The lights in the back kitchen of Lola's Pâtisserie switch on each day at 5:00am, and today is no exception. The store front remains dark, the sign hanging on the door flipped to read closed until an hour later, when two arguing figures arrive to open up.

'Fitz, I told you we would be late,' the British girl smacks her companion on the arm.

'Well it's not like I left the keys in my pants so they could go through the washer on purpose,' he refutes, Scottish brogue heavy on his tongue, rubbing the spot on his arm where she had hit him as she unlocks the front door.

The two of them continue to bicker as they enter the café, no pause as they head behind the counter, switching on the lights. She powers on the coffee makers as he unlocks the cash register; he throws her an apron and turns as she ties his up for him.

Once the counters have been wiped down, the floors mopped and the menus set up, they head into the back.

To their left there's a rack lined with different pastries, cakes and treats, and to their right a man is standing over a bench filled with at least a hundred cupcakes, all decorated with a careful hand.

'Morning Sir,' they say in tandem, smiles plastered on their faces.

The man turns around and grins a little at their enthusiasm.

'Fitzsimmons, good to see you on time a usual,' he says, looking at them pointedly.

Jemma Simmons digs a sharp elbow into Leo Fitz's ribs.

'Sorry sir, it's just that Fitz left the keys to the shop in his pants an-,' she is shooting out until he interrupts her.

'Simmons, relax, it was only ten minutes. Go start stocking the shelves, open up and be back in here at 7:59.'

The pair each pull out a tray from the rack and rush back out into the store, berating one another in whispers. Their boss only shakes his head before he turns back to inspect the cupcakes laid out before him. They're all flawless, the glossy icing piped in different designs, the decorations whether they be fruit or chocolate or another topping laid on top artistically. He stands there unmoving until his eyes land on one of them.

It's a dark chocolate chilli cupcake with a lemon infused whipped cream filling, topped with a decadent cream cheese icing, decorated with chocolate swirls.

There are eleven others almost identical surrounding it, but the decorations on this cupcake appear more well matched and the piped cream cheese icing reaches a perfect tip at the top.

He reaches to his right and grabs a small cake box, carefully securing the cupcake inside, closing the lid and placing it carefully beside him before beginning to sort the others on trays for Fitzsimmons to collect.

Skye starts work at 7:30. She's careful as she eases her van into the parking space next to the red Chevrolet Corvette. Ten years' worth of overtime wouldn't be enough to pay if she put even a single scratch in the paint.

She shouts a quick good morning to her boss as she enters through the back door, pulling her hair up into a pony tail as she hurries into the store front. Fitzsimmons are chatting to customers and taking down their orders as she enters, and Ward's burnt himself using the coffee maker again.

'If you weren't such eye candy, Coulson would still have you working in the back,' she says loud enough for the entire store to hear, grinning at the old lady who is waiting in line for her cappuccino.

He pretends to be offended as she takes over at the machine, but winks at Mrs. Andrews who proceeds to chatter to him about how her cat did the most adorable thing whilst wearing a sweater she knitted him the other day.

The four of them, Fitzsimmons, Skye and Ward make a good team, despite Ward's lack of proficiency at his job, and they make sure that all the customers present are served by 7:59, before they all withdraw and duck back into the kitchen.

Phil straightens his apron a little, takes a deep breath and retrieves his precious cupcake before heading into the store, placing it beside the cash register as he busies himself with the coffee machine.

Like clockwork, less than a minute later, the front door swings open and in she walks. Melinda May. She's wearing a black sleeveless top, leggings to match and her dark hair is free and flowing.

Phil clenches his jaw to keep himself from gawking, and his hands shake as he pours the latte macchiato into a coffee cup.

'M-Morning Melinda,' he curses himself internally for stuttering.

'Phil,' she acknowledges him, and he can feel that he's probably started blushing.

He doesn't need to ask for her order as he slides the drink over to her, and she hands over the correct change. Every day for the past six months that she's been coming here she's had the latte macchiato.

'H-h-here,' he says as he picks up the box and hands it to her. 'Bakers' Dozen.'

She makes eye contact with him, accepts his offering, nods curtly and mutters a quick and quiet thank you before leaving for work. He stares after her as she leaves, and awkwardly raises his hand to wave to her as she exits the café. She doesn't look back.

Its 8:05 and he heads back into the kitchen to continue baking and decorating, and they carry on as if nothing has happened.

'It's been six months. It's creepy,' Skye says as she hands a pastry and mug over to Fitz for the old man sitting at table 3.

