“That’s cool.” His smile had a certain coyness to it now. If he was working here, he already knew that this place was a hub for the queer and kink community in Laurelsburg, but he’d also undoubtedly been lectured about being discreet with the patrons, some of whom only came for the amazing coffee or were in situations where they appreciated a little anonymity.
And simply because he was on staff didn’t mean he was queer or kinky, so I stopped my brain from wandering too far into fantasyland and tried to concentrate on his next question.
“What do you do?”
“I’m—”
“A little help here?” A tall man behind me spoke up. The line behind me had grown four deep again, so I quickly stepped aside as the kid handed me my card back.
“Good luck,” I called as I put my card back in my wallet and collected my drink.
“Thanks. I’m gonna need it.” His mouth twisted.
“You’ll do great.”
“You’re my new favorite customer.” More dimples. Totally worth the price of bland coffee to see those. And I’d take being his favorite anything.
Chapter Two
Levi
My favorite customer—if I was allowed to have such things in week two of my new job—came in right as the morning rush started to slow. We were back at regular staffing levels, the nasty summer cold that had whipped through the coffeehouse employees defeated, and even though Blake was closer to the register, I slid over right as Mr. Black Coffee came in.
I loved him because he was easy. Easy order. Easy to talk with. Easy to look at. Eyes the color of faded jeans, well-trimmed scruff on his jaw, and the sort of broad build that said he could move a piano or catch a swooning heiress with ease, but still soft enough to be cuddly, without being a muscle-bound gym rat like—
No. Today was a good day. I was not going to ruin it by thinking about my ex. I was going to enjoy my shift, including the three minutes I got to spend with this guy.
“The usual?” I asked with a smile, already entering the order on the register’s tablet screen. His order was always the same, a black coffee with room and one of the cookies on display. “Which cookie today?”
“Chocolate chip looks good.” He grinned back at me. He was older than me by at least ten years, but when he smiled, there was something boyish and charming about him that I found irresistible.
“Day going okay?” I still hadn’t figured out what the guy did. Construction maybe, what with his rugged cargo pants and functional shirts, but he was never dusty like those guys. After grabbing a cup, I turned to fill it from the large vat of drip coffee.
“Busy.” The guy had the best voice. Deep and commanding, but also melodic, like if he were a podcaster, he could do one of those intense relaxation things. “But not bad.”
“Joe! Long time no see, man.” Blake came up behind me right as I slid the paper sleeve onto the coffee cup. Joe. Now I had a name. Good. He looked like a Joe too, all wholesome and down to earth and nice. Sweet, too, the way he was always giving me advice.
“Here you go, Joe.” I slid him his cup. “Your regular.”
“That’s not Joe’s usual.” Blake laughed, which he did a lot. Not mean, and not exactly a clown, but he liked to joke and never took anything nearly as seriously as I did.
“It’s not?” I frowned because I couldn’t tell whether Blake was teasing or not. He was a kickass barista, pink hair and all, and he’d been here for years. He had scores of orders memorized and plenty of patrons seemed to come in simply for him.
“No. Joe? Drink hot coffee? Never.” Blake’s chuckle wasn’t unkind, but it still felt like a fist to my gut. “Not even in January. Medium blended caramel hazelnut latte with whip unless it’s pumpkin spice month. I’ll get it going. I know the blender still gives you fits, rookie.”
“Yeah,” I said weakly. Black coffee wasn’t Joe’s usual at all. He’d ordered it that first day to be nice. And me, fool that I was, continued foisting it on him every time he came in. Where was a disappearing spell when I needed one? My neck heated then my cheeks. Even my forehead was burning.
“Hey.” Joe tapped the counter after Blake turned to the espresso machine. Joe’s rumbly voice took my attention away from my intense misery, but only briefly. I’d already noticed that he tended to pitch his voice super gentle like that when I screwed up. “It’s okay. Don’t feel bad.”
“Not helping,” I muttered, then clamped my lips together so I wouldn’t make things worse. Never piss off a paying customer and all that.
“Blake’s wrong. I drink regular coffee plenty. The fancy stuff is how I treat myself. That’s all. A lot of the job sites have truly awful drip coffee, so I steer clear of that sludge. Bold Brew’s is pretty decent.”