Chapter Text
“Welcome to The Midtown Moo—oh, it’s just you, Iggy.” You put your hands on your hips, fingers digging into the cow-print shirt and neon pink apron tied around your thick waist. It’s like an anchor, gripping the soft cotton underneath
“Oh, just me, is it?” Ignis lifts an eyebrow and glides to the counter, strong, lean arms wrapped around a thick binder that’s bursting with papers. He curls those full pink lips into a smirk, and you can’t help but blush.
It’s bad enough that you’ve been working with the hunkiest guy on the planet for over two years now; the fact that the gods saw fit to give the genius marketing and distribution director of Amicitia Dairy Farms supermodel looks is just icing on the cake.
Or, toppings on the ice cream cone, rather.
Ignis is drop-dead gorgeous, with an angular jawline that could cut glass; full lips that release a sultry foreign accent that make your ovaries burst every time he says even the most mundane things; long, lean legs that are always wrapped in fitted designer trousers. Ignis is the whole package: Ivy League college degree that he earned in just over two years, suave and charming and smart, put-together in tailored clothes that look like they were sewed on around him. And what’s worst of all, he’s nice. Ignis is so, so nice, and it makes your heart ache. Having a crush on him would be easier to handle, with less longevity, if he were curt and mean, treating you like the lower middle-class community college student that you are. But no. Ignis sweet-talks you like he does nearly everyone else, and it’s hard not to have fantasies about him.
Get Gladiolus Amictia into the room, the firstborn son of Amicitia Dairy Farms, and you start to feel like a reverse harem anime trope.
You sigh, staring Ignis down as he approaches the counter. He sizes you up and smiles. “Is Gladiolus present?”
“He’s in the back, on a phone call with Mr. Amicitia.”
Ignis nods, dazzling green eyes darting down to survey the chilled display of ice cream tubs. He mulls over the flavors, raising an eyebrow as he reads the bottom left nameplate. “I see our young heir has been...experimenting...again.” Ignis sighs. “Surely he doesn’t think that a salt and vinegar flavored ice cream will sell in the long-term?”
You shrug, grinning. “I dunno, it just tasted like a salt and vinegar chip to me.”
“He’s dragging you into his hairbrained schemes, I see,” Ignis tuts. But he’s smiling with a sort of resigned affection, because he knows he can’t really stop Gladio from doing much. This is technically his ice cream parlor, after all. Ignis is only the sales guy.
You laugh, shaking your head. “Now, you know that Gladio doesn’t drag me, so much as he bats his long eyelashes and pout until I give in.”
“If you weren’t so cheerful about it, I’d say that he was bullying you into serving horrible ice cream flavors by force.”
“Nah, officer. I’m totally guilty as an accomplice,” you tease back.
Ignis muses over the deep tubs of ice cream for another minute or two; then, “Well, against my better judgement...might I have a sample of the salt and vinegar?”
“Hell yeah,” you reply cheerfully as you pull on food safety gloves from the box behind the register.
Gladio is a purebred country farm boy, and even his muscles have muscles from long days of wrangling cattle from the backs of chocobos and chopping logs for a woodburning stove, among other things. Gladio still gets plenty of exercise at the ice cream shop, digging out heaping scoops of ice cream hundreds of times daily. You’re decidedly less muscular—all soft, plush feminine curves, fat and plump from your head to your toes; but you’ve developed a solid ice-cream scooping arm that almost rivals Gladio’s. Almost.
You dig out a small scoop of the aptly-named don’t be a salty bish! and grab a small plastic spoon from the supply on top of the glass barrier, handing it over to Ignis.
He sets his binder down on the pink-flecked black marble and takes the tiny cup from your hands. He sniffs it, arching his perfectly-manicured eyebrow, and finally smears the spoon on the top of the creamy lump and takes the dive.
“Are you okay? You look like the kombucha girl meme.” Ignis rarely looks ridiculous, but about fifty different emotions have rippled across his handsome face in the past thirty seconds, and you’re absorbing it while you can.
