Chapter Text
Mallory Brown, by most definitions, is a mess. She’s never been particularly put together. From having a baby at sixteen to moving almost 8,000 miles away from home on a whim, life has always had a way of dropping her into things.
When she moved to San Francisco from Melbourne six years ago following the death of her daughter and the collapse of an already failing marriage, she told herself this would fix the broken parts of her. Give her a new purpose.
Yet here she is, PhD in astronomy, working at the California Academy of Sciences and barely coping with the slow, grinding monotony of daily life. She loves her job, but she wouldn’t say she’s found any more solid reasons to stick around.
She has plenty of savings. She could just take off. Travel the world again. She’s done it before. She’s good at leaving.
Then life throws a curveball at her. Literally. On a day that had, until 4:12pm on the dot, been like any other.
She crosses the street without looking and steps right in the path of one Ryland Grace, cycling home after a long day at work. He swerves, but runs into her anyway.
“Hoooly ssssugar!” He yelps as his bike tips sideways, throwing him off. She stumbles back, then goes down hard onto her ass, a soft “oof!” escaping her lips as the impact knocks the air from her lungs.
She catches herself on her hands, wincing as the rough surface of the pavement bites into her palms.
Ryland groans and pushes his bike off his legs, sitting up. He’s mostly fine, aside from what are definitely going to be some gnarly bruises. Thank the lord for helmets.
“I’m so sorry!” he blurts, brushing himself off as he stands and staring down at her with wide eyes. “That was completely my fault, I should’ve stopped or something.” He offers her a hand.
“No, don’t apologise,” she takes his hand carefully, palms twinging. They’re scraped raw, small beads of blood forming where the rough asphalt has broken the skin. “Seriously, it’s not your fault. I should’ve looked before crossing.”
“Yeah, but you’re the one bleeding,” he says, helping her to her feet, his hand lingering on hers a beat too long before he seems to remember himself and awkwardly pulls back. “I feel responsible for that, I… could’ve swerved earlier.”
“I’m the one bleeding because I was too caught up in my own head to remember that using my eyes is kind of important when crossing the street,” she responds with a breathless laugh. “Thank you, though. I think most people would’ve just yelled at me.”
“I’m not most people,” he smiles at her, shoving his hands into his pockets as if suddenly unsure where to put them. “I spend my days around middle schoolers, I’m kind of used to dumb decisions and people not using their eyes.”
“A middle school teacher,” she grins and helps him pick his bike up. “Let me guess, you’re the favourite?”
“I wouldn’t say the favourite, but I do try my hardest to be cool. Uncoolness is fatal when you’re surrounded by twelve-year-olds.” He shrugs, a bashful smile tugging at his lips.
“Yeah, I know. Kids can be brutal, can’t they?” She looks him over, concern creasing her brow. “Are you okay? You hit the ground pretty hard too.”
“I’m fine. I’ll be sore tomorrow, probably a few bruises, but I’ve had worse,” his gaze drops to her hands. “You might want to wash those. The ground isn’t exactly clean.”
“Oh, yeah,” she laughs again, more easily this time. “I was actually crossing to get to the café over there- they’ll have a restroom I can use,” she nods towards the café in question, Beans and Barley.
“Good. That’s… good.” He rocks slightly on his heels, glancing toward the café and back to her.
“Can I buy you a drink?” she asks suddenly. “It’s the least I can do. You know, as an apology.”
“Yes!” he says, a little too quickly, his eyes widening slightly at his own enthusiasm. “I- I mean, yes. Yeah, that’d be nice. Thank you.”
“Okay, great. Beans and Barley does a killer latte.” She starts towards the café, this time actually looking where she’s going, and he follows, wheeling his bike alongside him.
“Sooo… um. I’m Ryland, by the way. Ryland Grace.” He glances at her as they walk, noticing the way the light catches her red hair.
“Nice to meet you, Ryland. I’m Mallory Brown,” she shoots him another smile over her shoulder. “Grace is a nice name. Suits you.”
He huffs out a laugh at that.
“Does it, though? I’m not exactly graceful.” He shakes his head.
“What makes you think that? You’ve been pretty gracious about this- you didn’t flip your lid at me. If you were anyone else, you’d probably be making me feel awful right now.” She stops outside of the café, giving him time to lock up his bike.
“I mean, yes, but we were both at fault. It would be hypocritical of me to get mad at you.” He pockets the key to his bike lock.
“Oh, stop that,” she says. “I thought we agreed it was totally on me?” She snorts and opens the café door for him.
“Hmm, I don’t remember agreeing to that. I remember saying you can buy me an apology drink, but that doesn’t mean I’m putting all the blame on you.” He enters the café and she follows, letting the door fall softly shut behind her.
“Agree to disagree,” she gives him a light nudge, approaching the counter. “So, what do you want?”
He scans the blackboard menu for a second.
“I’ll just take an Americano.”
“Alright. Do you want a pastry? I should warn you, it will ruin all future pastries for you. They're dangerously good.” She looks up at him, meeting his gaze.
“Um… if you’re sure, I’ll take an apple turnover.” He averts his eyes quickly and suddenly finds the counter very interesting.
There’s something about the steadiness of her gaze, and the way her hazel eyes catch the soft café light, that makes it hard to hold eye contact for long.
