Better latte than never, p.3
Better Latte Than Never, page 3
That was why, as soon as Enzo had finished that drawing, Finn had rushed back to his laptop, the words itching at the tips of his fingers to come out. They weren’t a story, not yet. It was barely a character sketch. Yet for once, his hands moved on the keyboard as smoothly as a pianist playing a concerto.
Finn checked the time, shocked that he’d been absorbed in his writing for an hour. When was the last time that happened? Before moving here, before Theo. It surely hadn’t been years since he’d been able to write this freely?
He took a sip of his coffee and found it cold. It made a good excuse to get up and ask for a refill. Finn took the cup back up to the front, dutifully waiting in line before Enzo could take his order.
“Another coffee, please.” Finn put the cup on the counter.
“No problem. Just a regular coffee?” Enzo almost looked disappointed.
Well. Maybe he could indulge. Finn had recently gotten a personal trainer. Being a writer was hard on the whole fitness thing. He spent way too much time sitting. And after what had happened to Dad, well, Finn needed to watch his heart. “What do you recommend instead?”
“I could make you an Enzo special.” Enzo grinned as he said it, his smile going all the way to those hazel-green eyes of his.
He couldn’t deny that he found Enzo attractive. Better to be up front about that right now. But Finn had no illusions about Enzo’s flirting being anything than what it was—an attempt to get Finn to purchase more coffee. It was a relief in a way. Enzo was safe. Finn could flirt as much as he pleased and didn’t have to worry about this turning into anything more than two people having fun together.
It helped that Enzo was so different from Theo. Tall where Theo was short. Clean shaven while Theo had a beard. Bright eyes instead of dark. And, most importantly, Enzo was real in a way Theo hadn’t been. Finn could simply enjoy the attraction.
“Is the Enzo special just for me?” Finn gave in to the impulse to flirt back.
“Definitely.” Enzo winked. “Any food allergies I need to know about?”
Finn shook his head. Although, “Go easy on the full fat milk, if you can.”
“How about oat milk? I find it creamier than the almond or soy alternatives.” Enzo had already gone back to the espresso machine, working his magic with the coffee grounds.
Finn had no idea what he was doing, but he couldn’t look away. Somehow he had to capture this—the way Enzo moved, his grace, his firm, precise hands—in his book. The artist character had to have a way about him, that pulled the reader in as well as the other characters.
“Sure,” he choked out. “Oat milk is fine.”
Enzo nodded, and for a moment neither of them could say anything over the noise of the coffee machine. Enzo slid from one end of the counter to the other, mixing a variety of syrups before adding the hot milk. He topped it off with a shake of cinnamon on the top before setting it down in front of Finn.
“One Enzo special. I’d love to know what you think.” Enzo grinned, but was that worry in his eyes?
Finn resolved not to hate it, whatever it tasted like. It turned out he didn’t have to worry. One sip had him groaning in pleasure. Enzo had blended a mix of bold coffee with the smoothness of vanilla and a flavor he couldn’t quite place, something almost spicy. Chili powder maybe? The combination made his toes curl.
Enzo’s grin widened. “I guess you like it?”
“Oh yeah.” Finn wiped at his mouth, embarrassed. He glanced around the cafe, but no one was looking in his direction. He’d only made a fool of himself in front of Enzo, then. Great. “Thanks. What do I owe you?”
Enzo waved him away. “On the house. Thanks for trying one of my concoctions.”
“Let me pay. I already had free cake.” Finn pulled out his wallet.
“See, that’s my aunt trying to get you addicted to her cooking. Once you’ve had one of her baked goods you’ll be coming back for more.” Enzo did take the ten Finn handed him and moved to the cash register.
“Oh, I’ll definitely be coming back. Glad I found this place.” And not just because the food and coffee were both fantastic. Finn’s creativity had been sparked here, and it was a gift he wouldn’t overlook.
“Are you new in town?” Enzo handed Finn his change.
