Chapter Twenty

Rob stood at the window near the kitchen at CirroBot and nursed his cup of tea. He had a break between meetings, so he’d taken the time to walk and stretch. Sitting too much. Thinking too much.

He should go for a ride tonight. Would do him some good and maybe clear his head. If only he could entice Brian out, too. Rob sighed, sipped his tea, and contemplated switching back to the office coffee.

He hadn’t been to Grounds N’at for more than two weeks—not to drink coffee or talk with Brian. He’d picked Brian up a few times and they’d fucked and slept and murmured a half-dozen words between them, but that had been it.

Not enough—not for his soul, not for a relationship. That fucking shop was eating the life out of Brian, slowly but surely. Any attempt he’d made to talk about the issues had been met with snappish disdain.

While Rob knew the aggravation of being second-guessed, at some point Brian needed to grow the hell up, realize he needed help, and not treat every overture of support as if Rob were trying to school him in business.

Anger didn’t become Brian, at all.

Worst of all, he missed the man he was supposedly dating. Ached for the laughing Brian, who talked photography and biked, and even watched old movies with him. Rob hadn’t seen that Brian since their Saturday together over Memorial Day weekend.

Hell, even Brian’s mum had called Rob, asking after her son. Apparently, he’d missed their family dinner due to work. Talk about awkward conversations. He didn’t want to dump on Brian’s family about Brian.

“I know they’re understaffed,” he’d murmured back. “And he’s been working nonstop since Miranda’s grandmother came home.”

“I thought he’d hired a few people?”

So had he. “I guess they’re not trained up yet? I don’t know.” Brian still hadn’t given any of his newer employees a key or the code to the store.

Silence for a bit on the other end. “It’ll get better,” she said.

He nearly laughed, but it would’ve come out dark and bitter. Brian kept saying that too, and so far it had only gotten worse. “I hope so.”

They’d ended the conversation after a short discussion about his garden and when Rob had hung up, the hole in his heart had only ripped open wider.

He couldn’t keep doing this. He’d told Brian he’d hold on—but he’d also told him from the beginning that he wanted to be more than a cock.

All he was right now was someone for Brian to fuck or be fucked by. Stress relief. A way to get off.

Rob finished his tea and crumpled the paper cup in his hand. Something had to change. They had to talk, work this out.

For the hell of it, he made one of the office coffees and lugged that back to his desk. Bitter as all hell. No cream. Fit his mood perfectly.

He pulled out his cell phone and chanced a text to Brian.

Hey, thinking about you. Don’t suppose you have any time off coming up?

No reply—which meant Brian was probably busy. He slid the phone on his desk and pulled up his e-mail and calendar.

A nudge on a request from one of their larger customers, Agella, for an in-person meeting, which meant flying to California. He’d put off scheduling it, mostly because he and Brian had talked about some long-distance biking over the summer.

He snorted and glanced at his phone. Summer was here. Rob rubbed the scar on his wrist and swallowed against the sudden pain in his throat.

Dreams upon dreams. He couldn’t hold up his business for Brian, not when he was merely an afterthought nowadays. He shot an e-mail back, more or less stating he was free whenever they were. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—let his life revolve around Brian anymore.

He loved Brian, but he’d been an idiot for love and sex before. CirroBot deserved better from him. Time to get serious about both parts of his life.

He sat forward and sorted through his e-mails. His contact at Agella sent back a set of possible dates. Rob chose mid-July—a month from now—to fly out for a weeklong meeting. He sent the details to Mallory to finalize and plan.

A month gave him enough time to figure out what the hell was going to happen with him and Brian and—

His phone buzzed.

Hey, sorry. We’ve been slammed. Lots of kids now that school’s out.

Brian should hire some of them, but Rob wasn’t even going to suggest it, lest he get his head bitten off.

No full days, but Mark is closing tomorrow and Saturday.

That was something, at least. Do you want me to swing by Saturday?

God yes. I miss you so much.

Rob’s spine and chest ached and it took a moment to catch his breath. As do I.

BTW, I’m training Beth on closing. Gonna start rotating her in.

Oh thank God. About bloody time. That’s good!

