Better latte than never, p.6
Better Latte Than Never, page 6
“Sure.” Enzo pushed the door open and they entered, greeted by a gust of cold air. Someone had turned on the air conditioning way too early in the season.
On the display table right in front sat a collection of Morgan Heart books. Finn flushed. Maybe it was time he told Enzo the truth about who he really was. If they were developing a friendship, especially over Finn’s writing, it would be dishonest not to say something, especially when the books were right there.
“Look.” he pointed at the display. But before he could explain why, Enzo rushed forward.
“Oh, this asshole,” Enzo said, taking a copy of Where my Heart Sings off the display. He thumbed through it.
Finn blinked, not sure he’d heard him correctly. That was not the reaction he’d expected. “Excuse me?
“Have you read this one?” Enzo waved the book in his direction.
Many, many times. Finn had spent so much time revising his first book that he’d gotten sick of it by the end.
But Enzo didn’t let him respond. He apparently had too much to say.
“The main character, Steele, spends the entire book working to be a better person. It’s hard; he gets off drugs, finds a real job, adopts a dog. But he’ll do anything to make up for what he did to Jessica when they were kids. Three hundred pages of redemption and falling in love. And then for what? For her to die in the end?”
“He still has the dog.” Finn was proud of himself for not killing off the dog in that one. Hopefully Enzo hadn’t read Broken Letters.
“And then this book.” Enzo grabbed The Sandbox. “This was the sweetest damn love story I’d ever read. They used to play together in the sandbox when they were kids. How they got the title, I guess. And then he goes to war, and they don’t see each other for ten years. And when he comes back for her, she’s dating this other dude, right? But he wins her back. They get married, have kids, and then bam, cancer, she’s dead.”
Finn couldn’t help the smile. He had to hold in the laughter. Enzo knew his writing. Well, he didn’t know Morgan Heart was Finn, but he knew the books. And he hated them. It was a relief. This was the complete opposite of Theo, who’d used his so-called love for Finn’s books to seduce him.
Thank God for Enzo’s honesty.
“At least it gets changed up a bit in this one.” Enzo picked up Purple Violets. “According to Wikipedia the guy dies this time. This author is such a hack.”
“And yet you seem to keep reading him.” Finn couldn’t help pointing out.
Enzo’s shoulders dropped. “It’s just...the writing’s so good, you know? I keep hoping that maybe this time they’ll get a happy ending. Instead, I end up throwing the book against the wall.”
For a moment, Finn felt the slightest twinge of guilt. He was the one not letting those characters have a happy ending—he, the architect who kept them in perpetual misery. And yet, he felt he had a damn good reason. “But love doesn’t last.” Finn couldn’t hold in the philosophy behind the heart of every one of his novels.
Enzo let go of the book. “Finn, are you all right?”
Maybe he wasn’t. He gestured for air, and they went outside. The bookstore had gotten too small, too fast. Finn started walking, back toward the cafe, away from the crowds, with Enzo in step beside him.
He couldn’t blame it on Theo, although that was a damn good reason in itself. Theo had betrayed him, and it still hurt. But Finn had never given himself fully to that relationship. Nothing where he made his potential boyfriend sign an NDA could be completely open and honest. And there had been a good reason for that. Finn had once seen perfect love and watched it die, quite literally.
“My parents...” he started, ignoring the ache in his chest. “God, you’d never seen two people so in love. My dad would stop and buy roses from the gas station on the corner on his way home from work. My mom would take his hand and lead him into a dance, right there in the living room.”
Finn took a moment to savor the memory, to remember the good times. Before everything went bad. “And then they diagnosed her with breast cancer.”
Enzo reached out and put his hand on Finn’s forearm and squeezed gently.
“I watched her die, slowly and painfully, and while the cancer was killing her, it was killing Dad’s soul at the same time. She died when I was sixteen.”
“Oh, Finn. I’m sorry.”
Finn put his hand over Enzo’s and held on tight. “My dad died of a heart attack when I was twenty-five. He never got to see my first book, or even know that I’d actually made it.”
He didn’t talk about this. Finn had shut the door nearly twenty years ago and typed all the pain and anguish away. Easier to deal with the emotions of his characters than dwell on what could have been. But now it felt all fresh and raw, like even though he’d pushed it away, the grief had lain in wait for Finn to go looking, and now it was free to run rampant in his mind.
“So the Morgan Heart books? Those are reality. Love doesn’t...” He choked on the words. “Love never lasts.”
Enzo, thankfully, gave him a moment. Then he pulled his hand back, only to interlace their fingers together and pull Finn along with him down the sidewalk. “I’m sorry about your family. I wouldn’t even know if something horrible happened to my parents. They cut me off after...” He trailed off. “It doesn’t matter. It’s stupid after your story.”
“No, I want to know,” Finn pushed. He wanted to hear every crumb he could gather up about Enzo’s life. “What happened?”
“I lied to them about my college major. And they’d paid my tuition thinking I was going for pre-law. To be a lawyer, not an artist. I didn’t tell them until after I graduated, and we had a huge fight about how I was unemployable.” Enzo snorted and shook his head. “My dad said I could never make a living as an artist.”