“M’kay, do you want to find a table for us?” She turns back to the counter and smiles at the barista.
“Hey there! Can I get an Americano, a caramel latte and two apple turnovers, please?”
He wanders off to find a table while she chats to the barista, eventually settling at a small table tucked into a corner. The atmosphere is nice, with only a few people scattered around, and soft music drifting through the space.
He glances up at a minimalistic art print hung on the wall beside him and allows his mind to wander for a moment. This isn’t how he expected his day to go at all. He hasn’t been out for drinks with a woman in years.
Truth be told, he hasn’t been anywhere with a woman in years. Meeting people, dating- it had all sort of faded into the background a long time ago. Yet here he is, getting coffee with a beautiful woman who just literally fell into his life.
He’s pulled out of his thoughts when Mallory sets her bag on the seat across from him.
“Hey, our drinks should be done soon. I’m just gonna wash my hands real quick.” She straightens up and heads towards the restroom.
“Alright,” he calls after her before staring down at the table. Be cool, Ryland. It’s not like this is a date. She’s just buying you a drink because she feels bad.
She returns a few moments later and holds her hands out for him to see. They’re grazed and there’s a bruise forming at the base of her palms, but they could’ve been much worse.
“I feel like I’m eight years old again and I’ve just fallen off the monkey bars.” She laughs.
He winces at the sight.
“Oh, god. I know you’re being chill about this, but you wouldn’t have to deal with that if I’d-“
“Ryland,” she cuts him off. “It’s okay. I can deal with a few scrapes on my hands.”
The barista calls her name and she gives him a small nod before heading over to the counter. A moment later she returns holding a tray, their drinks and turnovers balanced on top.
She sets it down carefully and then slides into her seat, placing her bag on the floor beside her.
He takes his drink and pastry, taking a sip and welcoming the bitterness.
“Thanks again.” He smiles at her over the rim of his cup.
“You’re welcome.” She takes a sip of her latte and gestures to his turnover. “Try it. Seriously, it’s life changing.”
He obliges and takes a bite. He chews for a few seconds, then lowers it back onto the plate.
“That…” He pauses, remembering his manners, and swallows. “That should be- there should be regulations. It’s too good. I’m ruined for apple turnovers forever.”
She laughs softly and takes a bite of her own turnover. “Told you so. I don’t know what they put in these, but they’re addictive.”
A comfortable silence settles as they sip their drinks and nibble on the pastries before he speaks up, trying to make conversation.
“So… you’re not American.”
She smiles, swallowing her bite before responding.
“Oh yeah, what could’ve possibly given that away?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Just a general vibe. Totally not the accent,” he smiles back at her. “Where in Australia are you from?”
“Melbourne. I moved here six years ago.”
“Melbourne! I read somewhere that Melbourne has the most cafés per capita in the world.” he says. It’s the first thing he thinks of, and fun facts are his favourite kind of small talk.
She grins at the little piece of trivia. “That’s right, there are so many. It’s a little ridiculous.”
“Did you have a favorite?”
“I did. I grew up in St Kilda, and I used to love this place- Abbey Road Café. It’s in Acland Street Village… which probably means nothing to you, because I’m guessing you’ve never been to Australia.” Her eyes soften as she talks, something warmer settling into her expression.
“You’d be correct. It’s definitely on my bucket list. It’s just… stupidly expensive.” He shrugs a little.
She hums thoughtfully as she finishes her latte, brows furrowing.
“I could recommend some affordable spots. Flight prices are the real problem. They’re outrageous,” she says, shaking her head. “I have an emergency fund set aside just in case I ever need to fly home on short notice. I don’t want to be in a position where my family needs me and I can’t afford to get to them.”
“Smart.” He takes the last bite of his turnover, savouring it before continuing. “It’d be nice to get some pointers from somebody that knows the place. Thanks for the offer.”
Her phone buzzes a few times in her pocket, and she pulls it out, glancing at the cracked screen as it lights up with a string of text messages.
“Ah, hell. Friend emergency. I have to run.” She stands up, quickly gathering her things. “It was nice meeting you, Ryland.”
“Right, uh.. yeah- okay.” His expression falters slightly as he watches her. “Nice meeting you, too.”
She hesitates and studies him for a moment before pulling her phone back out of her pocket.
“Can I get your number?”
“My- what?” His brain short-circuits.
“Your number, Ryland. Phone, digits. Communication device?” she says, a hint of amusement in her expression
“Oh! Yep. I have- I have that. I own numbers. They’re… mine.” He stumbles over his words. Smooth.
“Good to know.” She hands over her phone, already open to a blank contact page.
He takes it and types in his number with slightly unsteady fingers. This cannot be real. She just asked for his number. After how awkward he’s been since the moment they met.
She takes her phone back, locking the screen.
“Thanks, I’ll text you. See you around!” She turns around and leaves him in the café feeling stunned.
He doubts she’ll text him, she was probably just being polite.
But as he’s standing to leave as well, his phone pings.
One text. Unknown number.
“I really enjoyed speaking to you. Drinks again sometime? - Mal :)”
He smiles. Okay.
He saves her contact and stares down at his phone for a moment before texting her back. He types. Deletes. Retypes. Second-guesses himself, and then hits send anyway.
“Drinks again sounds great. Hit me up anytime :)”