Better latte than never, p.5
Better Latte Than Never, page 5
“I needed that.” Finn sighed. “Had to get the taste out of my mouth.”
He licked his lips, and Enzo followed the trail of that tongue, his own mouth opening and closing. “You, uh, you probably want to get to your writing.” Immediately as he spoke, he kicked himself. Enzo didn’t want Finn to go away just yet.
Finn smiled. “Thank you for thinking of my word count.”
“Yeah, that’s exactly what I was thinking off,” Enzo sputtered. He ducked down to retrieve Finn’s laptop bag and handed it over.
Finn retreated to his corner. The other regulars were still arguing over the cannoli, but Enzo couldn’t focus on any of their voices. At least he had Finn’s phone number now, but who knew if he’d ever have the courage to use it?
Chapter 6
Finn had loved playing the spy, scoping out the rival Holy Cannoli and their terrible coffee. The regulars at Aunt Rosa’s Cafe had welcomed him back like some sort of hero, and while he’d only been a customer for less than a week, Finn belonged. It had been a while since he had been part of something.
Not since back in the newsroom, when he had actual coworkers. Finn had lost touch with many of them a while ago. He hadn’t quit until his second book had been published, but by then his heart hadn’t been in it. The last time he’d heard from one of his old friends, it had been to tell him their boss, his editor Martin McMillian, had passed away.
He hadn’t thought about them in a long time, too caught up in his new lifestyle. Living in California had only isolated him more from who he used to be. Writing here in this cafe almost felt new again, the way it had fifteen years ago when he was frantically scribbling notes at work to type up later.
There was something about sinking his hands into clay, Finn wrote. This soft gloppy material came from the earth, nothing more than dirt at one point. But by his hands, his creative vision, this simple bit of mud would become something more—it would become art.
Finn sat back and nodded with satisfaction at his laptop. His artist character was starting to take shape, much like the sculpture from the story itself. He grinned at the comparison. He’d intentionally made his artist character a sculptor, to make him different from Enzo. Finn still needed a name. He couldn’t keep typing “ARTIST NAME HERE” over and over in his draft.
He looked around the cafe, searching for inspiration. Finn liked how life moved on around him—the girls delivering coffee, the people in groups chatting—and he’d overheard more than one interesting conversation while sitting in his quiet corner. It all energized him, pressing him to write on.
Of course, the star of the show was Enzo himself, who worked briskly behind the counter, brewing coffees for teenagers in Catholic school uniforms. Like always, Finn enjoyed watching him move, the graceful almost dancer-like movements that had Enzo darting swiftly between the espresso machine and all of its accouterments. Enzo finished up a cappuccino, making a show of spinning the pot of steamed milk so it formed the foamy cap. He presented it to the waiting customer with a smile.
The pendant lights from above cast a glow over him, brightening his blond and green hair as if enshrined by a halo. It made him look positively leonine.
That’s it. Leon. Finn typed the name into his document. Perfect.
After the giggling high school students left, Enzo came around the counter with a pot of freshly brewed coffee in one hand. Finn could smell it before he arrived. “Need a refill?”
Finn held out his cup. “Please! I’m starting to hit a groove.” He gestured to his laptop while Enzo carefully refilled his coffee. It would be his third cup after completing the mission, and yet, it still wasn’t enough to wash the foul taste of Holy Cannoli’s coffee out of his mouth.
“You never said, what exactly are you writing?”
He stiffened at Enzo’s question. There was no reason to think Enzo suspected Finn’s true identity. No way would they send bestselling author Morgan Hart on a secret mission to infiltrate a coffee shop competitor. To them, he was only Finn, writer. And he wanted to keep it that way. Finn didn’t want another Theo in his life. He’d been enjoying this no-strings-attached flirting between them.
Finn forced himself to smile. “It will be a novel, eventually. Right now it’s a few scenes.”
Enzo finished pouring Finn’s refill, but didn’t seem inclined to return to his spot behind the counter. “Kind of like I do a painting, I guess. I sketch out some background that looks nothing like the finished product.”
