Chapter Two

After Rob left the shop, the rest of Brian’s day was like one long exhale. His skin tingled and he couldn’t get his pulse back down to something normal. Pretty sure that wasn’t from the cups of espresso.

Worse, every time the bell on the door rang, he hoped it was Rob coming back in. It wasn’t. Didn’t stop his body from tensing with anticipation, nor the cold wash of disappointment he shoved aside so he could serve his customers with a smile.

Been a long time since he’d been turned that inside out by anyone, let alone a man. Rob pushed all Brian’s buttons at once. Red hair. Freckles. British accent, coupled by a sly charm, intelligence, and common interests. If he’d been a woman, he’d have gotten his number.

Except he had Rob’s number. Holy shit.

Brian leaned against the back counter, ran a hand through his hair, and checked his phone. Yup. There it was, Chicago area code and all.

Only he hadn’t gotten Rob’s number. No, Rob had asked for Brian’s and given his own in return. A clever move—one Brian had used in the past.

He was being picked up.

A warmth spread out from his belly. Well, that was different. And strange. But it also felt entirely normal and natural.

Maybe that’s because it was.

Something fluttered in his chest, and if he didn’t know better, he might have labeled it hope.

Brian pushed off the counter, collected all the used dishes and utensils, and headed to the sinks. While cleaning up, he tried not to think too much about doors and bells and ginger anything.

***

Halfway through the following week, Brian stopped looking for Rob when the bell on the door sounded. He’d gotten no texts or calls, either. Was he supposed to make the first move? Had the encounter actually happened? Other than the number in his phone and some stunning daydreams of Rob’s lips moving on his—he didn’t have much to prove Rob existed.

He didn’t even know his last name. Rob might as well have been a dream.

Today, Miranda was working the shift with him, for which Brian was grateful. He’d ended up firing Ethan this past Sunday. Not a conversation he’d enjoyed.

Ethan had been mildly upset, but not regretful. He’d thought Brian unfair. “It’s just coffee, dude.”

“It’s my business, Ethan.”

He’d rather be short another barista and work long shifts that he knew about in advance than stagger into his own shop without sleep. Of course that was happening anyway. Too many shifts, not enough downtime.

The morning rush thinned, so he turned to Miranda. “Mind running solo for a while? I need to catch up on the paperwork.”

She shook her head. “Hell, if you want to get out of here, you can. I’ll be fine.”

She would be, too. One of his best employees. If only she could work more regular hours, but taking care of her grandmother had become her full-time job. Family always came first—he’d told her that months ago. She came in when she could for the extra bit of money and Brian rejoiced each time she asked to be scheduled.

“Nah, I’ll stick around a bit.” He slipped in back and grabbed a stack of mail he’d been meaning to sort through and his laptop. “Duty calls.”

She chuckled and he settled in at one of the tables near the coffee grinder. It was a spot the fewest people took, due to the noise. He’d rather leave the prime real estate for paying customers, but if he sat behind the counter, he’d itch to serve people drinks.

Most of the mail was junk. He ripped the envelopes in half and tossed them in a pile to recycle. The rest were bills and catalogues. The latter he set aside for last—after he knew how much was left from paying his suppliers. Maybe he could afford something a little extra this month.

He opened up his laptop and got to work.

Deep into it, he completely missed the tinkle of the doorbell. It was familiar voices—one deep, the other smooth and sweet—that jolted him from his work.

Justin and Eli, come down from on high. Eli’s cane tapped against the hardwood floor and Brian glanced at his watch. The morning had flown by in the midst of seeing his profits shrink. Nearly eleven thirty. “Time for the office coffee run already?”

Justin smirked the way he used to when he’d been a brash barista behind the counter. “Someone is like clockwork.” He gave Eli a pointed look.

Eli’s smile was not the thin thing it once had been. His grin was large and full of teeth. “Someone needs his caffeine fix.” He pulled out a slip of paper. “Several someones, actually.”

Pretty normal for Sam’s cohort. If one person came down to get a drink, chances were they came with an order for more. And judging by Eli’s presence—the whole office must have ordered. They’d need more than Justin’s hands to carry all the cups.

