Better latte than never, p.19
Better Latte Than Never, page 19
Finn cut the call and started for home. He had a book to rewrite into an apology.
LEON NOTICED HIS EYES first. From across the cafe they glowed with an unearthly light—green as moss growing on the side of a tree, clear as water flowing through a stream. Later he’d learn how apt that description was, but for now, he could only fall into those jade-colored eyes. Something inside him shifted, and the moment the owner of those eyes looked his way, Leon knew his life would never be the same.
“Hey, what can I get you?” The waiter finally reached his table, notepad in hand. Now Leon could appreciate the rest of his face, the brush of freckles across his slightly pointed nose, the plump pink lips twisted into a customer service smile, and the wispy red of his eyebrows, a shade darker than his hair.
“Your phone number,” he wanted to say, to flirt as if he had the right to. But this wasn’t one of the clubs in the city he usually made his home. He’d been summoned to the heartland of America with this latest job, and if he wasn’t careful, he’d just as likely get a punch in the face than a phone number.
Instead he said, “What do you recommend?”
That smile changed, and Leon was glad he asked. “Well, Shelby brews a mean caramel latte.”
“Too sweet for me. I like things a little more bitter.”
“I think you should try it. You might end up liking it.”
Leon narrowed his eyes. “Let me guess. The latte is a lot more expensive than a cup of black coffee.”
That surprised the guy into a laugh, breaking the plastic friendly smile he wore. Leon liked how it looked on him. “You got me.”
“You know what? Get me your favorite drink. Whatever it is, I promise I’ll drink it.”
“Even if it’s the sweetest thing we sell?” Was Leon imagining it? Was he flirting back?
“Even if.”
Leon didn’t imagine that wink. “Coming right up.”
Oh yeah, this job was going to be interesting.
Finn straightened and stretched, rolling his shoulders. It had been a while since he’d tried writing at his desktop, and a whole different set of muscles were involved. He pushed his chair out and got to his feet to take a walk around his office.
Changing the book meant more than simply changing the pronouns. Finn had to reconceive his main character as a gay man. He ditched the flower name for the love interest, calling this new set of twins Rowan and Laurel, after trees. That felt more powerful, and it changed the atmosphere of the story far more than he’d originally intended.
And Finn liked it. He loved this new direction. Before he’d thought he’d put too much of himself in this book and now he knew that wasn’t true. He hadn’t put enough.
He’d never told Enzo or anyone else really about his first novel. His real first novel, not the one that sold and made him a best-selling author. No, the first book he’d written had been about two men falling in love. They’d met in college, back in the nineties, when Finn had been in college, and the world had been a different place. He tried writing a love story with a happy ending, but even as he wrote it then, it hadn’t felt true. It felt like wish fulfillment of something Finn knew he could never have.
If he brought it up with other writers, he call it his trunked novel. The one that taught him about writing. The one where he made all his mistakes. The one that prepared him to write better things.
Finn stopped at his window and looked out at the water. He’d let himself be imprisoned not only by the expectations of this room but the expectations of society. He’d written every novel for his readers, but none of them for himself.
Except this one.
He leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes. Enzo saw right through him. Of everyone he’d ever met, he was the only one who demanded Finn be true to himself. Maybe...maybe if his parents had lived...
No more maybes. He had one chance to get Enzo back, and that was this book. It wasn’t enough to tell Enzo he was right. Finn would prove he changed.
Finn straightened his shoulders. No more dicking around. He went down to the kitchen to brew himself a pot of coffee. This was going to be a late night.
LEON PULLED INTO THE hospital parking lot, the tires of his ... what pretentious car did I give him in chapter 1? Right a BMW ...the tires of his BMW squealing as he skidded into an empty spot. He barely remembered to lock the thing before running inside. Not that it mattered if anyone stole it. Nothing mattered now.
