A/N: This is my first Riverdale fanfiction, so please be kind! Hope you enjoy this!

Chapter One

Betty walked swiftly down the street, white Keds slapping anxiously against the pavement as she checked her watch. In front of her, an orange hand flashed with warning on the traffic light and Betty quickened her pace, hoping she wouldn't end up a jaywalker halfway across the street. Her destination wasn't too much farther, and she broke into a slight jog, silently cursing her morning lecture for running over the class time. When she turned onto her street she slowed down before finally coming to a stop in front of the coffee shop. She took a calming breath before opening the door and walking in. The small bell on the top of the door clanged its announcement of her arrival. Behind the counter, a tall woman with dark skin watched her approach with minimal interest and said, "I actually thought you were going to be late for once."

Betty slipped behind the counter and grabbed her apron, fastening it around her waist. "I'm sorry, Bianca. My morning class ran late."

"Why are you apologizing? You're on time."

"I don't like cutting it this close," Betty said, reaching up and smoothing her ponytail. "I like time to settle in. Prepare for my shift."

"You're handing out coffee. What is there to prepare for?"

Betty could hear her mother's voice clear in her head with one of her favorite phrases.

"Chance favors the prepared mind, Betty."

It typically accompanied some sort of admonishment and was followed by gut-churning guilt. Betty chased away the negative memories with a quick tightening of her ponytail - the sharp pain at the base of her skull pulling her into the present – and set Bianca with a bright smile.

"I can cover registers now if you want to take your break," she said.

Bianca raised one eyebrow and said, "You know all that smiling makes you look crazy, right?"

"What's wrong with smiling?"

"You've been in New York for, what, two years now? You should know we don't smile."

"I do know that," Betty said. "But –"

"The best way to get a smile is to share one?" Bianca finished drily. "I know. You've said it about a thousand times. If you die while working here, I'm getting that put on your tombstone."

Bianca skirted around the counter and headed out the front door. Before it closed, a lean male in black jeans and a ratty t-shirt walked through the doorway. Betty recognized him as one of their regulars. He came in at least a few times a week, always ordering a black coffee and sitting in a corner booth with his laptop. He stayed for hours but never asked for a refill. Betty enjoyed building a friendly rapport with the customers that she saw often, but he never responded to her attempts at conversation, typically responding with monosyllabic answers that effectively ended the exchange.

"Hi there," she said brightly, setting him with one of her smiles that apparently most of New York found off-putting. The look that he gave her implied that he, apparently, was no different.

"Hi," he said, voice flat. "I'll have a –"

"Large coffee," she finished. "Black, right?"

"Yeah, that's right."

"You come here a lot," she told him with a small grin, plugging his order into the cash register. "And always order the same thing. Large coffee. Black. You do know the first refill is free, right? Because I never see you get one."

"I know," he said, voice wary. "I just figure that 16 ounces of that stuff is enough for my nervous system. There's a fine line between productive wired and non-productive-wired."

"Fair point. Your order comes to 3.75."

"Oh, can you add a medium latte?"

"I can absolutely do that," she said, typing in the latte. The cash register flashed with the new total. "Do you have someone meeting you?"

"Yeah, I do."

"That's nice. I always –"

"Here," he said, handing her a ten. "You can keep the change."

He walked away before she could say anything else, his ten dollar bill clutched in her hand. She took a moment before putting the money in the register and moving down the counter to make the drinks. When she was finished she put them on a tray and walked out into the tables. She saw that a tall redhead settled on the other side of the regular's booth. She could only see the back of his head, but when she got closer he turned to look at her and she felt her stomach drop. Her feet seemed to propel her toward their table of their own accord, and before she knew it she stood in front of them.

"Hi," she stammered, cheeks staining red.

"Hi," the redhead echoed, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

She knew logically that she was supposed to say something next, but she couldn't for the life of her remember what normally came after such an exchange. He seemed similarly at a loss, his eyes roving over her face in a way that made her feel remarkably bare.

The regular cleared his throat noisily and said, "Hi. Are those our drinks?"

"Yes," she blurted out. Betty felt her cheeks go even more crimson. "Sorry. I have a black coffee for you." She set it noisily in front of him and then turned to the redhead. "I'm guessing this latte is for you?"

"Yes," he said, taking the mug from her. His fingers brushed against hers and she tried not to externalize the thrill that ran through her. "I don't have quite as refined coffee tastes as Jug, here."

"Jug?" she asked in confusion.

"That's me," the regular said, holding up his hand in a manner that could only be described as unenthusiastic.

"Your name is Jug?" she asked in disbelief, her raging hormones overriding her deeply ingrained politeness. She would have been mortified at her uncouth behavior if she wasn't so completely distracted by his redheaded friend.

"It's actually Jughead," he said. "And before you ask, yes, that is what my birth certificate reads. No, it's not a family name." He looked at his friend and asked, "That covers all the usual questions, right?"

He laughed. "Yeah, I think you got them all." He turned his attention back to Betty. "I'm Archie, by the way."

"Nice to meet you."

