A new job meant a new location, at least in the life of one Santana Lopez. She was a journalist, a travelling journalist who wrote about all the locations she visited. From the docile English villages to the raging flooded Asias, right West to the crazy road rage of Italy and further West to the beautiful lands of Southern America.

And today she was in Paris.

She would be here for two weeks, and today…today was Day One.

She sat at the café she had found near her hotel and looked down at the menu, flipping quickly through it, deciding with a standard cappuccino until she was more familiar with everything.

She ordered from a pimply teenage boy and watched as he sauntered off to the bar with her order, and she gave a quick glance of the rest of the space. It was a smoking area, which she was glad for, and it was quaint but full of people. Popular, she noted.

She reached into her bag and drew out a cigarette packet and lighter, lifting one out of the box and lighting it deftly, placing it between her lips and slowly beginning to puff. It was ten am, her first real day on the job, and there was no better way to start the day than a cigarette and a coffee.

-0-

Day Two

She sat at the café with her laptop and quickly looked over the results of her search engine. She had five restaurants to visit, three historical attractions, and they were all in the same metro area. She had a busy day laid out ahead of her, but of course she would enjoy every second of it.

She smiled at the man who brought her the coffee, giving him a shaky 'Merci' and grabbing it firmly in her right hand. As she brought it up to her lips, she took a look around the café, just as she had done the day before, and surveyed the people.

In her mind, she always made up life stories for them, always much more interesting than her own life. A man in a suit was homeless, just getting back on his feet. The woman in the too long skirt was a super spy with a knife taped to her thigh. And the boy over there with the small dog was the unwilling accomplice in a drug heist. So many stories…so many faces to assign them to.

And then she walked in.

A blonde woman strode through the door and straight to the bar, maneuvering her way around the tables as if she owned the place. And with the looks that the other uniformed employees were giving her, she probably did. She greeted each of them good morning in expert French (although from what Santana noticed, it was missing any detectable accent) and tied an apron swiftly around her waist, smiling as she pulled her hair up into a ponytail.

And Santana was hooked.

-0-

Day Five

She had woken up late today, her schedule was off. But all she was planning to do was to get to Versailles and take a tour. She would be fine, as long as she had her coffee and her cigarette.

Speaking of which, she should really light one.

What bothered her though, wasn't that she was late (she thought as she puffed a breath from the cigarette), it was that she had probably missed the beautiful blonde.

Every day, since the day she had seen her, she had walked into the shop at exactly 8.37am, ordered her coffee, and would light a cigarette. And every day she would make her plans, pay her bill, and walk away, towards the taxi bay for her destination.

Last night, in the steps of one fictional writer in a movie directed by Woody Allen, she had strolled through Paris alone, the midnight air nipping at her cheeks and the streets quiet, yet so loud at the same time. Loud in the whispers of inspiration hitting her from every angle…

She regretted giving up writing, and the midnight walk had instilled it back into her. And besides, she had a new muse on her mind.

She had found out the manager's name was Brittany, and she was a tiny bit older than her. She was of American birth and tongue, but very skilled in French. And this had been her uncle's place, and she had taken it up herself.

And she wanted to know more. Oh, Santana wanted to know more.

She was enthralled with this woman and the way she moved and spoke. And this was new to her. Santana had never felt such a strong attachment to a male before, let alone a woman. And she couldn't help but feel that the overly romanticized symptoms of love she had read and heard about where finally infecting her.

She looked up at her usual waiter, who greeted her with a swift "Madame Lopez" (though he always said her surname wrong) and brought her her usual order with him. She smiled, handing him a two Euro tip and watching as he walked away, smiling as he pocketed it. She grabbed the coffee in her hand and was about to take a sip when she felt a presence join her to her left, standing next to her, looking down on her.

"You're a regular."

Clear like water and rushing just as fast into her mind, Santana almost sighed at the sound.

She looked up at Brittany and smiled. "Yes, I am."

Brittany scraped a chair up to her and sat down on it, straddling the back of the chair and smiling at Santana, resting her hands on her arms crossed over the back.