Rowan’s mother greeted him with tears in her eyes. She gave him a hug he didn’t deserve. Leon had tried to break things off with Rowan. Once the statue was revealed, he’d be leaving this town. There couldn’t be a future for the two of them.
“They hit a deer,” she said. But the cause of the accident didn’t matter.
“How is he...they?” Because he didn’t not care about Laurel, but Leon wasn’t in love with her.
Finn pressed on, his eyes watering from staring at the computer screen. Maybe he should look into those blue light filtering glasses. Later. He had to finish this. His back ached, and his wrists had stabbing pains shooting down his ligaments. He’d have to buy stock in ibuprofen after this. But he kept writing.
When the doctor came down the hall, Leon knew it was bad. When he saw Rowan’s mother collapse into a ball of grief on the floor, his heart shattered. Was this how it ended then? Rowan would never know how much Leon cared. How much he wanted to say he was sorry. They would never have a future together, and it was all Leon’s fault.
He wanted to run from the hospital. Get in his car and speed out of this small town. But he would not leave Rowan’s family like that. For once in his damn life, Leon would take some responsibility.
Leon went to Mrs. Walker’s side and helped her to her feet. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“Laurel’s gone,” she replied, her voice raspy.
He shouldn’t feel hope at those words. “Not Rowan?”
“He’s in a coma.”
“Can I see him?”
Finn found himself wiping his eyes while writing the bedside scene where Leon confessed his feelings to a comatose Rowan. He had to stop typing and get away from the computer for a little bit. Maybe it was time to take a break.
He ached for Enzo, wanting to feel the warmth of his skin, run his hands through soft golden hair, breathe in deeply of Enzo’s scent: coffee and paint. His entire body wanted Enzo right there with him. Finn would turn and expect Enzo to be there. How many times tonight alone had he taken out his phone, tempted to text him?
But no, Finn needed this book to be done. It had to be more than a promise. It had to be complete.
Because now he wanted the future he was about to give his characters, Leon and Rowan. Finn wanted someone to come home to, someone to make dinner for, to laugh at bad TV with. He wanted to have inside jokes and kisses in grocery stores. Most importantly, he wanted all those things with Enzo specifically. There wasn’t a random hypothetical guy in his head that didn’t exist. No. There was one man, and Finn feared he would be too late, that by the time he presented Enzo with this book, no forgiveness would be given.
Finn stretched one last time before dropping into his computer chair again. He needed to channel all of that emotion, all of his own longing and despair into the final pages of this book.
The sun filtered through the shades by the time Finn typed “the end” on the final page. He clicked print on the document before standing and blinking away tears at the bright sunlight. What day was it? He’d pulled all-nighters before, but not like this, not since his twenties, and Finn was a long way past his twenties.
He looked at his phone. Monday. Enzo would be at the cafe this afternoon. It would give Finn time to shower and cat nap before heading over with his offering. Part of him wanted to show up on Enzo’s doorstep right now, but he didn’t want a grumpy Enzo to slam the door on his face. Enzo had to be at work. He couldn’t dodge Finn there.
The printer chugged away in the corner, spitting out page after page. Finn stood over it and pressed his hand over his heart.
This had to work. He didn’t want a life without Enzo in it.
Chapter 26
Enzo had gone to the kitchen to help his aunt retrieve a tray of pastries when he heard the commotion. Her wrist was doing quite well, but she left the carrying of heavy stuff to Enzo and Lydia. For once, Enzo told her, she was being sensible. He received a rude comment in Italian in return.
He’d bent down to pull the tray from the oven when Lydia’s voice filtered through from the front. “He doesn’t want to see you. You should go away now.”
Enzo straightened up so fast he nearly dropped the tray. He had to do a little dance to keep the tiny puffs from rolling onto the floor. His aunt raised her hands and stepped back, probably in self-defense. Nobody wanted hot dough on them.
“I’ll be right back.” He set the tray down onto the cooling rack and pulled off the pot holders he’d stuck on his hands. Enzo’s heart thumped loudly against his chest. It couldn’t be?