There was a stretch of silence and Archie said, "And your name is…"

"I'm sorry," she said automatically. "Betty. I'm Betty."

"You shouldn't apologize," Jughead said. "It's completely natural to not give your name to strangers. It's self-preservation at its most basic level. We could be murderers for all you know."

"We're not," Archie interjected. Jughead shrugged and took a large gulp of his coffee. "Anyway, it was nice meeting you, Betty."

"You too."

She slipped the tray under her arm and walked away before she said or did anything else embarrassing.

BBBBB

"Is she here a lot?" Archie asked, watching Betty walk back to the counter. She hazarded once glance back at their table, but looked away quickly when he caught her gaze.

"Yeah, I guess," Jughead said with a shrug. He didn't like most people so he tended not to notice them. Betty was grouped together with the rest of the coffee shop people who didn't register as much more than a nuisance to his afternoons of writing.

"I should come here more often," Archie said. "Do you think she liked me?"

"She's female," Jughead drawled. "That pretty much makes it a guarantee that she liked you."

"Come on, Jug."

"What? Do you want a full breakdown of your five second interaction? She brought our drinks. You stammered hello at each other like you just came out of a coma. She made fun of my name, which, honestly, makes me respect her a little more. And then she went back behind the counter. Did I miss anything?"

"You're an asshole sometimes."

"I know," Jughead returned easily.

"Anyway, how's your writing going?" Archie asked, wisely changing the subject.

"Like pulling teeth," Jughead said. "I was supposed to turn in this story a week ago. They're going to kick me out of the program."

"They're not going to kick you out. I'm sure you're not the biggest slacker at NYU. Maybe a close second, but definitely not number one."

"I can't get my asshole professor's voice out of my head. I try to write and I just hear him going – you write empty characters. The guy hasn't written anything in years. What does he know about characters?"

"Didn't he win a Pulitizer?"

Jughead gave him a look and said, "You're not helping."

"I'm just saying, he might know a thing or two about writing. Try to take his advice."

"I don't know what it means to write empty characters. I write what I know. I write what I see. That's not empty."

"Maybe it's how you see people."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Archie laughed, holding up his hands and said, "Hey, don't get mad at me. But, you don't really connect with people. Maybe that's coming out in your writing."

"I connect with people," Jughead said defensively.

"Like who? And you can't say me, my dad or your family."

Jughead couldn't come up with a single name but he wasn't about to admit that. Instead, he flipped open his laptop and said, "I'll write him some characters. Some non-empty characters. Characters filled with whatever bullshit he wants."

Archie snorted. "Well, as long as you have the right attitude."

BBBBB

Betty walked into her apartment after work, looking forward to a night filled with Netflix and her couch. She heard her roommate, Veronica, rifling around in the bathroom and sing-songed, "Honey, I'm home."

Veronica walked out of the bathroom, decked out in a tight crimson dress and pearls. "Hey B. What do you think about this lip color? Too lady of the night?"

"It looks really nice," Betty told her. "What's the occasion?"

"Jeffrey's taking me out for dinner," she said, walking into the kitchen and pouring herself a glass of wine.

"I thought you were over Jeffrey."

"I am," Veronica said, swirling her wine. "But I didn't have plans for tonight."

Betty smirked. "Just be nice to him."

"I always am," Veronica said with a wink. "Oh, your mother called. I told her that you were out."

"You didn't tell her where I was, right?" Betty asked hesitantly.

Veronica rolled her eyes. "No, Betty, I did not tell her your deep dark secret of having partial employment. Which, by the way, is the lamest secret ever."

"You now why I can't tell her. This is me establishing my independence. If my parents know that I'm low on money they'll just send me more, and I don't want that. Money means control. They spent eighteen years telling me what to do. I don't want that here."

"We rebel from our parents in very different ways, Betty. Last time I was angry at my parents, I bought out the entire shoe department at Barney's."

Betty grinned. "This is why we get along so well. Opposites attract."

"That must be it. Anyway, how was work today?"

Betty thought about Archie and her smile widened. "It was really nice."

"Oh, I know that look. I know that look! You saw something with a cute butt, didn't you?"

Betty laughed. "I only saw him from the waist up but I think there was serious potential."

"Betty! Dish!"

"His name is Archie," Betty said. "I don't really now a lot about him. He met one of our regulars."

"Which one?" Veronica asked excitedly. Betty told her often about the regulars at the coffee shop and Veronica developed strong and largely unfounded opinions regarding each of them. Betty hadn't shared much about Jughead, though, predominately because there wasn't much to tell. He kept to himself, which didn't breed many interesting stories.

"It's the one who won't really talk with me," Betty said. "We actually had what may be construed as a conversation today. It was sort of nice."

"Okay, so this Archie guy, is he single?"

"I don't know. I didn't exactly ask him if he was seeing someone in our two minute exchange."

"Betty, we talked about this," Veronica sighed. "You always weave in the girlfriend question up front."

"Next time I meet an attractive man I promise to do just that," she returned lightly. "But I don't think he's seeing anyone. He seemed…I don't know…interested, maybe? Gosh. Is that too presumptuous?"