Ignis lowers the sample cup, opens his mouth several times and then closes it again, words melting on his tongue (along with his taste buds).
“Damn, we made you speechless. That’s rare.”
Ignis frowns, then clears his throat. “I...hm.” He quickly takes another bite. “I don’t...hate it?”
You beam at him. “Yeah? Oh man, wait till Gladio sees this.”
“See what, sweetheart?” A deep baritone voice drifts from the back room, followed by the tan, hunky beefcake that is sex on legs.
Ten more emotions cross Iggy’s face, all of them being some subsect of want—Gladio's natural charm and rugged good looks aren’t lost on even the primmest corporate suits. You wonder if Gladio ever notices the fact that Ignis blushes very heavily around him; does Gladio know, or is he just so used to everyone wanting to get in his pants that he doesn’t think it means anything more? What you wouldn’t give for Ignis—or Gladio, or both of them—to look at you like that and mean it.
Ignis coughs. “Good morning, Gladiolus.”
“Always so formal, Iggy,” Gladio laughs, throwing his arm around you.
You shiver a little under his warmth and weight, welcoming the contact as you reach up to straighten the cow-ear headband that’s nestled in your hair. You think it looks ridiculous on you, but on Gladio... well. It’s softcore porn, is what it is; but he’d suggested the uniform himself, so now you’re stuck seeing Gladio in fuzzy fake cow ears every day, giving a whole new meaning to the word beefcake.
“Yes, well.” Ignis focuses on the cup of ice cream in his hands. “This flavor...has it been selling?”
“Like hotcakes, pretty boy,” Gladio coos, sliding his arm from your shoulders and bracing himself on the counter with both palms facedown. He flexes his huge, tattooed arms, locking his elbows as he levels his gaze at the farm’s sales manager.
Ignis turns a little redder, but doesn’t give in to the flirting. “I see. Well, carry on, then, I suppose.”
Gladio tilts his head. “That’s it, no lecture?”
Ignis hands you the sample to toss out, scooping up his binder. “You’re having too much fun at work already,” he teases, jutting his chin at the paperwork in his arms. “I have some things to discuss with you, if you please.”
Gladio pushes off the counter and smirks. “Damn, I was looking forward to arguing. You’re gonna leave me high and dry like that, huh?”
“I’m a known heartbreaker,” says Ignis. “Besides, it’s not my job to satisfy you.”
Gladio licks his lips and moves to the other end of the counter, throwing open the employee only entrance so Ignis can follow him into the back office. He sweeps an arm out front, bowing slightly as he motions Ignis ahead. “After you.”
Ignis just sniffs and brushes past him. Gladio sighs as he watches Iggy’s pert rear retreat, then flicks his eyes to you. “You gonna be okay for a bit longer? Sorry, I guess there’s farm business stuff we have to talk about.”
You nod, biting back commentary on the sexual tension that’s still hanging in the air like sticky caramel drizzle. “I’ve got this.”
“Good girl,” Gladio says with a wink as he shuffles off to find Ignis.
Another day, another fantasy lodged in your brain for later when you’re home alone. You move to toss the ice cream sample in the bin behind the counter—but on a split-second decision, you finish it off, spending a little too long licking the same plastic spoon that Ignis had.
Well. Close enough.
______
An hour later, and Gladio’s still in the back talking business with Iggy; but the afternoon rush has started to pile in, and the public has no mercy on the lone employee behind the counter. The line stretches out of the door, and it’s at that moment that your stomach decides to gurgle, reminding you that you haven’t had lunch yet.