Finn realized they were still holding hands. It had started out as comfort and then turned into something more. What did Enzo mean by this? He squeezed Enzo’s palm. “That’s not true. Look at me, making a living as a writer.”
Enzo chuckled. “I gotta admit, I wasn’t exactly willing to listen to his point of view. I said some things I really shouldn’t have before I stormed out and never contacted them again. Every so often Aunt Rosa tries to get us to reconcile, but it hasn’t stuck yet.”
“You’re proving my point,” Finn said gently. “Even family love wasn’t enough to bring you guys back together.”
“Wow.” Enzo swung their arms, like they were kids on a playground. “I’m sorry about your family. You really got the short end of the stick, Finn. But I disagree with your premise. Love may or may not last. What’s important is enjoying it at the time.”
Finn turned to him and smiled. God, Enzo was all sunshine and light. He deserved more than a broken old man crushing on him. Still, like a moth, Finn turned toward the flame. “I guess you’re right.”
“And that’s why I’m not reading any more Morgan Heart books,” Enzo said pointedly. “Why waste the time when I know how it will end? I’m only going to read books with happy endings.”
They had reached the cafe, and Finn let go of Enzo’s hand. He didn’t mind Enzo’s vehemence. His books weren’t for everyone, although Finn was grateful he pleased enough people to have his bills covered. “I guess I won’t let you read what I’m working on then.”
With a smirk, he pushed the glass door to the cafe open and entered, leaving Enzo sputtering on the sidewalk.
Chapter 8
Enzo’s fingers itched with the need to sketch. He wanted to capture the dozens of expressions on Finn’s face today. He’d never seen such a variety of emotion from Finn before. There had been sorrow when talking about his parents and passion when discussing his writing. Each had changed his face ever so slightly. Sometimes it had been a furrow in his forehead or a softening of his eyes. The way his lower lip trembled as he spoke with such emotion.
He needed to feel the charcoal between his fingers. Enzo wanted to draw like a drowning man needed air. It had been such a long time since Enzo had been so inspired that he couldn’t think of anything except his desire to draw.
Enzo unlocked the door to his place, eager to get to his room and art supplies. He’d gotten out of the habit of bringing a sketchbook to work. If he wanted to be a real artist, he needed to invest as much time as possible in his art, even if meant sketching during the quiet times in the cafe.
Although he really didn’t mind spending those hours flirting with Finn.
Even if Finn didn’t believe love lasted. Man, it must suck having gone through life thinking like that. Enzo may not have had the best luck with boyfriends, but he still thought the right guy was out there, just waiting for him.
The right guy might even be Finn. He entertained the thought for a moment, grinning as he entered his place and shut the door behind him. The way they’d held hands as they walked.... He’d never had that with a boyfriend before. Enzo had only meant the gesture to comfort Finn, but Finn hadn’t let go. His palm had been so solid and warm against Enzo’s. God, it was so nice to dream, even if Enzo knew it wasn’t possible.
Or was it?
“Enzo, you’re home?” Nat stuck her head out of the kitchen. She held a spoon covered with cake batter.
“You’re baking? This late?” There went his plan to sketch. It didn’t matter. Enzo would pick up his pencils later, once Nat went to bed. He could draw until the early hours of dawn and, even if he didn’t get enough sleep, there’d be plenty of coffee at work to keep him going.
He dropped his messenger bag and followed her. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d indulged in surprise late night baking. Like their movie binges, this was something else he was going to miss when she was gone. Every week they got closer to her deadline, and nothing Enzo did could stop the clock.
Not that he wanted to stop the clock. He was happy for her. Really. Even if he couldn’t help but be jealous that she’d found her person while he was stuck here left with dreams for a life that seemed more and more out of reach.
Stop it. Don’t give up. Not yet. He was only thirty, not dead.
Enzo stepped inside their kitchen to find that Nat had covered their tiny table with various baking ingredients. Flour touched every surface, including her nose, and there was a greased cake pan waiting on the counter. She gestured to the mess. “Stress baking. We’re looking for an apartment in north Jersey. And I thought Red Bank rents were high.”
“You still haven’t found a place yet?” Enzo had assumed that Nat had everything figured out. She and her girlfriend would ride off into the sunset to their perfect life together. Now he felt like shit that he hadn’t offered to help. He hadn’t wanted to be reminded of her imminent departure, but that didn’t mean he had to be a dick about it.
“Don’t remind me. We have to find a place and a moving company. And I’ve hated every single thing we’ve looked at.” Nat ran her hands through her hair, leaving streaks of white along her temples. “I don’t think I put enough vanilla in this.” She grabbed the bottle and shook a good amount into her bowl.
Enzo picked up a spoon, stuck it in the batter and tasted it. He winced. “Not enough sugar either.” God, she must be super distracted. Nat was usually a pretty good baker.
She cursed and pulled out her phone, presumably checking the recipe again. Enzo took her wrist and gently grabbed the phone out of her hand. He needed to put a stop to the panic baking, especially since she had to be up early for work tomorrow. “Nat, go to bed. I’ll clean this up.”
