1
Sam
Sam stared at his phone in absolute horror. It was hardly reasonable for seven little words to turn his blood to ice, but when they were from his mother, anything was possible. And he knew they were from his mother not only because of her name saved in his phone, but because she insisted on ending every single text with ~Mom, like he wouldn’t have a clue who was texting him otherwise.
Bring your boyfriend to the reunion.
Reading the words again did nothing to quell the queasiness in his stomach.
“Bad news?”
He startled at question and looked up to see Ben Matheny staring at him from across the counter, his brow furrowed as though he were worried about Sam. Perfect. Just what he needed. The guy he’d had a crush on for the past year to come waltzing in, as if on cue.
“What? No, just a text from my mom. Is it three o’clock already?”
“Yeah, I just came from setting up at the gallery. Lot of really great stuff in this exhibition.”
He almost sounded as though he wanted to ask Sam to join him. But that was probably Sam hearing things. There was absolutely no chance that a guy like Ben would ever be interested in him.
“Your stuff is always great,” he pointed out, grabbing a glass. Mindlessly, he measured the matcha and ginger, stirring them in with a cold tea blend.
“The stuff I always show you is great,” Ben said. “I wouldn’t show you anything that wasn’t.”
Okay, now that was definitely flirting. Wasn’t it? It had been so long since he’d actually flirted with someone that he didn’t know what was flirting and what was just being polite. He mixed sarsaparilla with simple syrup and club soda, then poured it into a new glass before finishing the whole thing off with the matcha.
“One matcha ginger root beer,” he said, sliding the glass across the bar. “Same as always.”
Ben caught it easily. “Not always. When it gets cold, I start ordering the London Fog.”
He smiled and took a sip. Most people would have used a straw, but Ben thought they were bad for the environment. When he set the glass down, flecks of green stuck to his upper lip.
“You got a little something there,” Sam teased, wiping at his upper lip with his finger.
“Oh yeah? Well maybe you should come over here and help me get it off.”
Sam took a deep breath. It wouldn’t do to have dirty thoughts about a customer, especially when he wasn’t even sure that customer was interested. Ben had affected the same casually flirty attitude with the rest of the Press Room staff. He wasn’t special. It was only insult to the injury that Ben didn’t reciprocate his feelings.
Instead of responding, he threw Ben a napkin.
Ben grumbled, but wiped his face. “You’re killing the trees, man.”
Sam pointed to a box by the door. “Recycling’s right there. I thought you would have noticed.” The bright green box was hard to miss against the white subway tile interior of the shop.
A bright smile lit up Ben’s face, and Sam nearly went weak at the knees. “You took my suggestion.”
“I may have mentioned it to Faith, who agreed with me, and then we may have presented the idea to Peter, who decided it was a good idea to recycle more,” he said with a shrug.
He’d done more than that, though, and they both knew it.
“So, what was the text from your mom about?” Ben asked after a moment. “You looked a bit sick.”
Sam wondered how he was going to answer that one, but he was saved in the form of a yoga mom who came through the doors and ordered an iced chai latte. She was another regular, though Sam couldn’t remember her name. Her order varied, as did the days and times she came in. Not to mention, she wasn’t nearly as good looking as Ben, but then, Sam didn’t find any woman attractive.
He glanced up as he steamed the milk, his eyes raking over Ben. Ben would have no trouble getting a real boyfriend. He was handsome in a sort of rugged way, with his hair slightly too long and a beard that screamed ‘hipster.’ But unlike most hipsters who managed to be pretentious about everything they did, Ben was authentic. He liked what he liked, and he didn’t apologize for it. As someone who had run screaming away from a pretentious upbringing, Sam appreciated that. Ben looked up and caught his gaze, then smirked, as though he were sharing in a secret joke with Sam. Then the woman in front of him cleared her throat and he realized he had steamed the milk too long.
By the time he’d finished making the latte and the woman had walked out the door, Ben was sitting on one of the stools at the bar in front of the window, scrolling on his phone. It was for the best he didn’t try to answer the question, especially given how easy it would be to tell Ben about his problems. If only those problems didn’t concern Ben.