"Have you looked in a mirror recently, Betty Cooper? Not even a little." She took a sip of wine. "Okay, so this is good. He knows where you work and he has a friend there, so he has an excuse to show up. This is very good."

"It's not anything," Betty said timidly. "We only just met. It could be nothing."

"No. I have a feeling about this, Betty. And you know that my feelings are rarely wrong."

Betty smirked. "That's because you have them with just about everyone."

Veronica grasped Betty's hand tightly. "Today was a turning point in your life, Betty Cooper. I can feel it. That man with the cute butt is something special."

BBBBB

Betty worked a morning shift the next day, and she busied herself with dishes to avoid the morning rush. Bianca manned the register, hating dirty dishes more than the demanding morning coffee people.

"I'll have a large black coffee," a voice said behind Betty. She looked over her shoulder and saw Jughead standing at the register. He gave her a stiff sort of nod as he handed money to Bianca. Before she could do anything he walked away from the counter, replaced by a diminutive blonde whose order was as complicated as his was simple.

Betty returned her attention to the dishes, working on a particularly sticky spot on a dish. The morning crowd slowly trickled out and Bianca leaned against the counter next to her.

"So, those people who insist on soy milk, do you think they can actually taste the difference?"

"I don't know, maybe?"

Bianca shook her head. "I can't tell you how many times I almost put regular milk in, just to spite them."

Her eyes widened. "What if they're lactose interolant?"

"Um, excuse me?" a voice said, interrupting their conversation. Jughead stood in front of the counter with an empty coffee mug. He looked at Betty when he asked, "First refill is free, right?"

She nodded. "Yes, it is."

"I'll take a refill then."

She stepped forward and took the mug from him. "We're brewing fresh coffee now. I'll bring it over to you."

He nodded. "Okay."

The coffee took a few more minutes to brew and Betty hesitated before walking it over. She glanced over at the window filled with pastries and impulsively grabbed a banana nut muffin and put it on a plate. Holding the coffee in one hand and the plate with the muffin in her other, Betty walked over to Jughead. She put both on his table and sat down across from him.

"I don't remember ordering this," Jughead said, pulling the plate toward him.

"It's an apology muffin."

He looked at her with bemusement. "Is it?"

She nodded. "I'm sorry for reacting to your name the way that I did yesterday. I didn't mean to be rude."

He shrugged. "It's a weird name. I get it."

"Still, I shouldn't have reacted the way that I did. So, I'm sorry."

He studied her face for a moment and then said, "You apologize a lot."

"Excuse me?"

"You apologize a lot. I noticed it when we talked yesterday. And then right now. You say you're sorry a lot."

"Oh. Well. I guess I do."

"Anyway, thanks for the muffin," he said. "Unfortunately, though, I can't eat it. I'm allergic to nuts."

"Oh no, I'm sorry!" she said, quickly pulling the muffin toward her as if the mere presence of it near him would make him break into hives. She realized what she said a moment too late and laughed as he said, "There you go again with apologizing."

"In this moment, I do feel it's a bit warranted," she said. "I did almost kill you with a muffin."

"Nah, just some mild throat swelling," he said.

"Well, can I get you anything else?" He gave her a look and she quickly said, "Not as an apology pastry. As a…Tuesday pastry."

"A Tuesday pastry?" he repeated, trying not to grin at the absolute ridiculousness that sprouted from her mouth. "Does everyone else in this fine establishment know about the Tuesday pastries?"

"Fine, there's no such thing as a Tuesday pastry."

He feigned disbelief and said, "Really?"

"I still feel bad about yesterday and I smother feelings with food. So, there you go."

Jughead couldn't fight the grin any longer and let it rest somewhat uncomfortably on his face as he told her, "Thank you for the offer but I am fine." He gestured toward his computer and said, "I tend to type faster when my hands are not occupied."

"What are you working on, anyway?" she asked. "I don't mean to pry, but you're in here a couple times a week and you're always typing away."

Jughead thought to himself how there hadn't been that much typing as of late.

"I'm a fiction writing major at NYU. I'm in a class where we write short stories each week. That's what I do here. I like the constant stream of people. It's enough white noise to write in without being distracted."

"I can't write in silence either. My thoughts are too loud."

"I know exactly what you mean," he said.

"So, how is this week's story going?" Betty asked.

"It's not. I'm still sitting on last week's story. As embarrassing as it is to admit for a writer, I'm blocked."

"I hate that," Betty breathed out. "You have so many ideas but none of them make sense on paper. It's the worst feeling."

"Yeah," he echoed. "It is."

Betty stood up and said, "Well, I hope your writer's block passes. I don't usually do this, but if you want a second first free refill, I'll look the other way."

"I appreciate that, Betty."

She tapped her fingers on the table and said, "Happy writing, Jughead."

He watched her walk back over to the counter, stopping at a few tables along the way to pick up abandoned cups. After a few moments he looked back at the empty word document open on his computer. The cursor blinked mockingly. Through the usual din of noise in the coffee shop, he heard her laugh. His fingers hovered over the keyboard and then he began to type.

A/N: Let me know if you'd like to see more!