“Sort of. I moved back to Jersey six months ago.” Finn frowned, not wanting to think about why. Enzo didn’t need to know that. Hell, it was refreshing to talk to someone who had no idea who Finn really was. “Missed home.”
Enzo narrowed his eyes. “Running from something?”
His words made Finn take a step back. He let out a chuckle. “That obvious?”
“Probably not to anyone else.” Enzo ducked his head, his cheeks turning an adorable shade of pink. “I’m good at figuring people out.”
“Kind of like a bartender. Only with coffee.”
“Kind of.” Enzo changed the subject, “How did your writing go? You seemed to be in the zone there.”
Enzo had noticed. That meant he’d been watching Finn. Finn felt his own cheeks heat. Remember, Enzo was safe. Flirting didn’t mean anything more than coffee here. “It’s actually going really well.”
“Good. Guess you’ll be back then? For more coffee if it helps your writing?”
It wasn’t the coffee. But Finn couldn’t very well say that. There was flirting and there was outrageous flirting. Before he could come up with something sufficiently witty to say, the door to the cafe opened and a large group of teenagers in Catholic school uniforms entered.
“I’ll let you get back to work.” Finn grabbed his coffee and retreated back to his corner where his laptop waited. He no longer had a blank screen. He had a beginning.
AFTER CLOSING UP FOR the night, Enzo hefted the bags of his purchases on each shoulder as he walked to the duplex he rented on the other side of town. Maybe he shouldn’t have bought so much, especially if he wanted his shoulders to still work tomorrow. But if he really intended on going through with this plan, to give one last push, everything he had, to his art, Enzo needed every scrap of canvas and drop of paint.
Today hadn’t gone completely as expected. No, his normal cafe routine had been disrupted by that new guy. Finn. Maybe he was a good omen. New things were coming Enzo’s way. This was going to be his year. He’d get his big break and go viral, or some millionaire would buy up all of his canvases from his online store.
His shoulders felt like they were going to fall off by the time he made it up the walk to his door. To his surprise the front light was still on. When he came home this late, he usually found Nat asleep or at least holed up in her room. She commuted to New York City every day, and while the train station was right here in town, it was still a two-hour trip.
He opened the door to find her curled up in her PJs on the couch, the TV on low as she played on her phone. The glow from the screen illuminated her face, making it look like she had a reddish halo. He’d always been confounded by her hair, unable to blend the right shades of Cadmium Red and gold to truly encompass all the different tones in her strands. That didn’t stop him from trying.
Nat looked up as entered. “Happy Birthday!”
“Not you, too.” Enzo let the bags fall to the worn carpet with a grateful sigh. He’d have to take them back to his room and sort everything out eventually, but right now he wanted to shake out his muscles. He rubbed at one shoulder and winced.
“I didn’t get you a cake, because I know you get plenty of that at work, but I did buy you a present.” Nat stood and reached for something on the other side of the couch.
They’d been roommates since college. After Enzo had that disastrous argument with his parents over his career choices, he had to move out faster than he intended. Luckily Aunt Rosa had been looking for a night manager to help with the cafe. Nat hadn’t been working in the city yet, so she jumped in when he needed someone to split the bills with. Red Bank wasn’t cheap, but he loved it here, especially the art scene.
Not that it had worked out for him. Enzo did caricatures at the cafe and sold prints of his paintings at street fairs packed with summer tourists. He wouldn’t call that successful. No gallery shows for him. No fans clamoring to get ahold of his latest piece. No reviews in art journals of his work. That art degree sure took him far, huh?
She emerged with a gift bag decorated with a rainbow ribbon. “Hope I got the right stuff.”
He took the bag and opened it. Inside was a set of high-quality watercolor pencils, the kind that he would never buy for himself because they cost way too much. Enzo felt his eyes mist, and he blinked it away as quickly as he could. Nat knew him better than anyone, but still, to pick out this specific brand? “How the hell did you know?”
“You were making moon eyes at them at Parallel last weekend. I know you hit the sale, but I bet you didn’t buy them for yourself.”