Finn laughed, because that was exactly it sometimes. “I usually work with an outline. This time I’m winging it.”
“How many novels have you written?”
Finn had to think about it, because there were the ten he’d had published, and the few he’d written before he landed on the one that had hit it big. “This one would be the fifteenth.”
“Woah. Anything I might have read?”
No, absolutely not. Finn wasn’t going to confess. Not yet, maybe not ever. “Probably not.” And there was a good chance Enzo hadn’t. Finn’s readers were typically women, according to his PR and marketing people anyway. Grace and Dorothy sitting over by the window were more of his target audience. And anyway, he wanted to be Finn for Enzo, not Morgan Heart.
Enzo nodded. “Well, I’m glad you’re getting some quiet time. No more secret missions.”
“Oh, I don’t know, I rather enjoyed it.” Finn had liked being needed for something that had absolutely nothing to do with his writing. “Do let me know if you need another spy for something.”
“I will. Remember, we pay in coffee.” Enzo hefted the pot for emphasis. He winked before heading back to the front.
Finn couldn’t take his eyes off Enzo. He couldn’t help but enjoy the way Enzo’s jeans framed his perfect ass, and imagined what a handful of full firm buttock would feel like. His second thought surprised himself. What would it be like to go out to dinner with Enzo, to watch those green eyes twinkle as he spoke about something he loved?
Put that energy in the book. Finn sighed and went back to his laptop. Plot. He still needed a plot. He’d figure it out eventually.
But in the meantime, he’d enjoy the view.
“WHAT ARE YOU WATCHING?” Enzo came home to find Nat sitting on the couch, engrossed in something on TV. It had been a day, and sitting in front of the screen watching a movie or something mind numbing sounded perfect. Also, he’d take any chance to spend some more time with his soon-to-be gone roommate.
She yawned and stretched. “It’s a B-movie I found on the classic movie network. It’s terrible. I can’t stop watching.”
A giant insect-like creature on the screen climbed a billboard, all the while carrying a screaming woman in his mandibles. Enzo dropped his messenger bag by the door and joined Nat on the couch. The rubber costume was hysterically obvious, but he could appreciate all the work that had gone into creating it.
“Okay, so the hero has this plan to use nuclear energy against it,” Nat explained.
“Didn’t that create it in the first place?”
“Shh, you’re ruining the atmosphere.”
He laughed, and Nat pressed against him on the couch, cuddling up like they’d done so many times before. Enzo swallowed down the lump in his throat. This might be one of the last times they got to do this.
Today had been surreal. He’d managed to get Finn’s phone number, but it hadn’t been intentional. At this point he didn’t know if Finn just found him amusing or what. Finn had seemed so happy to be the cafe’s spy. When he’d come back from across the street, he’d had this little smug smile on his face. Adorable.
Enzo closed his eyes for a moment and dropped his head back on the couch. God, he was an idiot. Finn was a customer. All he wanted was coffee and a corner to write his books. Enzo shouldn’t be daydreaming about him. He had other things to worry about—like his soon to be leaving roommate.
He looked over at Nat, an amused smile on her face as the light from the TV played across her skin. He couldn’t give up on over a decade of friendship. Who was he without Nat around? No, he had to grab this opportunity or risk seeing his best friend only once or twice a year.
He blurted out, “I’m going to apply for that job.”
The conversation with Lydia had helped sway his decision. She had been genuinely happy for him. And opportunities like this didn’t come around too often. Enzo knew if he let it go, and nothing changed with his art, he’d regret it.
Nat turned to look at him, the light from the television bathing her face in shades of green. “Do you want me to help you with the application? Yes! It will be so awesome working with you!”
Enzo grabbed a pillow and slugged her gently with it. “I don’t have the job yet, so stop celebrating. But...if you wouldn’t mind taking a look at my resume and portfolio?”
“Done.”
After the movie, Nat went to bed, and Enzo retreated to his bedroom. Instead of working on any art, he pulled out his laptop and dug around for the folder where he’d stored his resume. Yeah, this needed polishing. He added a few more years to the section under “Evening manager.”
