Chapter Twelve

Brian was beginning to hate mornings, at least when he’d spent the night with Rob. Waking up meant ending their time together rather than starting a new day. Rob showered and they dressed, moving easily around each other, but an air of sadness cast a shadow over the morning.

Plenty of time for Rob to drive him back to Squirrel Hill, where he’d clean himself up and change before heading to Grounds N’at. That left one issue, though.

“What are we going to do about my bike? Didn’t see a rack on that Mercedes of yours.” He sat on Rob’s bed.

Rob stood at a floor-length mirror, tying his tie. “I have one, but no—it’s not on right now.” He tightened the knot and smoothed the silk out. “I can bring it to you sometime this week, if you’re free in the evening?” He turned and faced Brian.

Fuck, businesswear looked damn good on Rob’s long, lean figure. A simple tan suit and white shirt, paired with a dark red tie that brought out the color of Rob’s hair.

Brian’s balls tightened. Those were the kind of clothes that deserved to be peeled off Rob at the end of a day. “Wednesday.” The word was thick in his mouth. “I’m off Wednesday evening.”

Rob’s smile was knowing. So was his walk as he closed the distance. “Like what you see?”

No time to answer, because Rob’s mouth was on his, so he put the emphatic yes into his kiss and pressed his palm against Rob’s dick and balls.

Rob broke the kiss with a chuckle. “So I should wear the suit Wednesday night?”

“Please.” Brian took Rob’s tie and pulled him down for another kiss. But after a few moments he relented.

Rob’s grin slipped. “We should head out.”

“Yeah.” Brian rose and grabbed his backpack.

Driving across town didn’t take long, not this early in the morning. Soon—too soon—they pulled up in front of Brian’s place. He unbelted and fiddled with one of the straps on his bag. “That was the best day I’ve had in a long time.” He met Rob’s gaze. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” Low murmured words. “And very much the same for me, by the way. You’re—” A little color touched his cheeks and he laughed. “Fucking lovely. I couldn’t ask for a better man.”

That flipped his brain in about seventeen different directions. Rob probably could find a better guy, but he wasn’t about to tell him that. “I—” He really was falling in love. Shit. “There’s never been anyone like you.”

Rob pulled him over and kissed him, then spoke against his lips. “We could spend hours like this.” He sat back. “Wednesday?”

“Yes.” God yes. “I’ll text. Call.”

A grin. “You’d better.”

Nothing else to do but get out, so he did, shut the door, and stood on the sidewalk. Rob’s grin was all dimples and freckles and sunshine. He donned his sunglasses—same ones he’d worn that first day—and pulled away.

That absence left Brian bereft but giddy. He had a boyfriend. A hot, sexy one who—dare he even think it?—loved him back. Pretty heady stuff that churned his brain and the blood in his veins as he climbed the stairs to his apartment, showered, and changed.

He’d fucked Rob. Good and hard. Then Rob had turned him into ash with his fingers and his mouth. They’d biked. They’d talked. Taken photos at the Carrie Furnace—so many events packed into one day.

He wanted more, so much more. Hours, days, weeks. If it weren’t for the shop—

He clutched the edge of his sink. His shop. For the first time since he’d opened it, it almost wasn’t the most important thing in his life.

Rob. Just as it had that first day, his name rang in Brian’s head. Rob Rob Rob Rob.

He was in trouble. Dating Rob felt like an affair.

A glance at his watch told him he should head out. He needed to be at the shop about a half hour before opening to prep for the day.

The walk usually cleared his mind, but today his brain only churned more and more. The scent of Rob’s shower gel, the feel of Rob’s fingers inside him, the sound of Rob’s groan when he came.

Opening the shop was done by rote memory because his heart and head weren’t at work yet—those were tangled up in the sheets on Rob’s bed.

Shit, he needed to get it together. He had a series of interviews starting at noon and his first customers would walk in soon. Five minutes before eight, he unlocked the door and fired up an espresso for himself.

Eight on the nose, Sam Anderson strolled through the door. Brian put down his cup and donned his professional face. “Hey, Sam. Your regular?”

“I’m nothing, if not predictable.” Sam stood by the register.

A large cappuccino with 2 percent. Brian started in on Sam’s order. Halfway through, it suddenly occurred to him that Sam must know Rob and he nearly dropped the frothing pitcher. He finished Sam’s drink and handed it over.

A curious expression on Sam. “How’s it going?”

“Good.” The answer was automatic and not quite the truth. “Actually, great in some ways. In others . . .” He shrugged. “Replacing Justin’s been hard.”

“I’d say I’m sorry, but . . .” Sam tipped the cup to Brian.

