Chapter Nine

“James,” is the first thing out of James’ mouth, nearly a full minute after Matthew introduces himself. It comes out sounding choked-off, hesitant and confused, and Matthew fights down the very strong urge to bolt back into the kitchen and lock himself away until closing time. James, on the other hand, looks like he’s swallowed a large lemon, and Matthew isn’t quite sure why. He had seemed fairly friendly when Matthew first walked up.  Recognition had been written all over his face, and he had a wide smile on his face right up until Matthew had sat down.

Maybe he had been reading it wrong? James could have not wanted him to sit down. Maybe he was busy, the papers that he had put away had looked a bit like they could be work-related. Then again, he had told Matthew it was all right, and seemed fairly genuine about it, too.

“Sorry if I’m intruding,” Matt stammers out, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. Margaret had pushed him out of the kitchen with a cup of coffee in his hands and pointed him in the direction of the table, and he had gone without a second thought. Now, though, he feels like he should have thought this through a little better. It’s too late to run back into the kitchen, but James has a deer-in-the-headlights expression on his face that ties Matt’s stomach up in knots. Still, something in the way James had smiled at him when he first saw Matt gives him a boost of confidence. “I just… I didn’t get to talk to you as much as I wanted to the last time we saw each other.”

That seems to get a reaction out of James, a start and a surprised smile that does nothing for the sea of anxiety in Matt’s stomach.

“You own the place, right?” James asks, and that settles Matt a bit. He’s terrible at flirting and first conversations, but he can talk about baking for days if he needs to. He settles back in his chair a bit, crossing his ankles and casting a glance back at the counter to make sure Margaret has everything in hand.

“I do, yeah,” he says, thumbing at the back of his hand – a nervous tic from his childhood days that he never quite managed to kick. James tracks the movement with his eyes, and Matt flushes and drops his hands into his lap. “Bought it about five years ago, been running it ever since.”

“You started it yourself?” James asks, a surprised note in his voice. It’s not that unexpected; Matt gets the same reaction from just about everyone. You’re so young to start a business, I thought your parents owned it, etcetera. James sounds more pleased than anything, though, and Matt smiles at the hint of appreciation in his tone.

***

They talk for the better part of two hours, until Margaret finally comes up to pull Matt back into the kitchen. He’s neglected work enough, so he goes willingly, but not before giving James a shy smile and, in a surprisingly stable voice, telling him that Matt hopes he comes back soon. It would probably sound like food service schmoozing to anyone passing by, but he figures he and James have learned enough about each other over the past two hours to warrant a bit of that.

Margaret whirls around and turns on him the second they’re behind the kitchen door, backing him into the counter and asking for details.

“I really don’t know what to tell you,” Matt says in response, hands raised defensively and cabinet handle digging uncomfortably into the back of his thigh. “We just talked.”

That’s not exactly true, though. Matt knows worlds more about James than he had a couple hours before. He knows that he owns a company, even though James wouldn’t tell him very much aside from we do design and decor, sort of. He knows that James has a sister that comes off as overbearing, but cares about him more than just about anyone else. He knows that James works pretty much every chance he can get, that he likes his coffee sweet and creamy, that he wants a cat but he’s allergic, and that the flush that creeps up his neck when Matt says that he has nice eyes makes Matt want to reach across the table and trace it with the tips of his fingers.

Yeah, Matt might be a little head-over-heels. Just a little.

There’s got to be a catch somewhere though, something that’ll bring Matt’s perfectly crafted image of James tumbling down, and he really doesn’t want to jinx it. Instead, he just waves Margaret away from him and tells her James was perfectly nice, you were right, thanks. She isn’t convinced, which doesn’t surprise Matt at all, but she just purses her lips skeptically and lets the topic drop.

Still, despite his worries and skepticism, Matt can’t keep a smile from working its way over his face as he pipes neat lines of icing onto his pastries.