They headed to the counter and placed the orders with Miranda. Yup. Seven. Brian closed his laptop and rose.

She waved him away. “I can handle it.”

“Oh, I know. But I like these guys.” Sam’s team had been supporting him since they’d moved in above. They could have bought their own coffee service—there were enough corporate ones running around Pittsburgh—but Sam had very specifically not done so.

I like supporting local business, and you can’t get more local than this!

Sam also bought a good deal of the coffee for his workers either on his own or the company card, so he wasn’t shocked when Eli handed that over to pay.

“How’s business?” Justin bounced on the balls of his feet and peered behind the counter.

“Good.”

Miranda rolled her eyes and bumped his shoulder. Justin raised both eyebrows at that.

“Well, it could be better. I had to fire Ethan.”

“The lazy kid with the diamond earrings?” Eli perched himself on a stool and rested his hands on his cane.

Yeah, that pretty much described Ethan. “That’s the one, though I’m sure they weren’t real diamonds.”

“Oh, they were,” Eli said. “Figured he wouldn’t last long because of it.”

Brian thought back to Ethan, then shook his head. “So, maybe he has some money. Didn’t mean he wouldn’t work.”

A huff of laughter. “I know that. But it struck me that this was a hobby to him—not a job.”

“It’s not a job for most people.” Brian’s good mood shattered when the reality of Eli’s words stabbed in. He finished Sam’s cappuccino and set it in the drink carrier. Thinner margins every day. “No one takes it seriously.”

“I did,” Justin said and there was a touch of longing in his voice. “It was a job for me.”

“You’re about the only one.” Two pumps of peppermint syrup for Fazil. “You know, I really—” He stopped himself.

Justin looked down and Eli rolled his eyes. “It’s fine,” he said. “Sam knows. I know. We did steal him away rather handily.”

Especially Eli, who had up and married Justin.

And damn, hadn’t Justin been a catch? Not that Brian would ever have made a move on an employee.

Unlike Eli.

But the whole affair had worked out in the end. They were all in a better place. Eli, Justin, and Sam.

Everyone but Brian. He missed Justin as an employee, and not just for his snark and spiked hair, but for his work ethic and reliability. “I wish I could find another you.”

Miranda placed the last of the drinks in the two carriers and Justin picked one up. “You can,” he said. “You will.”

Eli grabbed the other and Brian said his good-byes. Justin opened the door for Eli, and they were gone.

“Shit.” Brian scrubbed his hands on his jeans.

Miranda snorted, but it wasn’t a happy noise. Nor was her stare when he met her gaze. “None of us are ever going to stack up to him, are we?”

Embarrassment ripped through Brian. “I didn’t mean—”

“Of course you didn’t. Not with me just standing here.” She kept her voice soft, but there was heat there.

His stomach dropped. Way to go, Bri. “You’re the best barista I have.”

“And yet . . .” She stabbed a hand at the door Eli and Justin had vanished through.

“I—” He hadn’t been thinking. At all. “I’m sorry, Mir. I just—the Ethan thing has me rattled.”

Her shoulders dropped.

“I’d make you a manager if—” That was a sore point too, with all the baristas—no one worked quite the hours he needed for that. “Anyway, I apologize. That was a shitty thing for me to do.”

“Yeah, it was.” She grabbed a towel and set to wiping down the milk steamer. “You doing okay? I mean, aside from the Ethan thing? You seem . . . out of sorts.”

“Lots of hours,” he said. “That’s all.” No need to mention the drop in profits.

“Well, don’t kill yourself. We need you, too.”

“I know. It’ll right itself when I hire some new folks.”

Except he’d been saying that for how many months? Ethan was supposed to have helped fix the issue. And now? Brian washed his hands and headed back to his laptop.

He kept his own salary at the median of everyone else’s, mostly so he could see what a full payroll would run him. Made figuring out the money easier.

There was less each month. He’d been ignoring that fact because he threw his own overtime back into the pot.

The extra hours were wearing on him. Hiring more baristas, which he needed to do, would cut things tight if he kept or raised their pay.

He plopped down in front of the laptop, opened it, and sliced open another bill. He winced at the number. He’d figure it out. No one said any of this would be easy, even after years of running the shop.