But it was. When he ventured out to the counter, he saw Lydia standing guard with her hands on her hips, facing down Finn, who stood there clutching something to his chest.
Their eyes met. Enzo fell into those blue depths the same way he had that day months ago. Finn looked...terrible, actually. He had purple shadows beneath his eyes, and his face was sunken and pale. It made Enzo want to go over to him, push him into a chair, and feed him.
“I’m right here,” he said, surprised at how steady he sounded. The last time they’d spoken he’d been telling Finn off.
And then spent the next few days missing him.
“Enzo.” Finn licked his lips. Enzo watched that pink tongue, his body remembering the things it could do to him.
It was a good thing his heart also remembered he was still pissed at Finn. “Yeah?”
“Enzo, you don’t have to listen to him if you don’t want to.” Lydia stood beside him, her expression all full of fire and rage. Enzo had no doubt if he wanted Finn gone she’d make it happen, despite being about a foot shorter than him.
“No, it’s okay.” He gave her a small smile. “I got this.”
Finn took a deep breath. “You were right.”
Enzo blinked. “Yes, I know.”
“I’m sorry...I...I rewrote the book.” He thrust something forward, and Enzo caught it before it could fall. It turned out to be a stack of printer paper, held together by a binder clip. “Please, read it.”
Finn turned, and Enzo realized he meant to leave. “Wait, you can’t just go like that.”
Finn came back to the counter. “Do you want me to wait here while you read it?” He seemed honestly confused.
“Um. Yes?” Enzo couldn’t take it if Finn walked out of here without saying another word. He had no clue what Finn meant by this book, but he was going to find out.
“All right. I’ll sit in the corner.” Finn gave him a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
Enzo took the stack of pages to the storage room in the back. Lydia followed. “Enzo? What the hell is going on?”
He held up the manuscript. “That’s what I’m going to find out.” Enzo fully intended on skimming quickly to try to get an idea of what Finn was trying to tell him. He read fast, but not that fast.
He flipped over the cover page and gasped at the first line.
Leon Stanton hated small towns, bad coffee, and people thinking he was straight.
“Enzo?” Lydia tried to read over his shoulder.
Enzo swallowed. “He fixed it. He...this is an apology in a novel.”
She patted his shoulder. “Keep reading then. I’ve got the front.”
The door closed behind her, and Enzo was left in the storage room, the place where he’d first kissed Finn. He looked around and found one of the folding chairs stored back here. Enzo snapped it open and sat, wishing for a more comfortable place to curl up, but this would have to do.
Before he could read any more, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Nat again. She’d been texting him all weekend, sharing pictures of her new apartment, chatting away.
He’d been sparse with his replies, a “looks awesome” here and a “great couch” there. Mostly because Enzo didn’t want to talk about what happened with Finn. Breakups sucked, but texting about them to an absent friend sucked even more. It wasn’t the same as binging on ice cream on their couch and leaning into each other, half drunk on sugar and tears.
He read the text, “Enzo, are you okay?”
Enzo replied with a snapshot of the cover. The Sculptor’s Heart by Morgan Heart, it read. “He changed the book,” he texted back.
“Who dies in it?” she replied.
Enzo frowned. How much had Finn changed? “I’ll let you know when I get there,” he told Nat.
And then it was time to read.
The writing was as familiar as a caress, and not just because he’d read all of Morgan Heart’s books before, although that helped. He could feel Finn between the words, like a warm blanket that covered him. Enzo sunk into the book, the world dropping away from him as he fell into one of Finn’s creations.
“I love you. Damn it, Rowan, I should have told you when you were awake to hear it.” Leon sat in the uncomfortable hospital chair, leaning forward, his elbows braced on his knees, his hands clenched together as if he were praying.
He should pray. If only he hadn’t left God behind a long time ago. “Please Lord, let him live.