The process is ingrained in you at this point, and you move mechanically, barely even having to think about filling the deluge of orders— scoop scoop scoop waffle cone chocolate sprinkles whipped cream gummy worms marshmallows; scoop scoop large cup peanuts caramel chocolate espresso beans fudge bits peppermint bark; and so on, and so forth, upper arm burning from the chiseling out the frozen ice cream in such rapid succession, throat going dry with having to explain the daily specials and flavor of the month, face aching with smiling and speaking excitedly with all of the regulars. It’s one after the other—cash credit debit?—but at least most Insomnians are good tippers, and by the end of the line, the thrifted ceramic cow planter in front of the register is overflowing with cash. You smile; maybe you can order the top tier bundle of that fanzine after all.
The last family leaves, all eight kids bouncing off the walls and shoving creamy eldritch horrors into their tiny mouths—toppings are ten cents each, and one kid wanted all fifty of them; you send silent prayers to the Astrals on behalf of his parents, because holy hell that is a lot of sugar. It’s quiet for two minutes, allowing you a chance to rip off your gloves, wash your hands, and put on a fresh pair, when the door chimes more customers.
“Welcome to The Midtown Moo!” you say, trying to pump more enthusiasm into your voice. Where the fuck is Gladio? You turn, managing your best customer service smile, even though your body is screaming for a break and some food.
The two young men who hesitate in the doorway survey the entire shop for a long time before finally making eye contact with you. They’re of similar build and height, but one has jet-black hair that sticks up in soft tufts and points; while the other has blond hair that’s swept up in a poof at the front, with long bangs framing his face and curling up at the base of his neck. The black-haired boy straightens, sapphire blue eyes shining with curiosity, and drags his blond friend with him.
They approach the counter, and you can now see that they’re gripping stapled pieces of paper in their hands. Black Hair is pressed into an all-black suit with golden trimmings and a skull-print pocket square, with shiny shoes that look brand-new. Blondie is in a slightly wrinkled crimson shirt and black skinny jeans and clean black sneakers.
You give them a once-over. Holy hell, what is it with you being surrounded by handsome men lately? Blondie has an adorable smattering of freckles across his nose and upper cheeks, and his eyes are a lighter blue than Black Hair, flecked with bits of violet. His facial features are elfish and angular, slenderer than Iggy’s but still just as handsome.
Black Hair clears his throat and holds out his hand. “Hey,” he says, husky voice rolling over you like silk.
“Hi?” You clear your throat and take his surprisingly strong hand in your own, pumping it a few times. “Can I help you?”
“Uh, yeah,” he says, jerking his head back to his friend. “Prompto and I wanted to apply for a job here?”
“Oh!” You do remember Gladio talking about hiring more people. You’ve basically been full-time since high school graduation, and online classes allow you to work the 12 to 8 shift with little difficulty, but it is hard to manage with the two of you. “Oh, uh. Sure. I guess Gladio posted that listing in the paper after all. Lemme get you some applications.”
You dart into the back, navigating through boxes of supplies and ice cream toppings, knocking softly on the cracked office door. You hate to interrupt such an intimate moment—Gladio and Ignis are nearly touching foreheads as they pour over who-knows-what kind of business reports.
“Hey, real quick, sorry sorry, but Gladio, there’s a couple of guys here who want an application?”
Gladio quickly looks up, looking adorably bereft as you force him to leave Iggy’s personal space. “Yeah baby, top drawer of the filing cabinet as usual.”
You nod, knowing this office like the back of your hand, but you still don’t want to overstep your bounds. You skirt all the way into the office and pull open the top drawer of the filing cabinet, digging through labeled file folders until you find what you’re looking for. You draw out two applications, closing the drawer silently and leaving Gladio and Iggy to get back to business (or is it flirting? Probably both).
You burst back out into the shop, where the two young men are talking animatedly with each other. “Okay, here, uh. There’s pens on that napkin station over there.” You point to the small side table that sports napkin dispensers, customer satisfaction surveys, comment cards, and cow-print pens. “Just hold on to your resumes until you’re done.”
Black Hair nods and smiles, taking both of the applications and leading his shyer friend to a table in the far corner.
It’s just then that you register Gladio’s casual use of baby, and you take a moment to shiver and swallow down all the things you wish you could say to him.