“No, I bought paint for the stuff I can sell...” He trailed off. “Thank you, Nat. That’s awesome of you. I wish I brought some cake home, but...”
“Let me guess, what the twins didn’t eat, Ben did?”
Ben worked the closing shift with him. Nice kid, but he was also a human vacuum cleaner, which helped since Aunt Rosa let him eat all the day-old stuff he wanted. “I didn’t want to carry it with all the art supplies. I only have two hands.”
“I’d be a little bit concerned if I discovered my roommate was an octopus.”
“You’d never get the seaweed stains out of the carpet.” He dropped down on the couch next to her and leaned back, closing his eyes for a second. Weariness dogged him down to his bones. If he wasn’t careful, he might fall asleep right here. Speaking of... “You’re up late. You could have left the gift on the kitchen counter. I would have seen it tomorrow.”
She fidgeted a bit and didn’t respond, which made Enzo open his eyes and sit up straight. Uh-oh. He knew how Nat acted when she didn’t want to talk about something. “Hey, is everything okay? Gina didn’t break up with you or anything right?”
She and Gina had been dating for about a year now. It was the longest relationship Nat had ever had. They’d been there for each other through their share of heartaches. Enzo had a routine. He would bring a whole cheesecake home from the cafe, and they ate it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He hoped he didn’t have to do that now. He honestly liked Gina.
“No, not at all! Things are going really well between us. Really great. Which is what I want to talk to you about.”
That didn’t sound ominous at all. “What’s up?”
She leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her knees, not looking at him. Her red hair fell to hide her face from him, and Enzo resisted the urge to brush it out of the way.
“Gina asked me to move in with her. And I said yes.”
For a moment Enzo thought Gina would be moving in with the both of them. Then Nat’s words resolved in his brain. Oh. Nat was leaving him.
He got up and started pacing, heaviness filling his chest. She was his best damn friend. They were supposed to become famous artists together. He’d always pictured her at his side when he imagined himself as a success. How could she leave him?
“When?” he asked, after making a circuit of the room. The tiny living room they’d decorated together, picking out the throw rug from the consignment shop, with the TV stand they’d dumpster dived one day that still needed a wad of newspaper to keep it from tilting. Where the walls weren’t covered in art, they were covered in pictures of them with their other friends–at a restaurant, at the boardwalk, after winning the escape room down the street. All those memories right here, preserved forever.
“I’ll stay until the end of the lease. July. That should give you plenty of time to find someone new to live with.”
“I don’t want someone new to live with.” Enzo stopped pacing and took a breath. “Okay, I didn’t mean to sound like a two-year-old.”
Nat let out a snort-laugh in response. Enzo moved back to the couch and crouched down in front of her. “I’m sorry. I had no idea that you guys were even talking about this.”
“It was a bit of a surprise to me, too, when she asked me. We’d get a new place together, one close to where I work so the commute won’t suck so much. And...I think it’s time to move on.”
Her words made him recoil. “Move on from me?”
“No, stupid. From living like college students. We’re in our thirties now.”
“I didn’t know that there was an age limit.” He stood up again, crossing his arms over his chest.
She got to her feet, which didn’t mean much since she only came up to his shoulders. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it. You can’t work at your aunt’s shop forever. Enzo, you’re not even using your degree.”
“I know.” Her words only echoed what Enzo had been telling himself that morning. “I want to give it one more year. Really try to get myself out there. Then maybe, maybe I’ll do something else.”
Nat gave him a long look, something he couldn’t identify in her eyes. “Maybe, you shouldn’t wait.”
“Come on...” It stung that she didn’t believe in him, that she didn’t think he could do it if he really tried.
She held up one hand to stop him from continuing. “We have an opening for another designer at work, and I think you should apply. Then you won’t miss me so much since we’ll see each other every day at work.”
Nat whipped out her phone and hit the screen. Enzo felt his phone buzz in his back pocket. “There. That’s the job description and application.”
