the baristas knew her name and her drink, and that they could tell just by looking at her if she needed a little something extra that day. She'd grown into Rachel as well, no longer thinking of the woman as someone she had to put up with for Quinn's sake, but as a friend -- a sometimes annoying and overly informative friend -- but a genuine friend nonetheless. Rachel had decided that she wanted the illustrious black apron that only a few of the baristas wore, signifying that they were officially Coffee Masters. (It was inevitable, surely, for if there was anything Santana knew about Rachel without a doubt, it was that Rachel liked to be well informed about nearly everything.) Rachel decided to take Santana on the trip through the various regions of coffee with her.
It just so happened that Santana's Mass Communications on a Global Level class got out just as Rachel's shift was starting and it was easy to walk the couple of blocks to join Rachel for a couple of hours until her night class. Rachel's eyes always smiled when Santana walked in, but Rachel had long learned that less was more when talking to Santana. They formed a routine, Rachel greeting her with a coffee and a smile and Santana returning the smile and dropping off a generous tip since Rachel had long ago stopped accepting payment from Santana and Quinn for their plain coffees. (Free coffee was against Starbuck's policy, but it wasn't like Santana and Quinn ever ordered the drinks with the syrups, milks or frills.) It'd generally be a silent interaction, unless they needed to pass along a message from or for Quinn. Then, halfway through their time together, Rachel would decide that Santana needed a break from studying too hard and bring over the "taste adventure" for them to go on together. Santana would warily look up from her books with a tired smile, remove the black framed glasses from her face, and clear some room for Rachel to sit. Rachel would explain where the coffee came from and what flavors would pair best with it and, with Rachel being Rachel, she'd go into a bit of the history of the region (which had nothing to do with the black apron and everything to do with Rachel's impossible thirst for knowledge).
Santana enjoyed the opportunity to figure out what types of coffees she appreciated and which she definitely did not. She enjoyed being forced to take a break from her far too serious studies, and she'd even come to enjoy Rachel's calm, but fascinated, voice as she rambled on about the various (and not too pleasant) histories of the regions the coffee came from. It was so far removed from Santana's studies, that it was a much needed and pleasant experience. Then, one day, long after Rachel had earned her black apron and after Santana had graduated (but still managed to make sure to come in at the same time on the same day she used to) instead of the beautiful, short, brunette (now) wife of Quinn she was used to seeing breaking her from her focus on work, it was a captivating, tall, blonde with the bluest cat eyes she'd ever seen. Santana's breath had momentarily stopped upon the connection of eyes and when the blonde had smiled down at her, Santana had gasped out needing oxygen to yet again fill her lungs.
"Rachel said you'd be able to take me on the taste test?"
Santana blinked, even the woman's voice was like music to her ears, and she’d never been rendered this way upon meeting someone before. She blinked again and shifted her gaze towards the bar, where Rachel stood smiling. Rachel nodded and sent Santana a wink, which caused her cheeks to burn. Santana immediately cleared the table for the woman to sit and join her.
"Where are we visiting today?" She gestured for the woman to sit. "I'm Santana, by the way."
"Oh, I know. You've been coming here for ages. Always so focused like you're trying to find something to save the world," the woman leaned over and whispered, making sure to keep Santana's focus on her eyes, "when, really, your smile is like the sun shining through the clouds on a rainy day and everything is so crisp and clear and perfect."
Santana's heart skipped a beat and felt jittery like she'd drunk way too much coffee, but not sick, the exact opposite of sick.
"How have I missed you all this time, then?" Santana didn't think she'd somehow overlook this woman, even in her most frenzied of study sessions.
"It wasn't my shift. I usually sat in the corner over there," the woman pointed to an alcove that had large leather chairs and soft lighting. It was definitely out of Santana's typical viewpoint. "I thought you were Rachel's girlfriend all this time, with how the two of you interacted. So, I didn't intrude.”
“You should’ve.” Santana couldn’t help blurt out.
“I know that now.” Amused blue eyes twinkled, “now that I’m on Rachel’s schedule, I’ve finally met her wife. Quinn’s beautiful, but she’s not you.”