"I'm the manager and owner, Brittany Pierce. You are?"

"Santana Lopez."

"It's nice to meet you, Mizz Lopez."

She loved the little buzzing sound she made as she looked quizzically at her, and Santana found her face splitting into a grin as she leaned forward to talk to the woman better.

"How long have you been in France?"

"Urm…seven years?" Brittany laughed, running a hand through her hair effortlessly, as if it was so perfect that not even a knot could appear in it. "How about you?"

"My fifth day here. I leave next week."

"Business or leisure?" Brittany asks, taking the coffee from Santana and putting a finger up, signaling she'd be right back, walking to the bar and coming back with a small mug of steamed milk and a spoon.

"Uh…business…" Santana answered as Brittany started pouring milk slowly into the coffee, creating swirls and patterns, moving them along with the spoon. She was so concentrated on her work…

She called for a waiter, who brought her a small shaker, and she started to sprinkle chocolate from it into the coffee cup, filling in the shape of a…

She gave it back to Santana, telling her to enjoy her trip, and getting off the chair, walking back to her work.

Santana looked down at the chocolate filled heart in her coffee and smiled softly to herself, forgetting the cigarette she had been holding completely.

-0-

Day Seven

Brittany had taken to making her coffee for her. Santana knew it by the way it was made. It tasted sweeter, and it always had a little heart made from chocolate melting in the centre of it. Sometimes the heart would be replaced by an 'S', or a flower. Once, there was a giraffe, and Santana had laughed and turned to meet Brittany's eye as she stood at the bar, giving her a thumbs up in appreciation.

Today, as she sat down at a table near the window and brought out a magazine with some information she needed, lighting a cigarette, the waiter approached with her coffee and she noticed something was different about it today.

As she tried to place it, she picked up the cup and noticed small slivers of blue on the usually neat, white napkin. She picked it up, folding it open and staring at the digits on the thin paper.

Call me if you need anything, said the scrawly text beneath the numbers, and Santana blushed as she realized that she had just possibly made a move in a direction she had never considered.

And she liked it this way.

-0-

Day Nine

Today was her day off. Nothing to do but lounge in her hotel room, in the warmth, sheltering from the unexpected raincloud that had started pouring buckets the night before and hadn't stopped since.

But for some reason, she felt that she needed something warm in her system if she was really to enjoy today.

She grabbed her coat and left her room and made her way to the café as if she had been living here her entire life, as if Paris was her new home. She didn't think as she walked, her feet took her the whole way without her even having to consider any of the turns and corners that came with the trip.

She felt so at home here, and she knew it was because of the blonde.

How had Brittany affected her so? She had only known her for five days, six at the most, and it was nerving how she had crawled her way into Santana's mind and took up permanent lodging, refused to leave. And Santana found herself absorbing the blonde as best as she could.

She loved the way she tied her hair right after she stepped behind the bar into a messy bun. She loved the way she stuck her tongue out whenever she made coffee in concentration. She adored the way her eyes sparkled when she greeted anybody. She especially found it adorable how she smiled at her.

She entered the cafe, shaking her umbrella of any water, and setting it in the small bin for umbrellas by the door, and walking right up to the bar, where Brittany stood. She was late today, it was already eleven thirty, and most of the usual morning tenants had already gone off.

"Bonjour," Santana shakily said as she leaned against the bar, and Brittany grinned at her, propping her elbows up and resting her chin in her palms, smiling at Santana.

"Hi."

"Quite day?"

"Yeah, the rain drove away most of the late morning rush. I get it, you can't be late to work. But the lunch rush will be in soon, in about an hour."

"So you've got nothing to do for an hour."

"Well, I have a customer now," Brittany grinned, bringing out a large cup and starting to fill it to the brim with cappuccino. "How long until you leave back to America?"

"Five more days."

"Do you want to go back?"