It’s quiet for another thirty minutes, and your stomach is growling so bad that you finally bend and make yourself a vanilla ice cream protein milkshake to slurp down. At least it’ll be something. As you’re sipping and checking your phone, periodically glancing up to make sure no one else has come in the door, you notice the two applicants rise from the table and cross the checkered tile floor.
“All done,” says Black Hair, smiling, handing over his application along with his resume. “I’m Noctis, by the way. Noctis Lucis Caelum.”
You start to speak; but as you take the papers from him, you feel your whole body go numb. “You mean...you’re...you’re related to the Lucis Caelums? Caelum, as in, Caleum Enterprises?”
Noctis smirks. “Yeah that’s me. I’m Regis’ son.”
“So...like. You’re the future heir of Caelum Enterprises?” You manage to pick your jaw up from the floor and try to visualize what a net worth of four billion dollars actually looks like. Your brain gives out after about a million. “Uh. No offense dude, but why do you want to work part-time at an ice cream shop?”
Noctis shrugs. “Dad said I had to get a job, and not at Blossoming Bread, either.”
You blink. “You guys own Blossoming Bread?” The bakery next door has been your go-to snack spot for years now: three scoops of ice cream in exchange for one sandwich, and Gladio always gives them a pint of their choice of flavor at the end of the day as an extra gift.
Noctis nods. “Yeah, but I was the manager there for a while, and it was cool and all but...not really my thing.” He licks his lips, surveying the dozens of ice cream tubs in the cooler. “I really like ice cream.”
“Well, just because you work here doesn’t mean that you get to eat it all day,” you laugh as you squat, fumbling around in the cubby below the counter. “Aha!” You stand with two paper clips in your hand, and you secure Noct’s resume to his application. You turn to look at Noctis’ friend, who’s rocking back and forth on his heels.
“Hey man, don’t be nervous,” you assure him. “You’re Prompto, right?”
His adorable freckled face turns the color of red velvet cake ice cream, and Prompto finally squeaks out words. “I, uh, yeah! I’m Prompto Argentum, and I...” He gulps. “I mean I’m not as cool as Noct, but I’ve had good jobs, and my managers always liked me, and I’m on time even though I have to take the subway from across town, and...” His voice trails off and he shoves his papers at you.
You smile and take them, securing them with the other paper clip. “I’m sure Gladio will be excited to look over your applications. Sorry he’s not here right now, he’s in a meeting with the farm’s marketing and distribution manager.”
Noctis lifts an eyebrow. “Gladio?”
“Oh, I mean Gladiolus Amicitia.”
Noctis grins, and you notice color rise to his smooth cheeks. “Ah, yeah. Him, huh? He works here?”
You nod, grinning. You’re always ready to talk about Gladio, and from the look of Noct’s face, the handsome rich kid already knows that Gladio’s 100% grade-A eye candy. “This whole ice cream parlor was Gladio’s idea. He’s been managing it since he was like 19, so it’s kind of his baby. I’ve been working here since I was 16, so a little over two years. I’m in online classes at Insomnia Community College, and I want to get a business degree whenever I transfer to a larger university. Gladio says that Amicitia Farms will hire me to help manage this place long-term.”
“Sounds like you have everything figured out,” Prompto marvels.
“So you work here full-time, and take online classes?” Noctis confirms. “You sound busy.” He smirks. “I think it would be in your best interest to hire more people.”
You feel heat ripple up from your toes at Noct’s sly smile. “I...I will definitely give Gladio your applications,” you say, sliding them into the cubby below the register. You clear your throat, gesturing to the selection. “Would you guys like to try something?”
Prompto gives Noctis the biggest, cutest puppy-dog eyes you’ve ever seen, and Noctis grins, shaking his head and pulling out his wallet. “Get whatever you want.”
“Oh em gee, you’re the best friend in the entire universe,” Prompto sighs as he throws his arms around Noctis.