“You’re a bit forward.” Santana had thought that she was used to people being forward about her external beauty, it was something she had grudgingly gotten used to and never really appreciated much. This woman though, and the way she was saying those things as if they were just simple truth, like she wasn’t expecting anything from saying them, was different.
“I’m not trying to be offensive or pressure you. In the very least, I would like you to help me get a black apron like Rachel’s.” The woman bit her lip and looked down at the French press that held the coffee they were to try that day. “If it’s what you want I’ll never bother you again after this, but I just need you to know how just seeing you sitting here across from me has gotten me through some of my most difficult days.”
Santana questioned the woman with her eyes and pushed down on the press, indicating that Brittany would get her taste adventure today.
“I’m a dancer.” The woman shrugged, “my classes at Julliard could be frustrating. Surrounded by people thinking they’re better than you, when half the class looks exactly like you, it’s difficult to not get sad.”
“I’m sure none of them could even come close to looking like you.” Santana cut in, there was no way this woman blended in with any crowd.
“That’s sweet, but you don’t have to be nice.” She gave a crooked smile, “There’s a fine line you have to tread, between being beautiful and standing out so much you’d never get cast. Class was hard, auditions were harder, but Thursdays…I always knew I could look forward to Thursdays at four o’clock. When you’d storm in like this was your place – everyone is always captivated by you, you know? You would’ve noticed if you ever looked around, but you always go directly to Rachel and then directly to your seat in the corner by the window. I didn’t stare at you the entire time, I’ll have you know. I’m not that big of a creeper.”
Santana poured the coffees and raised her eyebrow.
“But I’d always watch when Rachel would bring over the coffee of the week for you to try together. How, every time she interrupted you at work, you’d have this seriousness about you, as if the weight of Lord Tubbington was on your shoulders. Not that LT can help that he’s addicted to cheese, poor cat. Then you and Rachel would sip and taste the pairings and Rachel would get to talking, I could never hear her, but there was always this point where I could see everything slip away and just see you, a relaxed and content, you. It would always make my rain go away and make me feel like I was lying on the grass in Central Park, with the sunshine warming every inch of me, like I was becoming part of the sun myself. I look forward to you every week.”
Santana had no words; she sipped her coffee to stall, reveling in the flavor on her tongue and the warmth that Brittany’s words had stirred in her, but Brittany didn’t seem to expect any words from Santana. She just took a sip of her own coffee and waited. Santana identified the coffee and the region to Brittany, who grinned and nodded and then, in the complete opposite direction of Rachel, began to weave a fantastical story about the bean’s origin that involved monkey pirates and dolphin ninjas. Santana hadn’t laughed that much in a long while, so much so that she’d almost been late to work. If it weren’t for Rachel yelling out a ‘HELP’ over the line of people, getting the woman’s attention, Santana would’ve been late. (Not that she would’ve minded it one bit.)
They continued the quiz and adventure coffee time the following week and the week after that and so on.
It took Santana three weeks to finally remember to ask the woman her name.
“Brittany,” she had grinned like she’d won some great prize. (Santana felt like she was the one who had won something.)
It took four more weeks for Santana to finally ask Brittany to go on a date.
“So, uh, would you maybe like to go get a coffee sometime?” Santana’s eyes had widened, “or anything but coffee, ‘cause why would you want more coffee when you’re around it all the time and we already drink coffee together enough as it is and I’m going to uh, stop talking now.” Santana needed to get out of the office more. She was a producer of a cult television show, she really shouldn’t turn into such a blubbering mess so easily. Brittany had scrunched her nose and grinned though.
“I’d love to meet you for not-coffee.”
It took less than a month for Santana to realize that her favorite outfit on Brittany was nothing but a black apron.
“I’ve got a confession.” Brittany bit her lip, “I’ve been a Coffee Master since before Rachel even got to New York. I’m kind of her boss.”
Santana may never understand her love of coffee and the way it makes her feel, but she definitely believes in its magic. (And, maybe, possibly feels like her love of coffee had magically manifested into a real life woman that makes her feel just as good, if not better. So much so, that sometimes, in those morning moments between waking up tangled in Brittany’s embrace and getting her first sip of sumptuous dark deliciousness, Santana will ask Brittany if she’s real. Brittany always responds with a giant smile and says that she was about to ask the same thing.)