maria's-lovers

The Punchline Ch. 3/3

The conclusion to the saga of Maid of Honor Clarke and Best Man Bellamy featuring cute coffee shops and a brief cameo from Barista!Miller.  fierceespemily, here’s part three!  And thank you aliciaflorrickxwine, htgawbellarke, and protectlydiamartin2k15 for your words of encouragement!  You guys are the bomb.

“Why are we here, Clarke?” he asked.
“I made a mistake,” she said, the words tumbling out of her mouth in an incoherent rush.
“Which part was the mistake?” he asked darkly.  “Sleeping with me?  Or running away after?”

A/N: I am so so sorry about how long it’s taken me to get this chapter up. Between vacation, life getting in the way, and complete lack of motivation, I struggled with getting this done. But here we are! The end! It’s been a great ride, I’ve loved working with this universe, thank you all for coming along for the ride.

[Read it on AO3]
Parts one and two can be found here.

The coffee shop Bellamy asked her to meet him at was small and cozy with a handful of overstuffed couches and armchairs and a long raised wooden table with twenty chairs haphazardly grouped around it, lights hanging down to cast small pools of light across the rough surface.  You could have called it cramped, but Clarke thought that the close quarters just enhanced the vibes of welcomeness and inclusion that seemed to emanate from the cafe.

She could see why Bellamy liked it.

She checked her watch for the fifth time, stomach twisting.  The second hand seemed to be moving too slowly and she groaned, eyes ticking over to the coffee-stained mug next to her.  She considered it for a moment before standing abruptly and maneuvering back to the counter, where the only barista, some well-built guy in a beanie, was refilling a syrup bottle.

“Refill?” he asked, without even looking up.

Clarke started a little and he looked up at her, smiling, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way that always made Clarke feel at home.

“That would be great,” she said, almost meekly, pushing her cup onto the counter.

He passed her another mocha, piping hot, and a delicious looking brown color back in what felt like seconds.

“Hot date?” he asked as he put the milk back in the fridge.

Clarke chewed on the inside of her cheek.  “I’m not sure,” she said finally.

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