Thought you’d want to know.

Brian’s way of saying he was trying to improve things. Rob leaned back in his chair. Maybe he was worrying about the relationship for naught. Seemed Brian was getting his shit together.

Thank you, I do, yes.

So I’ll see you Saturday?

Oh yes. Just like old times.

Hopefully, it would be. Rob put down his phone and eyed his cold coffee. In the end, he drank it. Bitter penance for doubting Brian.

On Saturday, he could get a decent cup of brew.

***

So far everything that could have possibly gone wrong for Brian on a lazy Saturday morning had. First, upon opening, he’d found an entire gallon of milk had been left out overnight. He’d let Beth run through the closing procedure and when she’d finished—everything had looked fine, but he hadn’t checked behind the counter—and there the milk was, all nice and warm on a shelf and not in the fridge.

He dumped the whole thing down the drain. He had enough, but what a waste. It also meant Beth needed more training on closing procedures, which left him holding too many shifts. Again. Still.

The order of brownies that should have arrived from the local organic bakery didn’t, so now there was a nice hole in the pastry display. His most popular item, too. Then Lamont had called in sick, leaving him the sole person manning the shop.

To add even more excitement, Jan, Ev, and Dan had been goofing off and had managed to topple their drinks all over their table and the floor—and onto the college professor next to them, the one who always came in to grade papers.

The professor was a gentleman and only mildly admonished them. His jacket had taken a beating—but not any of his paperwork or books, so he was fine.

Ev hadn’t been quite as lucky—Ev’s sketchbook was now a soggy mess and zie looked about ready to cry.

Hadn’t helped that Brian had snapped at them, his voice echoing through the shop. “Goddamn it! Don’t you three have something better to do?”

He’d regretted that outburst immediately. Several customers left and all three kids looked crestfallen.

He’d cleaned the mess up, with their help. “I didn’t mean to yell like that. I’m sorry.”

They’d mumbled some words, Ev had tucked the notebook in a plastic bag, and they’d all slinked out of the shop, leaving the place uncomfortably silent in their wake.

The professor had packed up not too long after.

Fucking hell. Alienating his customer base. What a way to start the weekend. He rubbed his temple.

Of course, it was also the day to work on payroll, the ordering, and the schedule. God, he didn’t want to look at any of that.

Even the thought of Rob coming in didn’t quell his frustration—or fear. He should cancel—too much work to do. If Lamont were here, he could concentrate on the ordering. But flying solo—he had only bits and moments to figure out how to make all the numbers he needed to match to, well, match.

As soon as Rob arrived, he’d expect Brian’s attention. A coffee. Chitchat. Everything he didn’t have time for.

Brian closed his eyes for a second to keep the tears of frustration in, then went back to washing mugs.

His skin itched for Rob’s touch. The way he made Brian’s worries vanish—at least for a time. He missed their talks and rides and—everything. Lately when they saw each other, they more or less fucked and slept.

The sex was okay, but didn’t have the passion it once had. That was his fault—too exhausted and drained for anything but getting off—and that was unfair to Rob.

Here he was resenting the thought of Rob’s presence. Brian took a deep breath and finished up. Yeah, jagoff was the right word.

The shop door rang and another flow of customers—ones that hadn’t seen his unprofessional outburst—walked in.

He did need the night off. Needed to see Rob. He pasted on a smile and served the group of women the best coffee he could, even if he were slowly coming to hate every damn roasted bean in his own damn shop.

They settled into a table near the window.

Good.

He slipped into the back room to get his laptop. Best get as much of the administrative stuff taken care of before Rob walked in. Scheduling was the easiest—though his own number of shifts were hellish and left him with very little free time. No issues with payroll. He started in on the ordering.

Good God. He barely knew what to get anymore. Everything had increased in price and some of his—and his customer’s—favorite items were no longer available. Didn’t help that the past several orders had been all kinds of screwed up, which had forced him over budget on stupid shit like paper cups in sizes he barely used.

In between customers, he did a quick double-check of his inventory. He knew what he needed—figuring out what to order was a different matter.

Plus he still had to call the bakery and bitch about the lack of brownies.