His skills could be applied to an office job. “Able to work independently and as part of a team,” he typed. “Attention to detail,” because he had to make sure the inventory was correct or else risk running out of coffee beans at exactly the wrong moment. His art portfolio he’d kept updated and online, so it didn’t need as much polishing.
Enzo finished spell-checking before emailing it all off to Nat. Maybe she could work some magic. These were her employers, after all. She would know what they were looking for.
He stretched and closed his laptop. There, step one on his mental checklist for getting his life together. It didn’t mean he was going to stop working on his art, or making a real go of it. But by now Enzo knew how unlikely it was for him to break out in the business. Maybe he should look for some other places to apply to. But the thought of putting himself out there in the job search meat market made his stomach lurch.
Or maybe that was the leftover bit of cannoli he’d eaten from Holy Cannoli before leaving work. God, that stuff was truly awful. How did that place stay in business?
He had his phone out before he thought about it and tapped out a text to Finn. “Hope the cannoli didn’t make you sick. Feeling kinda nauseous myself.”
Of course, that was when he kicked himself. It was late. Normal people might be in bed right now. Not everyone had Enzo’s weird afternoon-work, paint-all-night schedule.
After a minute, Finn replied, “I’m fine, but I am not eager to try their coffee again. Yuck.”
Enzo let out a sigh of relief. Finn had replied. He hadn’t left Enzo on read. Enzo hadn’t screwed everything up by texting so late. Or texting at all.
He was about to put his phone away when another text came in from Finn, “Are you working tomorrow?”
Right, Finn didn’t know Enzo had two days off during the week in exchange for working the weekends. He must have been looking forward to talking to Enzo if he’d asked Lydia about him. Enzo grinned. Maybe he wasn’t entirely wrong about this guy.
“I’ll be there.” He texted back. “See you tomorrow?”
“Of course.”
Chapter 7
Finn didn’t have a book, only a collection of scenes with no connection to each other, as yet. He used to write like this, back when his first book was nothing but a dream in his mind. Scenes would show up in his head, and he’d write them, as if he transcribed events going on elsewhere, and was not himself the architect of these characters and their lives.
It felt good. And it was all thanks to Enzo.
Finn could lie to himself and say it was all a character study. The artist in his story was a version of Enzo, the one that had showed up in Finn’s head and demanded a voice. He knew the truth. He liked watching Enzo, the way he moved with pent up energy, how his jeans clung to his thighs.
It had been three weeks since he first walked into Aunt Rosa’s Cafe. Luckily there hadn’t been any more adventures—no surprise parties or secret missions—so he’d had plenty of time to write. On Enzo’s days off, Finn stayed home, worked out with his personal trainer, took a bike ride along the river, and then came back, ready to be inspired by his personal muse.
But he found he missed the surprises.
Finn unlocked his front door, set down his laptop bag off to the side before slipping out of his shoes. The hard wood felt solid beneath his feet as he made his way to the kitchen. Even after a long afternoon of nibbling at desserts and drinking coffee, he still should eat a nutritious dinner. He’d paid good money for the stacks of pre-made meals in his freezer and most nights he’d simply pop one into the oven and that would be dinner.
But this evening, he couldn’t take another night of sitting alone at his kitchen table. Normally he found it soothing. He’d play soft jazz from his fancy sound system or turn on Jeopardy and enjoy shouting the wrong answers at the contestants as he ate.
After spending hours at the cafe surrounded by people, Finn couldn’t deal with the silence. His sparkling clean kitchen taunted him. Everything looked too perfect, too shiny. Screw this. He’d go back into town and find a very busy place to eat dinner, surrounded by people and conversation. Who knew? It might spark something new for the book.
Finn put his shoes back on and grabbed his keys before heading out. It felt good to walk downtown without carting his heavy laptop bag around. This town was growing on him. He couldn’t say he was completely over Theo and the whole mess in California yet, but maybe he was making progress. For the first time in months, Finn could breathe again.