You don’t miss the color that rises to Noct’s cheek at that interaction, either. Prompto bounces back and forth along the length of the display case, indigo eyes growing wide with endless possibilities. As he’s debating, you hear the muffled voices from Ignis and Gladio grow louder; the two older men appear in the doorway, conversation tapering off.
Gladio sighs deeply, like he’s tired down to his very bones. “Well, thanks for the update, Iggy.”
Ignis nods, placing a hand on Gladio’s shoulder and squeezing through the soft cow-print shirt. “It’ll be all right, Gladiolus. We won’t settle, I promise.” He flicks his eyes to you. “Good bye, Miss _________. Lovely to see you again, as always.”
You nod. “Yeah Iggy, see you.” You watch as Ignis slides out of the employee office and hurries out of the ice cream parlor.
“Damn,” says Gladio, shaking his head.
“Anything you care to tell me?”
Gladio frowns. “Later sweetheart, don’t wann ruin the vibe of the shop with more corporate bullshit.” He looks up, finally noticing Noctis and Prompto, who are staring at him as though he’s sprouted an extra head. “Hey fellas, welcome to The Midtown Moo.”
Prompto’s face has reverted back to red velvet cake color, and Noctis is rapidly catching up with him. You grab their applications and resumes from the cubby.
“Oh, Gladio! You missed it. That’s Noctis, and that’s Prompto. They just put in applications.”
Gladio grins widely at the two young men as he takes the papers from your hands. “Oh really now? I’ll look these over and give you boys a call.” Gladio pauses, tilting his head at Noctis. “Wait. Don’t I know you?”
Noctis, for all his schmoozing earlier with you, finds himself tongue-tied in front of the giant Amicitia heir. “You were on the cover of Farm and Country last year,” he blurts.
Dear gods, is Noctis sweating? You look up at Gladio.
Oh. Oh, this is Gladio’s territory, just as much as any mud-caked barn. You watch in fascination as his face morphs from friendly to downright wolfish. He looks like he’s about to eat Noctis alive. Something tells you that the pretty rich Caelum heir would go down willingly. Gladio licks his lips. “Sure was, princess.” Gladio lifts one arm and flexes, the cow print shirt trying its very best. He drops his arm and winks.
Noctis swallows, attempting to compose himself. “I’m Noctis Lucis Caelum.”
Gladio’s eyes go wide. “What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?”
Your stomach growls—in the midst of whatever the fuck is going on, you remember that you haven’t had any actual food in over six hours. “Gladio, I need a break. I’m going to get something to eat at the bakery.”
“Huh? Oh, yeah, that’s fine. Well, hang on a minute, sweetheart.” Gladio digs into his back pocket and pulls out a wad of bills. “Get me something too. Whatever you’re getting is fine. Tell Nyx to stop by when they close so he can pick up his pint.”
You grab the cash from Gladio’s hand and shove it into your pocket, throwing open the staff door. You look back at the Noctis and Prompto as you head out of the shop—Prompto watches you as you leave, turning back to silently salivate over Gladio as the door chimes.
“Hey Nyx,” you say as you walk into the warm, sweet-smelling bakery. You rub your arms, never quite ready for the drastic drop in temperature between the two restaurants.
Nyx looks up from where he’s arranging bagels in the display case, his soft blue eyes sparkling in the low overhead light. “There’s my pretty ice cream queen,” he purrs. “How are things in the frozen tundra next door?”
You laugh, shaking your head. “About the same. But I think your boss is applying for a summer job with us.”
Nyx cocks his eyebrow as he finishes up the bagel display, shutting the case and sliding down to the register. “You don’t mean—”
“A one Noctis Lucis Caelum, and he brought a friend.”
Nyx clicks his tongue. “That’ll be Prompto, then.”
“The very same.”
Nyx grins. “It seems the mighty have fallen—or maybe, he just wants a nice long look at that prime rib you call a manager.”