The bell on the door rang—and Rob walked in.

Brian hid his cringe and checked his watch. It was nearly twelve thirty, which meant an hour and a half of entertaining Rob while he tried to figure out the ordering.

Rob’s smile vanished and he took a seat. “Now’s not a good time, I take it?” Apprehension in his voice and concern etched into his face.

“It’s been a rough day. And I still have the ordering.” He waved at the laptop and all his notes.

“I can take a trot around the neighborhood. Come back closer to two.” Such sincerity. The need to help. That had always been there.

Brian rolled his shoulders to loosen them. “I don’t want to throw you out . . .” He looked up at the board. “Want anything?”

A frown, but that smoothed out. “Whatever is the easiest for you.”

“Drip coffee,” Brian said. “But you deserve better than that.”

Rob chuckled. “Do I? I want to make your life easier and yet—” He waved at the counter.

In reality, Rob wasn’t helping. “I don’t mind.” A lie, but he shouldn’t mind.

Rob—his boyfriend—was here to see him. Spend time with him.

He turned and started working on a cappuccino. Easy enough, but not so plain that he felt like he was stiffing Rob. Even if he never asked Rob to pay.

Once the drink was finished, he slid it over and sank onto the stool next to his laptop. “Let me try to get this hellish stuff done.”

Rob took a sip of his coffee and closed his eyes. “So much better than office coffee.”

He had to laugh at that. “I sure hope so.”

Rob’s grin was wide and warmed Brian’s soul. “What’s the problem with the orders anyway? Don’t you have a set inventory?”

Like a shock of ice water thrown on him. “Of course I do. I’m not an idiot.” He gritted his teeth and turned away. “Problem is, they keep changing what’s available.”

“Mmm.” Rob sounded noncommittal. When Brian looked back, Rob’s expression was neutral. Businesslike. As if he knew anything about this shop or what went on behind the counter.

Brian slapped his hands down on the paperwork and slid it over. “Want to do it for me, Mr. CEO?” Because he was done with the little hints that he didn’t know how to run his business.

Rob blinked a few times and set down his mug. “Bri . . .”

“Seriously.” He shoved the laptop in his direction, too.

“Brian.” This time it was a bit louder and laced with concern. “What are you doing?”

He caught a breath, then another. “Trying to run my shop.” His heart hammered too fast in his chest.

“I know that.” Soft words. Silence between them while Rob studied him. “Do you really want my help? Sometimes outsiders see what insiders can’t.” Another pause. “Or I can go walk around the block for a while.”

He didn’t want Rob to leave. He didn’t want Rob to stay. Everything was tangled in his head and ripping apart like tissue paper.

“I don’t know.” That was the truth.

Rob fingered his cup. “I’ve been doing some reading . . .”

Oh God. Anita had done that, too. “Let me guess. Some articles off the Internet on how to start your own coffee shop.” Couldn’t help the scorn that dripped off the words. Didn’t want to.

Rob’s cheeks flushed.

Bingo. “It’s all shit, you know. If running a place like this were easy, everyone would be doing it.”

Rob straightened, his face darkening. “You’re not the only coffee shop in Squirrel Hill, you know.”

No. There were at least a half-dozen. Several on Murray alone. “Why don’t you go to one of them, then?”

Rob drew back, his brows creasing, but didn’t say a word.

God, his head hurt so bad. Lightning flickered in his vision. Brian pulled out a piece of paper from his stack. “This,” he said, shoving it under Rob’s hands, “is what I normally order.” He scrawled a number on his notebook. “This is my budget.” Lastly, he pushed the laptop over. “And here’s the ordering pages for my vendors. Enjoy.” He got up and walked into the back room.

Once out of the sight of customers, he placed his hands on the edge of the counter that ran along the back wall, leaned over, and tried to catch his breath. Almost impossible with the way his heart was beating.

Fuck. What was he doing? Rob was right to ask that. Nausea forced bile into his throat. His shop was going to hell and he’d just handed over ordering to a man who knew nothing about Grounds N’at or what it needed.

A voice in the back of his mind whispered, He’s just trying to help.