“You were right, you know. I spend so much time on the road so I don’t even have to think about settling down. If I keep moving, then I don’t worry about how fucking lonely I am. Sorry. Language, you’d hate that.” He swallowed down tears.
“When I was with you, I forgot everything. The world didn’t matter. I told myself it was only a temporary thing. It was okay to enjoy this while it lasted. I’d be leaving soon. I didn’t stop. To think. About you. How you’d feel when I left. I was an asshole, and I’m sorry.”
Leon got to his feet. “And I wish to hell you’d open your eyes right now so I can say all this to your face. You make me want to put down roots, Rowan Walker. You’re the only thing in my life that has any real meaning and I was a damn fool to let you go.”
“Please. Please, Rowan, wake up.”
Enzo had to sit back and let the manuscript sit on his lap for a moment. He had absolutely no doubt in his mind that Finn meant those words for him. You’re the only thing in my life that has any meaning. He swallowed, choking back emotion.
Someone always died in Morgan Heart’s books. What the hell was Finn trying to tell him? Enzo paged through—not much left, maybe ten pages or so. He was almost afraid to keep going. His heart was going to break if Rowan died.
Leon set the roses down on the overturned dirt. There wouldn’t be a stone for a while yet. He debated offering his services to create something special, but Leon feared he’d already used up too much goodwill by choosing Laurel as his model for the sculpture in the town square.
It hadn’t been his original plan. No, that had been a cast iron piece that could have been easily fabricated in plaster by his studio. Leon would have designed, created, and left, like he always had. Instead, he’d been inspired to create something with his own hands, something he hadn’t done in a very long time.
“She’s not there, you know.” Rowan took Leon’s hand and squeezed his fingers tightly. His voice was still raspy from the hospital, but damn it, he was alive.
They’d delayed the funeral for his twin until Rowan could leave. He’d woken from his coma the morning after Leon’s visit. Everyone called it a miracle. Maybe it was.
“Where is she?” He wanted to know. Rowan had a broader view of the universe than Leon. It was one of the things he loved best about him. And people called Leon the artist.
Rowan smiled and lifted his other hand. Pollen filled the spring air, and it looked like he had a halo around his entire body as sunlight illuminated the specks of dust. “She’s the wind in the morning. The babble of the creek at noon. The wolf’s howl at midnight. She’s gone back to stardust, and one day we’ll all join her.”
“You should have been a poet.” Leon leaned forward to kiss him, grateful, so grateful that he could have this.
“What makes you think I’m not?” Rowan let himself be kissed, lifting his face to Leon’s.
“I love you.” Leon couldn’t stop saying it, not when once he had refused to and Rowan had almost died.
“Always?” Rowan asked.
“Always,” Leon confirmed.
The End.
Enzo stared at those two words at the bottom of the page. Finn had written a happy ending. Well, sort of. Rowan had lost his twin sister, but the main couple was intact. And that couple was two gay men. Neither of these things had ever happened in a Morgan Heart novel before.
He wiped his eyes, not wanting anyone to see the tears. This book made him feel. Finn had created a masterpiece, filled with emotion and beauty.
He’d done it for Enzo. Enzo understood why Finn had asked him to read it. The apology was in every word, especially the ending. Now Enzo had to decide if he was going to accept it.
FINN WENT TO TAKE A seat and by reflex, he turned toward his corner table; however, someone was already sitting there—a young couple on laptops and sharing a single tall iced drink. He swallowed and took a table in the middle of the cafe, closer to the counter than he normally sat.
Most of the tables had customers. Some Finn knew, like Dorothy and Grace near the front window, Tami and her children along one wall, and some of the other regulars coming in for an afternoon pick-me-up. It took him a good five minutes to realize the mural on the wall opposite had been painted over.
Finn blinked and rubbed at his watery eyes. He’d spent far too much time hunched over his computer screen. Everything was blurry and his entire body ached. But it would all be worth it once Enzo read the book, and, this was the part of his plan he was iffy on, if Enzo understood Finn’s apology and forgave him.