“Oh, he was looking all right.”
“The cow ears don’t help,” Nyx teases as he eyes the furry headband that you’re wearing. “It’s as though Gladio was asking to be objectified in that uniform.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I look very respectfully at Gladio.”
Nyx rolls his eyes. “That worn-out copy of Farm and Country on your bedside table says otherwise.”
“Hey, how did you know—”
“Because anyone with eyes has that issue next to the condoms and lube, babe. I ain’t dumb.”
You bite your lip and stare at the floor. “I came here to get a sandwich, and honestly I’m feeling so attacked right now.”
Nyx snickers, already punching codes into the register.
“Hey, I haven’t even said what I wanted yet.”
Nyx smirks. “You trying to tell me I don’t know how to do my job?”
You pull out the money from your pocket and hand it over. “Two turkey and avocado bacon sandwiches with spicy ranch and provolone cheese—”
“Toasted,” Nyx finishes, ringing up the total and reaching to take the money. “I see we’re using actual currency today.”
“Hey, it never hurts to switch it up, huh?” You laugh. “Thanks Nyx.”
“It’ll be ready in a few minutes.”
“Oh, and Gladio says to come by the shop when you guys close to pick up your pint.”
Nyx nods and then hits the button on the register that prints out the order details so that he can give it to Crowe and Libertus in the back kitchen. You grab a seat at a small two-seater table and wait for your dinner.
-------
You take fifteen minutes to eat your own sandwich in the bakery, casually chatting with Nyx, and with Crowe and Libertus when they pop their heads out of the back to say hi. They send you on your way with two fresh loaves of bread, and once you’re loaded up with Gladio’s sandwich and the gifts, you head back into the frozen world of ice cream.
“M’back,” you say as you step back inside The Midtown Moo. You glance up to see Prompto and Noctis still standing stock-still at the counter, though now the two younger men are clutching bowls of ice cream in their hands.
Gladio’s voice trails off from whatever farm story he inevitably stumbled into and he makes eye contact with you, flashing his perfect pearly-white teeth and winking.
It has the effect that it always has, and you swallow down your attraction for the umpteenth time that day and slide through the employee door.
“Here’s your sandwich, and a loaf of bread for each of us.” You look at Noctis, who’s staring at Gladio wish such obvious attraction that you’re expecting literal heart eyes to appear any second now. “How’s the ice cream?”
“Great!” Prompto squeaks.
“S’really good,” Noctis says, licking his lips as he looks at you.
Brushing past Gladio, you call, “I’m putting this stuff in the office. Don’t steal my bread.”
Gladio laughs. “I promise.”
You return, shoving Gladio off so he can go eat. Noctis actually pouts, and it makes you smile. “When did Gladio say you guys could come in for an interview?”
“Wednesday morning,” Noctis says, scooping out more of his vanilla-caramel-marshmallow concoction.
“And you’re going to be interviewing us,” Prompto grins around his bite of strawberry-laden salted caramel fudge ice cream.
“What? Me? Gladio said that?”
“Sure did,” Noctis purrs. “You’re practically a shoo-in to be part of the shop for a long time. Makes sense for you to do the interviewing.”
“But I’m not even like, a manager!” You pause. “Well...I know about as much as a manager, but I don’t have a title...”
Prompto nods enthusiastically. “You’re still probably like, way overqualified. Gladio told us all about you when you left for the bakery.”
You find yourself blushing again. “Oh, did he?”
Noctis smirks. “He was telling us about the first time you visited the farm.”
Prompto’s pretty face lights up like a Christmas tree. “He was telling us about the chocobos.”
Your eyes flick to Prompto’s hair, and suddenly you’re sure of what his favorite animal is. “You like chocobos?”
“Like,” Noctis mutters, eating another bite of ice cream. “That’s the understatement of the millennium.”
You grin. “I mean, he looks like a chocobo.”
Prompto’s mouth falls open, and Noctis bursts out laughing, full-bellied guffaws that have his slender body shaking.