He didn’t need Rob’s help. He’d never dream of telling Rob how to run his high-tech company—why did Rob have to stick his nose into Brian’s business?

Granted, he’d shoved it under Rob’s nose a moment ago.

Brian rubbed his face. God this day was . . . horrible. He needed a do-over, but life didn’t give you those.

The bell on the door rang and Brian sighed. Back to it. Serve customers and figure out how to tell Rob to mind his own business—literally.

When he returned to the shop proper, a mother and her young son stood by the counter and Rob was peering at Brian’s computer while wearing knitted brows and lips pressed into a very thin line.

Shit. He slid a smile over his apprehension and took the woman’s order. A mint mocha for her and milk and a cookie for her son. Easy enough. He made her coffee—even indulging in some art on top. A carton of milk, a straw, and a chocolate chip cookie later, they’d taken up residence at the table Ev, Jan, and Dan had vacated earlier.

Once his customers were settled, Brian turned his attention back to Rob. “Don’t tell me you’re actually ordering things.” He kept his voice low, but couldn’t keep the sharp corners from the words.

Rob met his stare and there was heat there. In his voice, too, despite the soft volume. “No. But I am beginning to understand why this place is falling apart.”

Anger seethed into Brian and he pulled the laptop away from Rob. “It’s not falling apart,” he snapped. “You don’t know shit.”

An ugly snort followed. “Really? How many hours have you worked this week, Bri?”

Too many. He glared at Rob.

“Why the hell are you ordering from those vendors? Everything’s twice as expensive as it ought to be. You can do better on the pricing. There’s some sites—”

“Shut it.” He ground the words out.

Rob blanched.

God. There were too many people in the shop for this. He sank down on the stool in front of Rob. “I don’t want to hear about the sites you’ve found. Or any other so-called wisdom you’ve gleaned from the Internet. I’ve seen it before, usually from my exes.”

Even less color in Rob. His lips were curled into a deep frown.

“Yeah, there are cheaper places, but I’m not a penny-pinching asshole and my customers deserve quality goods sourced from ethical companies. How about you, Rob? You buy cheap for those robots of yours? Little components lovingly made by children in forced labor?”

The horror that rose in Rob was almost gratifying to watch. His voice was a whisper. “I’m trying to help you, Bri.”

He glanced at the screen of his laptop and there was one of the cheap-ass, crappy-supplier web pages open. “I don’t need your help.” His heart tried to pound its way out of his chest. How could Rob even think this was help?

“Brian . . .” There was a whine to the edge of Rob’s voice, as if Brian were being the unreasonable one.

“You know what I need, Rob? For you to shut the fuck up and get the hell out of my shop.”

Rob froze, his eyes wide. He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. “All right.” Quiet, clipped words. He stood, pulled out his wallet, and threw down two twenties. “For the coffees.” Then he turned and walked out, the shop bell ringing as the door shut behind him.

Brian exhaled and stared at the money. A cool numbness washed over him, blotting out the crackling in the back of his head and the ache in his chest. He picked up the bills and stuffed it into the tip jar.

At least now he’d have time to do the ordering properly. He gathered up his paperwork and laptop and ignored the shaking in his hands and the tears pricking at the corner of his eyes.

It wasn’t even two yet.

Rob was gone.

***

Rob marched up Murray Avenue toward his car and tried to swallow the burning lump of anger lodged in his throat. Implying that he used child slave labor to fuel CirroBot? Fucking hell if he’d put up with that kind of shit from anyone, let alone someone who professed to love him.

That obviously had been a lie.

The rock in his throat grew and the burning moved into his eyes. What a way to end a relationship.

He’d been trying to lend a hand, not tell Brian how to run his damned business. Even ethically sourced, there ought to have been less expensive vendors.

Rob pulled out his cell phone.

No texts. Not that he expected any—Brian had made his wishes extraordinarily clear. Rob’s heart squeezed in his chest, tight enough that he couldn’t breathe. He’d looked forward to this evening for days. Time with the man he loved. An afternoon together. Dinner. Maybe heading into Frick Park for a long walk. It was June and beautiful. Warm nights. They could watch fireflies in the grass.