He picked a Mexican place at random, deciding he really could go for some tacos tonight. The place seemed casual enough that he should be able to grab a seat by himself and no one would mind. There was an option to be seated or grab food at the front counter. Finn waved aside the waitress when he saw Enzo standing in line.
Without thinking about it, Finn joined the line and tapped Enzo on the shoulder. “Hey. Didn’t expect to find you here.”
Only after Enzo turned around did Finn have a moment of panic. Sure, they’d texted back and forth a few times, but that didn’t mean anything. Enzo wanted Finn to keep coming in and buying coffee, that was all. Seeing him outside of work? That would be kind of weird, wouldn’t it?
Enzo’s face lit up, sending warmth all down Finn’s body to the tips of his toes. “Hi! I’m on my dinner break. Ben can handle the cafe for a few. It’s pretty empty right now.”
Ben must be someone Finn hadn’t met yet. He usually left before any of the night shift showed up. “Care for some company?” Finn kicked himself as he asked. They’d spent all afternoon together!
Well...Finn had spent the afternoon writing with Enzo delivering him cups of coffee every so often with a wink and a flirtatious remark. It wasn’t like they really got the chance to talk. “You don’t have to,” he tried to backpedal. “I’m sure you have to get back to work soon.”
“Actually, I could use the company. We can take the tacos to go. It’s a lovely evening for a walk.”
Tension drained out of Finn’s shoulders. Okay, so he hadn’t screwed this up completely.
Not that there was anything to screw up. Finn wasn’t looking to hop into another relationship. He liked Enzo and enjoyed his company. That was all. It was nice not to have to eat alone again.
“It’s too beautiful to eat inside,” Enzo said as they emerged from the crowded restaurant.
Spring had fully bloomed, those early weeks of May when the air was still crisp, but the sun covered everything. It was starting to get dark later, though nowhere near where it would be in summer but enough that they had a lovely glow as they walked along the sidewalk holding their little cardboard trays of tacos.
“Tofu tacos?” Finn asked, a bit curious.
Enzo ducked his head. His cheeks darkened, and he looked a little embarrassed as he explained, “Yeah, I like how they taste.”
“Are you vegan?” Finn remembered Enzo suggesting oat milk for his coffee. Maybe he didn’t do dairy at all.
Enzo laughed. “I couldn’t be vegan and work at the coffee shop. The amount of butter and eggs we use alone, never mind all the cream that goes into the coffees.”
“You know they offer vegan cannoli across the street.”
“They do not!” Enzo shuddered. “How would that even work? Lydia is right, that place has no business calling them cannoli.”
Finn finished the last of his tacos as neatly as he could, glad they had been wrapped well, and ditched the cardboard box in a sidewalk trash can. “It does seem rather misnamed, if you’re looking for traditional Italian pastries. But I don’t think most of their clientele are.”
“They don’t know what they are missing.”
Finn agreed. Although he didn’t mind if the afternoon crowd stayed across the street, since he preferred having the cafe to himself. He watched Enzo lick the last of the salsa from his fingers and revised that a bit. He preferred having Enzo to himself.
Enzo sucked the last bit off his thumb, and Finn nearly tripped at the sight of those pink lips in a pout. He was far too old to be lusting after a man fifteen years younger than him. Finn stuck his hands in his pockets and tried to concentrate on looking where he was going.
He’d much rather be looking at Enzo.
“Want to walk for a bit? I don’t have to be back yet. Unless”—Enzo looked sheepish—“you have someplace to be?”
“Not at all. And it’s a beautiful evening for a walk.”
They weren’t the only ones who thought so. The streets were crowded with people window shopping and going in and out of restaurants. Finn hadn’t taken the time to explore this end of town, so he was amused by the shops here: an artisan yarn store, a handmade soap shop, and then, as they turned the corner back toward the cafe, a bookshop.
Finn gestured. “Do we have time to browse?” He never could resist a bookshop, although he preferred them when he wasn’t the guest of honor.