“I—h-hey, Noct! I do not look like a chocobo!”
Noctis only snorts and eventually has to set his ice cream bowl on the counter as he doubles over, holding his stomach, peals of laughter still escaping his full lips.
Prompto flushes pink and bites his lip in embarrassment, looking away as he continues to chew on his ice cream.
You giggle, wiping your eyes. Noct’s laughing is getting to you more than anything. “I’m sorry, Prompto, I didn’t mean anything by it.” You’re stupid cute, is what you wish you could say.
“I told him,” Noctis wheezes, standing. “I told him his hair looked like a chocobo butt!”
Prompto puffs out his cheeks and turns even more pink.
You smile at Prompto. “You look fine, Prompto. I just meant that—you're bright, and your hair looks fluffy! Um. Bright and fluffy, like a chocobo.”
Prompto’s lips twitch into a small smile, and he visibly relaxes. “Thanks,” he mutters.
“It’s a good thing,” you reassure him.
Noctis wipes his eyes and makes a show of attempting to catch his breath. “Oh man, I’m sorry Prom, but that was...” He looks at you, blue eyes sparkling. “I hope we get hired. You’re really funny.”
You suck in a breath and nod. Any sort of compliment from Noctis is a welcome one. “Yeah, uh, well. Don’t think I’m going to go easy on you just because you’re—”
“Suave, charming, handsome, smart?” Noctis counts off his fingers, flashing teeth.
“—rich,” you counter. “Not here, buddy. No automatic ins because of your last name.”
“Who’s last name?” Gladio asks as he slides back into view, grinning at Noctis and Prompto.
“Mine,” says Noctis thickly. “Don’t worry, I wasn’t expecting an automatic hire. I’ll interview just like everyone else. I’m not like those other rich pricks.”
“Yeah,” says Prompto, swallowing the last bite of his ice cream. “He’s a nice rich prick.”
“Hey!”
“Payback,” Prompto giggles.
Noctis smiles at his friend and then nods at you and Gladio. “Thanks for taking our application. We’ll be here at 11 am sharp on Wednesday.”
“Looking forward to it,” you say, waving them off.
“Thanks boys,” Gladio says, giving them a two-finger salute. He watches them climb into Noct’s limousine across the street, and then he whistles long and low. “Well butter my buns and call me a biscuit, that Noctis kid grew up real pretty. Last time I met him in person, he was some scrawny kid, hiding behind his daddy’s leg when Pops went to the Caelum hotel to talk grocery sales.”
You look up at the rugged beefcake, getting lost in the broad shape of his scruffy jaw. You clear your throat. “Yeah he’s pretty, but can he hack it out with us? Prompto, I have a decent feeling about. But...” You shake your head. “I mean he was born with a diamond spoon in his mouth. I’m still iffy about why he wants to work here.”
Gladio looks down at you and winks. “Don’t worry your cute head about it, sweetheart. I know you’re a good judge of character. That’s why I elected you to do the interview.”
“That’s managerial stuff, though. I mean. I know about as much as a manager, but I don’t really consider...”
“Then I hereby make you assistant manager of the ‘Moo,” Gladio says, easy. “Worked with me long enough. Astrals know I pay you like one.”
“’Cause I’m the only other one here,” you laugh. “And if you want me to get a business degree to work for your family, I have to pay for college and an apartment somehow.”
“You could save money by moving in with me,” Gladio retorts.
You...don’t have the brainpower to think about the implications of that right now. “Think of the scandal,” you deflect.
“Just sayin’ offer’s open. You know I’m not even at the apartment on the weekends.”
You roll your tongue across your top teeth. “Don’t you mean—I could save money by moooooving in with you?”
Color rises to Gladio’s cheeks, but before he can say anything, the door opens and several customers walk in, talking excitedly and pointing to the menu on the wall.
“Welcome to The Midtown Moo!” you and Gladio say in unison.