He’d strung lights up on his back porch. Had giddy little visions of sitting outside, Brian in his arms, and enjoying the time together.

Gone. All of it. Ground to dust, much like the coffee in Brian’s shop.

His whole body shook and he sank into the driver’s seat, his gut burning, hands trembling.

Brian had told him to get out. To leave him alone. There’d been finality there.

This was not a spat—it was the end of the line. He’d thrown down money to pay for all those free cups of coffee.

The photos—his photos—were a loss. He crumpled those thoughts up. They were shit anyway. Just Brian being nice to him. Probably because he was a decent fuck in bed. Wasn’t that what Greg had said before he’d blackmailed him? You’re a good fuck, but it’s not like I love you.

One inhale, then another. Breathe. He had to breathe. Once he was home, he could fall apart. Let the anger and the sadness take him down, then the grief and rage. His emotions always came like that—had even after Greg, and God knows he’d been glad to be rid of him.

Brian—

A sob nearly broke through his tight control.

No. Fucking no. Not here. Rob clenched his phone in his hand and brought up Brian’s contact information and blocked him.

After that conversation, he didn’t want to hear from the fucker again. Let him burn in hell. Hopefully that damn shop would crumple down around his shitty little head. There’d be no future with Brian. All the hopes and dreams, Rob would set those on fire and burn them into ash.

He tossed the phone on the passenger seat and pressed the ignition button. Clinging hard to the power of his anger, he pulled out and drove up the street, and out of Brian’s life.

Halfway to his house, the stinging in his eyes set in. He blinked it away. By the time he pulled in front of his home, his jaw hurt from clenching it. Brian should have been with him. They should have been walking in together. Making plans for the evening. Kissing, touching, laughing.

Instead, he walked in alone, the house echoing with his harsh breaths. Practically every room had Brian etched into it. Here they’d watched movies. In the kitchen, he’d made pancakes.

Rob set his keys, wallet, and phone down on the counter.

Out on the porch, they’d talked and drank and smiled. He stepped out into the yard and took the short steps required to reach the garden Brian’s father had given to him. Helped him plant.

Oh God. How would he explain that to Brian’s parents? Would they even speak to him again? Hey, your son was a giant arsehole to me and threw me out of that shop that’s going to eventually kill him.

“Fuck.” He whispered the word to the earth.

He hadn’t exactly been a saint during their snitty conversation, but he certainly hadn’t deserved to be treated with such venom and unceremoniously thrown out like that. As stressed and tired as Brian was, there wasn’t any excuse for his behavior.

It was the kind of argument that should have had them both huffy, then apologetic, then talking, but it had swung so wildly out of proportion, so fast . . . there was no fixing it.

To imply that Rob was unethical? Brian didn’t know what went into Rob’s business, for goodness’ sake. Had never even asked. Didn’t care.

He stared at the blossoms on the tomato plants and winced.

Maybe he shouldn’t have mentioned other vendors or looking up information on running coffee shops. Brian got twitchy whenever Rob had made suggestions in the past. At some level, Brian was right—Rob didn’t know the first thing about coffee—but he knew business and it was plain to see that Brian was struggling.

Physically, mentally, and judging from the little bit he’d seen, financially, Grounds N’at was crumbling.

Why couldn’t he let Rob be a sounding board? The only time that had happened had been up at McConnells Mill, when Brian had no other option—and after Rob had helped solve that crisis, Brian had run back to his precious baby anyway.

Oh, he understood putting heart and soul into a business. He’d done that with CirroBot, but there was more to life than work. He’d tried to show Brian that—thought he had.

But no, Brian loved that shop more than anything else, including Rob. In all likelihood, Brian would go down with the sinking ship and all the stress, and end up like Rob’s father—dead too soon.

“Bri,” he said to the plants, “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you.”

Couldn’t hold on, as Len had asked. Couldn’t be the love Brian needed to keep him from destroying himself.

Finally he let the tears slip, and knelt next to his garden as they fell silently onto the earth.

He was a failure as a friend and as a boyfriend, just as he’d been a failure as a son.