'I think it's romantic,' Jemma chimes in, handing over a written order to Ward who is currently nursing another burn, this time from a hot oven tray.

'No it's an obsession.'

'Coulson's a grown man, he can handle himself,' Ward interjects.

'He does come in an hour early every morning to bake cupcakes that are perfect. And then he sits for who knows how long before he picks one that is worthy of her.' Fitz contributes to the discussion as he returns from table 3.

'And he told her that it's the dud cupcake. That he baked thirteen for a twelve cupcake order and the one he's giving her is the left over. Come on guys. We have to do something about it.'

There's a glint in Skye's eyes as she says this, and her three co-workers realise that there is nothing in the world that will change her mind.

So the next morning, Skye slips out the back at 7:59, and heads around the block just in time to see Melinda May exit the café. She ducks behind the building to avoid being caught, and observes her target as the woman heads down the street.

Skye comes out of her hiding place and begins tailing her as she rounds the corner.

Her heart is caught in her throat as the woman of her boss's affection stops at a trash can and dumps the drink she just purchased straight in.

Skye is 100% sure that she'll regret what she's about to do as she rushes forward and grabs the woman's shoulder.

The older woman whips around in surprise, and she's about to say something until she notices the emblem on the apron that Skye is wearing.

'You're from the café? Lola's patisserie,' she half states, half asks, brow pinched.

'Yeah. And I just saw you toss the coffee you paid nearly three bucks for,' Skye begins her interrogation, trying to emulate the powerful female figures from her nightly T.V programs.

'I hate coffee.'

Skye's jaw drops wide open. She's pretty sure that those female cops don't ever do that when chatting to a suspect.

'B-but you, and the latte, at 8 every morning, and-,' Skye rambles on until it hits her.

'You came in to see Coulson.' Skye gives herself a mental hi-five as the other woman subtly takes in a deep breath and looks down at the ground, not responding.

'You like him don't you?' she persists, moving a little closer.

She doesn't respond.

'That's why you come in at eight every day, to see him.'

Skye says more to herself that anything; Jemma was right, this was romantic.

'I have to go,' she says, clutching the cupcake box closely to her as she turns to leave.

'He really likes you, you know. Why else would he come in early every morning to make you the perfect cupcake and pass it off as just the extra in a bakers' dozen?'

Skye shouts through the crowd as the other woman is walking away.

Melinda May pauses a moment, and Skye knows that she probably won't get any more of a reaction than that.

'He closes up shop at 6 every night.' Skye adds, before turning back towards the café, unaware of the look that has just crossed over the other woman's face.

Phil's cleaning up when 6 in the evening rolls around. His staff have left for the night, and he's just finished mopping up the spill that Ward made as he left. That boy was not destined for the art of coffee making.

He's just finished putting away the last of the mugs when the sound of the front door opening causes him to whip his head up.

She's standing there, in the doorway.

His throat closes up, his hands are shakier than ever and he's just glad that she didn't come in a second earlier or there would be broken porcelain all over the floor.

He stands up slowly as she walks up to the counter.

'I hate coffee,' she says as she looks him straight in the eye and if he was nervous before, he's also petrified with fear now. He doesn't say anything because he's sure if he opens his mouth, no sound will come out.

'I come to see you.'

He feels as though his heart has just stopped beating altogether for a couple seconds, though he is aware that is biologically impossible. His face is probably as red as beetroot and he is mouth is now wide open. He just stands there, speechless, staring at her. A furrow appears in her brow, her jaw is clenched and she looks down at the floor for a moment. When she looks back up at him, he still hasn't moved and a look of incredible sadness passes over her features before vanishing.

'I'm sorry, I'll just go,' she says, and it sounds like she's choking back tears and that she's had her heart broken and that's breaking his heart too.

He doesn't know what comes over him as he runs out from behind the counter, his hand shooting out to grab her wrist before she can leave.

She turns to face him and they're inches away from one another. His right hand doesn't let go of her wrist as he raises his left to touch her cheek.

She's easily the most beautiful thing he's seen in his entire life.

He leans down a little, pulls her a little closer.

Their foreheads touch and she's looking up at him, and he's still incapable of speech.

So he takes a leap of faith.

He leans down a little more and his eyes are closed and their lips touch.

And it's magical. More than he had ever imagined.

He lets go of her wrist to wrap his arms around her waist, and she loops hers around his neck, and they kiss a little longer, a little deeper.

And when they pull apart he has the goofiest smile on his face. She's smiling too, for the first time.

And they barely know one another, but he knows that he never wants to let her go, and she'd let him hold her forever.