He couldn’t help the laugh. “I know. Honestly, Justin was wasting his talent here. I knew he’d move on.” He leaned back against the counter. “And then the whole Eli thing . . .”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Those two.”

As if speaking an incantation, the door clattered open and both Eli and Justin entered. Sam visibly bit back his smirk. “Thanks, Brian.”

“No problem.”

Sam exchanged a few quiet words with his employees and headed out.

“Morning,” Justin said. “Don’t suppose you’ll let me back there . . . ?”

Eli tapped his cane on the floor. “You’re lucky he lets you pay.”

“He’s right.” Brian crossed his arms. “So what’ll it be?” While he would love Justin behind the counter, having him there only would remind Brian of the loss.

“Same as the boss-man today. Except two shots.”

He didn’t even have to ask Eli for his drink—he nearly always got an Americano with room for cream. If he didn’t, he let Brian know.

Eli was a creature of habit—except when he wasn’t—but he signaled his change.

He got started on their drinks. Pouring hot water into Eli’s Americano only reminded Brian of Rob and his breath caught. Rob inside him. He inside Rob. The way they fit together—in and out of bed. Took all his concentration to finish the damned order.

At least Justin hadn’t ordered whip. He handed over the drinks.

“Rough night?” That from Eli as he presented his credit card.

The card tumbled out of Brian’s grasp and onto the floor. “Shit.” He picked it up and ran the transaction. God, he needed to get his head on straight. “No.” If you didn’t count the sex.

“Must have been a good night then.” Justin sipped his drink, but Brian saw the smile.

“Dude.”

This time, Justin’s smirk was visible, as was Eli’s grin. Thankfully, they didn’t rib him anymore. After they left, the shop filled with customers and he had no time to think about anything until Miranda came in at eleven thirty.

Even then, he spent a good fifteen minutes catching up on dishes and wiping down tables before his first interviewee arrived. Impressions worked both ways—he wanted a clean shop. He scanned the notes on his laptop to get a sense of the first person he’d be talking to. Beth, a college student at Carlow majoring in political science. She’d done a couple months at a Starbucks between high school and college. Could be promising.

He snapped the laptop shut and leaned against the counter. They finally weren’t swamped and he and Miranda could talk a bit.

“Hey, how’s your grandmother?”

Miranda’s normally cheerful disposition faltered. “Not as good. She’s . . . forgetting stuff. Not all the time, but—”

“Enough?”

“Yeah.” She dusted her hands on her apron. “I need to talk to her doctor.”

Family was rough. His grandparents were still ticking, but one of his great uncles had developed dementia, bad enough that they’d had to put him into a home. “Hey, I’m sorry.”

A pained smile. “I’m just grateful you keep me on for a few shifts here and there. Helps keep me sane.”

That worked both ways. “Anytime. You’re one of my best.”

Miranda laughed, then sobered. “Thanks.” She turned away to wash the milk pitcher, but then faced Brian again. “You need to tell the others they’re good, too.”

Brian ran a hand through his hair and cringed. “I know.” The shop bell rang and a nervous young woman stepped in. “Speaking of which . . .”

“Good luck,” she murmured. “To both of you.”

Yeah. Four interviews. Four very different people. They all needed a little luck.

***

Three hours later, he shook the hand of the last of the candidates—a man close to his own age and already working two other jobs—and watched him leave the shop.

Couldn’t tell if luck had been with anyone today. None of the candidates had been awful, but he didn’t connect with any of them, either. He let out a breath and headed back around the counter to type his thoughts into his laptop.

He wouldn’t find another Justin, yet he kept hoping. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath.

Miranda leaned up against the counter next to him. “Oh, come on, Bri, they weren’t that bad.”

They hadn’t been. “I just don’t feel like any of them meshed.”

She frowned, but it was thoughtful. “I could tell.”

“But I still need to hire someone.” More than one someone. Three, ideally, but with rising costs, two would be more manageable until he figured out how to balance the budget. Probably needed to rejigger the menu.

Miranda bumped his shoulder. “Who’d you like the best?”

Good question. “Lamont. Smart and driven. Never worked in a coffee shop, though.” He couldn’t hit the ground running like Beth could with her experience. The third candidate, Nick, had been a bust—to young and too flighty. And the fourth? He felt for Rich, but working around his schedule would be a nightmare.

On the other hand, he worked around Miranda’s and was damn lucky to have her.

“People can be trained, you know.” She looked up when more customers poured into the shop, and headed to the register.

Yeah, they could. He closed the laptop and washed his hands, then helped Miranda with the orders.

Three decent candidates. None perfect. Three slots he could fill. Hire them all? At least on a provisionary basis. Especially if Rich would be like Miranda and very part time—that wouldn’t break the budget, would it?

Well, he’d think about it, anyway.