His first instinct was to tell her no. Enzo wasn’t going to be a sell out and go work for corporate America. He created worlds out of nothing but paint and canvas. To be told what and when to create went against everything he stood for.
“I’m not a graphic designer,” he blurted. “My degree is in fine arts.”
“What do you call what you do on your computer to get your stuff sent to the printer? Magic? No, it’s scanning and color correcting and manipulating graphics.”
Enzo scoffed. “That’s nothing. That’s a basic skill.”
“Just because you’re self-taught doesn’t mean my boss won’t value the skill. Trust me. I know exactly what they are looking for. Enzo, this could change your life.”
I don’t want that kind of change. He swallowed down the words. He may not want it, but he might need it.
He caught her in a one-armed hug. “All right. If it means seeing you every day and not having to clean up your mess in the bathroom.”
She laughed all the way to her bedroom. “I’ll put in a good word for you. Night.”
“Night.” He looked at the link on his phone, but shoved it back into his pocket unread.
Enzo gathered up all of his supplies and trucked them over to his room. His bedroom did double duty as a studio. One full half of it was taken up by canvases and supply carts. It was all organized—it had to be with the little space he had—and he knew if he didn’t put his stuff away now he wouldn’t do it tomorrow.
He sorted out his paint by color and type, soothed by the rote work. Nat was right. He had to take advantage of this opportunity while he had it, even if it was the exact opposite of what he’d planned that morning. It didn’t mean he couldn’t continue with his art. She might be very wrong about what her boss wanted. He’d apply to make her happy, that’s all.
Enzo’s art was everything, had been everything since he was ten years old and hiding from his grandmother’s funeral. Dad had caught him in the funeral director’s office, sketching a portrait of his nonna, not how she looked right before she died, but how he remembered her, with a big smile and bright eyes. Dad had been so mad at first.
“Where have you been? Your mother has been looking all over for you!”
Enzo had cringed back as his father had reached out and grabbed his arm, forcing Enzo to his feet. The slip of paper he’d borrowed had fallen to the floor, catching Dad’s attention. When he picked it up, his gaze softened, the anger suddenly drained out of him. “Did you draw this?”
Enzo had nodded, the tears pricking out of the corner of his eyes. He hated getting yelled at.
“It’s really good.” Dad sighed. “But you have to meet your obligations. There are people out there who expect to see you. You can’t hide back here.”
He hadn’t thought about that moment in forever. Shaking his head at himself, Enzo dropped onto his bed with his sketchbook and a pencil. He’d come a long way since sketching with a borrowed ball point and stationary.
His finger slid the lead across the page, sketching out cups of coffee with steam rising from the top. The steam formed itself into more than just smoke, and he found himself drawing the guy from the shop today. Finn.
What was it about that guy? Yeah, he was hot, but in that older competent sort of way, like he had his shit together. Not Enzo’s usual type. Finn had seemed interested from the way his eyes had followed Enzo around the cafe.
He pulled out the page, intent on crumbling it up and tossing it in the trash. Odds were he’d never see Finn again.
Instead, Enzo flattened the paper on his bed, smoothing out the wrinkles. Maybe it was time to take some chances. Do something different for once in his life. He was fascinated by Finn, a guy so completely different from the type he usually dated, so next time...if there was a next time...he’d let the guy know.
Chapter 5
Finn had words. Actual words. And where there were words, a story would follow. That was the hope anyway. It sprouted like a tiny flower inside him, ready to bloom if he would only nurture it with water and sunlight.
In this case, however, water and sunlight meant coffee and Enzo.
When Finn returned to the cafe and did not find Enzo working, he didn’t think anything of it. He sat in his corner with his coffee and attempted to keep working on the character sketch he’d started at this very table.
Only to find himself unable to do anything but stare into space and wonder about Enzo and his art. Finn had seen only a glimpse of what Enzo could do with nothing more than a marker. Did he paint? Create sculptures? He envisioned Enzo in an artist’s apron, which looked suspiciously like his coffee shop apron, covered with smears of paint that somehow made it up to his nose.
