Word Count: 1,040
Notes: For the backwards-prompt meme thing that leupagus is doing. My prompt was: AU, Danny's the owner of Authentic Jersey Pizza in Waikiki. Steve comes in, impressed by the ads that claim they fly in the water.
Summary: The guy behind the counter is short, way shorter than Steve is expecting. He’s got the right accent, though, heavy on the vowels, almost no actual h in any of those words.
“Hey, how can I help you?”
The guy behind the counter is short, way shorter than Steve is expecting. He’s got the right accent, though, heavy on the vowels, almost no actual h in any of those words. Steve glances down at the flyer in his hands. “Authentic Jersey Pizza,” he reads. “Sounds like I’m in the right place.”
The guy rolls his eyes and steps back from the counter, spreading his hands wide. There’s a streak of flour across the half-apron he’s wearing. “What was your first clue?”
Steve grins. “Your charming personality must have tipped me off.”
The guy snorts. “I’m plenty charming, once you give me some sort of indication that you’re going to pay me.” He gestures at the pizzas sitting behind the glass on the counter. “What’ll it be?”
“Ah,” Steve says, glancing at the selection. There’s meat on everything, piled high on doughy-looking crust. “Ham and pineapple?”
The guy glares at Steve. “Authentic Jersey Pizza,” he says, enunciating each word. “What about that screams either ham or pineapple to you?”
Steve finds himself smiling again. “Location, location, location, I guess.”
“Right,” the guy says. “Look, feel free to stand by the counter and look pretty all you want – God knows you’ll probably draw in some customers, and I’m all for that – but if you’re not actually going to grab a slice, then I’m gonna help that nice gentleman behind you.” His eyes slide behind Steve to the portly man hovering a few feet back. “Kamekona, my man! The usual?”
The guy slides past Steve and smiles widely, thunking down an absolutely enormous mug full of something that looks suspiciously like- “Yeah, and I brought the new flavor of ice over for Gracie,” he says. “Watermelon lychee.”
“That sounds revolting,” the guy says cheerily, sticking half a pie in the oven before sweeping the mug from the counter. “She’ll love it. I’ll stick in it the freezer – Rach should be dropping her off in an hour or so.”
Kamekona’s face lights up. “Maybe I’ll take it with me, and drop back later,” he says, making grabby hands at the mug. “Get her reaction in person, you know?”
The guy smiles and hands the mug back. “Sure thing, man. Give me an hour with her so’s I can make sure her homework is done, but drop by any time after four, okay?”
“Works for me, Danny,” Kamekona answers as the guy turns to get the pizza from the stove. He slides it neatly into a box and flips the lid down, working all the tabs into the right slots on the first go so the box actually stays shut, which is a feat of engineering far beyond Steve’s capabilities. Kamekona slaps a bill on the counter and picks the box up. “Catch you later, brah.”
“Later,” the guy – Danny – says, wiping at the counter as his eyes slide back to Steve. “Oh, hey, Mr. Doesn’t Want Real Pizza. Here to attract more customers to my stoop with that smile of yours?”
“Um,” Steve replies eloquently, unsure if Danny is actually flirting or just making fun of him. Steve waves his paper around. “Your ad says your pizza flies in the water?”
Danny rolls his eyes so hard that it might actually hurt. “Yes, my brother is a marketing genius. ‘It’ll get people in the door, Danny,’ he says to me. ‘People in the door equals customers equals revenue!’” He swipes at the counter again. “His math sucks.”
“So it’s a marketing slogan,” Steve clarifies. Danny raises an eyebrow.
“Tell me you actually thought my pizzas could fly,” he deadpans. “Please, God, tell me that. Lie if you have to.”
Steve shakes his head a little too quickly. “No, of course not. I just…”
“You just,” Danny prompts after a moment, not even fighting the smile that’s threatening to break his face in two. “Oh my God, seriously. You honestly thought that. Hey, Matty!” He turns to yell the last bit through the door that leads to the back of the store. “C’mere, man, you’re not gonna believe this!”
A taller version of Danny with dark hair pokes his head out from the back. He’s wearing an honest-to-God tie and a really annoyed look on his face. “I’m trying to balance the books, Danno,” he snaps. “If it’s not something relevant to that-”
“This guy,” Danny interrupts, “thought our pizzas could actually fly in the water.”
The guy, who must be the aforementioned brother, stops mid-word. He stares at Steve, who watches with a sort of fascination as a smile fights with the frown he’s got. Smile wins after a minute, and he cracks up.
“Fucking Hawaii,” Matty gasps, returning to the back of the store. Steve can hear him laughing for a few seconds more until the sound of a swinging door abruptly muffles the sound.
Danny is still chuckling as he turns back to Steve. “Just for that,” he says, grabbing his giant pizza spatula or whatever it’s called, “I’ll pick you a slice and you can have it on the house.”
“Sure thing,” Steve says. “Danno.”
“Don’t,” he replies instantly, levelling the pizza-spatula at Steve like he’s pointing. “Family nickname only, buddy.
Steve hooks his thumbs in his pockets and grins. “You get to make fun of me, I get to use your super-secret nickname.”
“Oh, them’s the breaks, huh?” Danny asks, sliding the slice into the oven and shutting it with a bang. “Well, how’s this, buddy? You don’t get to use my super-secret nickname if I don’t know what to call you in return.”
Steve leans over the counter a little and sticks his hand out. “Steve.”
“Steve,” Danny says, gripping Steve’s hand and shaking it more firmly than Steve had been expecting. Apparently this guy is all full of surprises, and Steve has a brief train of thought about seeing what else about Danny is surprising, what else he has to reveal. Danny raises his eyebrow after a moment. “As nice as it is to hold your hand, I’m gonna need it back unless you want your slice to burn.”
“Ah,” Steve replies, dropping Danny’s hand hastily. “Right.”
“Smooth,” Danny snorts, but he’s grinning as he grabs the pizza-spatula and turns.