He hadn’t set out to lie to his family, but when his parents had kept asking about his love life, he didn’t know what else to say. In a panic, he had blurted out that he’d started dating a guy from the coffee shop—who was a photographer. It wasn’t as though they were ever supposed to meet the nonexistent boyfriend. So Sam had taken what he’d known of Ben and adapted it to fit his needs. He was just supposed to be the convenient filler. The boyfriend who was always talked about but never introduced to the family.
Except now, they wanted Sam to bring him along to the Hayward Labor Day weekend family reunion. With his perpetually drunk aunt, his smug uncles, and a handful of children running around. Sam knew what they were doing. They were pressuring him to settle down. And it didn’t hurt that he had lied even more and claimed his boyfriend was a well-known, well-earning photographer. They had specifically liked that part.
The bell on the door tinkled again, and Faith walked in, wet-haired and panting.
“I’m not late,” she said firmly.
“Hi Not Late, I’m Sam,” Sam said, handing her apron to her. She groaned at the joke and took it with one hand, the other hand on her knee.
“Dude, even by your standards, that was terrible,” Ben said, his arms crossed. “And you’re the person who changed the Wi-Fi password to ‘hebrews’ the last time Peter was away.”
“Hey now, that potential was too good. I couldn’t just let a good pun like that go,” Sam protested. He grinned, feeling slightly giddy inside, before turning back to Faith. “You wanna tell me why you look like you’ve just run a marathon?”
Faith groaned at the joke, then slipped the apron over her head and tied it behind her back. “My hot water went out and I had to call my landlord to come fix it, but he didn’t get around to it until literally an hour ago, and I didn’t want to leave him alone with Arthur, since Arthur doesn’t like men.”
It was true. The first time Sam had met the ill-tempered shepherd mix, he thought Arthur was going to tear him limb from limb. Even three years later, it took him about half an hour to warm up to Sam every time he saw him.
“You’re not late. Besides, it’s been dead all day. We’ve had Yoga Mom and Ben, and that’s it this afternoon.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Ben said, feigning hurt. “I can go somewhere else. I see when I’m not wanted.”
Faith laughed. “You’re always wanted here, Benny. Oh, I meant to tell you. Joel sent me some pictures of the stuff you’re going to use in the exhibit. It looks great. I love that bridge picture, the black and white one with the drop of color on the flowers.”
“Yeah, it was fun to manipulate and play around with the lighting on it.”
They continued to discuss the photographs as Sam washed up the mugs from that morning. He really needed to get over to the gallery and see some of Ben’s work, but he didn’t know if that was a line better left uncrossed. It was one thing to make friendly conversation with him every day when he came in, but actively seeking Ben out in his own territory felt a bit too much like he was trying for something more than just maintaining a casual acquaintance.
Not that he would be opposed to that. Ben was hot and he flirted well, and Sam could only imagine how great he would be in bed. Now that was definitely not a train of thought he needed to follow.
“You alright there, Sam? You look like you’re about to shit yourself.” Faith threw a towel at him.
He threw it right back. “I’m fine. Just got a text from my mom.” Better to lie and save face than to make a fool of himself in front of Ben.
“What, you forget to call her this week or something?”
Now he didn’t even have to come up with a lie. “Yep. You wouldn’t think calling your parents every other week would be that difficult, and yet…” He shrugged.
That part was true enough. Since moving to Wilmingson from Hartford five years earlier, he’d made sure to call his mother once every two weeks, more out of duty than an actual desire to talk to them. It kept their relationship cordial enough, but not so close that they constantly visited. Not that they ever would. Wilmingson had neither the amenities nor the attractions that would make it worthwhile. Nothing less than five-star hotels or picturesque views for the Hayward family.
“I get it dude. Parents are tough,” Faith said. “But you’re an adult. They’ve got to let you go sometime. Back me up here, Ben.”
Sam’s mouth went dry as he looked over at Ben, who was staring down at his phone. Talking about his parents was dangerous. It could easily lead into the reunion, and the last thing he needed was Ben finding out that he used his life to create the perfect boyfriend—the boyfriend he really wanted.