Santana shrugged and accepted the cappuccino, sipping on it slowly as she pondered the question. "Not particularly. I like it here, it's beautiful. But my job…well. I always go to places I can never stay in for too long." She put a hand into her pocket and brought out a cigarette packet, taking out the lighter and a single cigarette from it as she spoke. "I've been all over the world by now, except maybe the Mediterranean, and I think that's my next location in a few months time. I love my job. I get to see all these beautiful places but…" she paused to take a puff out of her cigarette. "…but then I always have to leave."

She held the cigarette out to Brittany, who shook her head slightly, putting a hand up.

"I don't smoke."

"Good, it's a nasty habit," Santana murmured, taking another puff nonetheless. "It kills young but at least I'll leave a beautiful corpse."

"Oh trust me, your corpse will be more than just beautiful," Brittany answered, turning to go into the back room, and Santana stared after her, pondering what that could have possibly meant.

-0-

For the next few minutes there was silence as Brittany loaded up on coffee and sugar by the bar. Santana finished off another cigarette while she watched her work, and then washed the ash tray herself in the sink, whistling to herself as she did.

"So," Brittany asked as she maneuvered around her to get to the fridge.

"So, I bet your job doesn't let you have anyone special in your life, huh?"

Santana looked up at her and shrugged, slightly surprised at the question. "Well uh, not really. It's usually just a bunch of lost numbers in the post and emails I never answer from people who thought I looked nice for a few minutes."

Brittany made a small 'o' with her mouth and caught her gaze for a few eternal seconds before turning around and mumbling something that sounded like 'Well they're not wrong.'

-0-

Santana left the shop when the rush hour arrived, taking a long hour walk in the rain, splashing her feet in the puddles as if she was a kid again, grinning to herself at the little signs of life around her. A blinking traffic light, a barking dog, a couple running down the street together with a red umbrella, holding hands.

She felt a pang in her chest at the last one, remembering what Brittany had said, and then remembering that it had been such a long time (college junior year, maybe?) since she had felt the thrill of a relationship like that.

She returned to the coffee shop to find Brittany sipping at a mug of coffee, alone at a table with her eyes closed. Santana froze as she entered the shop, finding her eyes fixing onto the blonde. She felt her head go light and her mouth slightly dry as she watched the woman slowly start to put the coffee down and look over at her. She felt the breath leave her lungs as the woman's eyes pierced into hers, and then suddenly…

Suddenly she felt the whole world outside, around her, in her past and in her future, fly out the window.

All that mattered was this woman, this being before her who mystified her with her eyes, this woman who she had only spoken to properly today. This woman who had somehow rekindled the longing for another human in her stomach.

And she walked over to her, sat down, and smiled.

-0-

Day Twelve

That rainy afternoon three days before had left them knowing a lot more about each other than acquaintances should, and Santana felt that after all those years of missing out she had finally made a friend. It had been a long time since she could say that. Normally she said colleague or acquaintance; she never had the time or the inclination to make a friend.

More importantly, she had made a step farther than friends. She felt it in the pit of her stomach, yet refused to acknowledge it completely. But it was there, this small little seed that was growing in her that told her that Brittany was something else; she was more than just someone to be friends with.

And on this day she entered the coffee shop ready to ask her if she wanted to meet outside of the warm confines of the place they both seemed to love for their own reasons.

As she stepped into the shop at her usual time in the morning, with the buzz and hum of people starting to ring in her ears, she realized that Brittany wasn't there. At all. She was not behind the bar, she was not amongst the people, she wasn't by the till, and she wasn't poking her head out of the storage room door to see who had just entered her shop. She simply wasn't there.

She ran up to the bar and grabbed one of the waiters' hands, shakily asking in French if Brittany was OK. He shrugged, telling her that he had heard she had some personal matters to deal with and that she would be back in tomorrow. In the meantime, would she like her usual order?

Santana sighed, feeling her hopes crushed a little bit, and shoved a hand into her pocket, suddenly feeling her fingers scrape against a piece of paper from a few days before, where a small number had been scrawled in blue ink.

She nodded at the waiter and specified that her order was to go.

-0-

Day Thirteen

It had turned out that Brittany was indeed sick that day, suffering from a terrible cold, and wouldn't be able to make it to the coffee shop the next day either. But she would be up for company, and Santana hastily invited herself over to her house through the phone, getting the address quite quickly from Brittany. She offered to make her lunch too, but Brittany told her she 'didn't need a wife'.

That comment made Santana shiver.

Brittany lived in an apartment a twenty minute walk away from the café. She had a lovely third floor apartment that stretched out over a corner, had a wonderful view of the Tower, and Santana was sure she could hear the tower clock every night if she lived there too.

What astounded her was that she welcomed the thought very warmly.

She arrived at the apartment was the clouds were settling over the sky, and she was greeted by Brittany, cuddled up in a large blanket and a hoodie, with the hood wrapped tightly around her head so that Santana couldn't even see a sliver of hair. Brittany led her into her home and collapsed on the sofa, and Santana sat beside her.

As she did, Brittany suddenly fell onto Santana, resting her head on her chest and sighing contently, closing her eyes and giving a small smile. "You're comfy."

"Thanks?" Santana murmured in response, her hand unconsciously moving to rest on Brittany's head, stroking slightly at the fabric, hoping Brittany could feel it too. From the look of the smile on her face, she probably could anyways.

"You feeling better?"

"Much…" Brittany mumbled back, making little to no effort to actually speak. She nudged her head slightly and buried it deeper in Santana's chest, breathing in heavily, and Santana found herself holding her closer. But this sudden contact was making her nervous, stiff and tense.

She needed a cigarette.

Her free hand rummaged in her hand bag as stealthily as she could, but the movement woke Brittany from her half-sleep, and she opened one eye to look at her properly.

"Need a smoke?"

Santana blushed before nodding, and Brittany shrugged, waving a lazy hand around (while her mind was wide awake, her body was still lethargic from the cold). "You can use that small ash tray over there. It's decorative but I'll just clean it up later."

Santana turned her head in the hand's direction and reached out to grab the ash tray, letting go of Brittany to put a cigarette in her mouth, and she set the ash tray down next to her on the small table by her side, fetching her lighter and giving a quick puff as soon as the little stick in her lips was lighted, breathing in deeply and smiling to herself.

She felt Brittany shift around and get up, staring at her, and she looked over at her, holding the cigarette out, as a force of habit. Brittany shook her head slowly, and Santana shrugged, flicking some ashes off the thing before putting it back between her lips. She took a long, heavy drag, filling her mouth with the smoke, letting it rest there for a while, closing her eyes as the feeling of her brain, her tongue, her whole body going numb took over her.

She heard Brittany's clothes rustle before she felt her lean forward and kiss her, sucking at her bottom lip, causing Santana to open her mouth just the slightest bit. The smoke escaped, finding an outlet into Brittany's mouth, and she felt the blonde push her down onto the sofa, the cigarette fall from her hands and onto the tiled floor, Brittany grab at her shirt collar and pull her in tighter to kiss her more heavily.

And Santana realized she had found a new and better drug than nicotine.

-0-

Day Fourteen

Santana left Brittany's apartment in the early hours of the morning, dashing to the curb to the taxi she had called to take her back home, feeling incredibly guilty that she had just left without an explanation or even a note to tell her she had to rush back.

She had forgotten what today was.

As she rode in the taxi to the hotel she had been staying in for two weeks, she felt a small pang in her chest, as if something was missing. She rummaged in her bag, hoping to light a cigarette at the back of the taxi without the driver noticing, but she realized that she had dropped her lighter, and remembered that she had left it for Brittany to find in her apartment, to remember her by…

And as she finally got out of the taxi, to her hotel room, to her already packed bags and out of the hotel again to another taxi to take her away, she felt that she was leaving more than just a lighter behind. She was leaving behind a woman who had stolen her heart and her body the previous night. She was leaving behind a fragment of her soul.

And she couldn't do anything about it, because her job didn't let her have connections, relationships, friendships. She was alone, she always would be.

All she would always have were her coffee and cigarettes, in little cafes all over the world.

It was just that this one single café owner had managed to change her life. Even if for two small weeks.