“Not when you’ve spent all day doing that. We’ll do it together.” She picked up the bowl and scraped its contents into the trash.
Enzo turned off the oven and started gathering up dirty dishes to put in the sink. He didn’t want to talk about the job application again, not when he still felt so raw about applying. Nat had gone over his portfolio and given him suggestions for improving it. Still, he didn’t think it looked good enough yet and had held off on submitting it.
“So a funny thing happened during my dinner hour today,” he started, thinking she might find Finn as interesting as Enzo did.
“Hmm?” Nat put a batter-soaked finger in her mouth and winced. “God, this tastes awful.”
“Agreed.” Enzo rinsed the measuring cups to get the gunk out before throwing them in the dishwasher. “I went to Taco Loco for dinner, and I happened to run into Finn there. We went to the bookshop afterward.”
“I’m sorry. Who’s Finn?” Nat looked up from rolling the flour bag closed. Streaks of white now covered the front of her black band t-shirt.
Enzo’s cheeks heated with embarrassment. Hadn’t he talked about Finn before? He’d been coming to cafe for nearly a month now. “You know. The writer guy? With the gorgeous blue eyes and the nice smile?”
She continued to stare at him. “The only writer you’ve talked about is the one who comes to the cafe.”
“Well, yeah. I met him at the cafe.”
“Oh, honey. Tell me you’re not crushing on a customer.”
Well, when she put it that way, it sounded bad. Enzo filled the bowl and set it in the sink to soak so the batter wouldn’t harden. It would be easier to clean in a few minutes. He needed the time to consider his response. “It’s not like that. He’s not a creeper.”
There had been a fair share of customers creeping on him. Not as much as the girls got, and they had a whole system in place for dealing with it. Most of the time it ended with Aunt Rosa coming out of the kitchen with her rolling pin.
“He showed up on the day of my surprise party.” And didn’t that feel like serendipity? Right when Enzo wanted to make a change in his life someone so different walked into it. “I like talking with him. He’s writing a book, but apparently he’s already published a few.” And Enzo would really have to get out of him what he’d written before. Finn seemed almost embarrassed about his writing. Wouldn’t it be funny if he wrote steamy bodice rippers under a female pen name? That would explain all the secrecy.
“You know better than to start something with someone at work.” Nat put the flour away in the cabinet.
“I’m not starting anything,” Enzo protested, even as he thought about holding Finn’s hand as they walked back to the cafe. “We just had dinner. And then we stopped at the bookstore, and I complained about the Morgan Heart display, and then...he shared something really personal with me.”
Enzo wasn’t going to tell Nat about Finn’s parents. No, that was something special, just between the two of them. Finn had trusted him, and Enzo valued that.
“So he’s not like the guys you’ve met in bars and clubs, huh?” She finished loading the silverware into the dishwasher and reached for the detergent.
“Nothing like any of those guys,” he said in a whisper. Nat, once again, had zeroed in on what Enzo liked most about Finn. Mainly that he wasn’t a guy Enzo hopped into bed with and then tried to figure out a relationship with. He was getting to know Finn, to appreciate the older man’s view on life, and how he actually talked about and shared his feelings.
“C’mere.” Nat reached for Enzo, squeezing him into a tight hug. “Thanks for cleaning up my mess.”
“You’ll figure it out,” he said into her flour-streaked hair.
Nat pulled away and poked his chest. “I hope you do, too.”
After she went to bed, Enzo retreated to his bedroom. The immediacy of his urge to draw had faded a bit, but he pulled out a sketchbook anyway, one of the larger ones where he had plenty of room. He wanted to create a sequence of faces—all variations of Finn’s expressions today.
He had the most trouble with Finn’s eyes. Enzo couldn’t replicate the sheer emotion in only black and white. Maybe if he colored in the irises, it would look better. Now, where had he left his colored pencils? Enzo had a very particular shade of blue in mind.
Finn’s revelations about his parents almost made Enzo want to contact his own. Almost. He still wasn’t ready to apologize, because he didn’t think he was wrong. But if something happened to his mom or dad after they hadn’t spoken for nearly eight years? That would suck.
“They only want the best for you,” Aunt Rosa had told him, after Enzo had walked into her cafe and asked for the job she’d been advertising for months.
“If they want the best, then they’d care about what I want, not just how much money I could earn,” he’d grumbled at the time.
Because that had been the whole stupid argument, right there. Dad had been shouting about how was Enzo going to find a job, and Enzo had said he’d be able to sell his art, that there would be people wanting his work.
“If you don’t work with your brain, you work with your back!” Dad shouted. “I broke my back working so you wouldn’t have to.”
Those words had hurt, because Enzo understood that. His father was a mechanic, and often came home late at night with dirty and bruised knuckles from working under the hood of a car all day. Enzo knew exactly how hard Dad worked.
Enzo finally found the cobalt blue pencil he’d been looking for and snatched it out of its container. He paused with his finger clutched around the bright wood. Is that it? Had he been resisting applying for the job because that would mean his parents had been right the whole time?
He settled back on his bed, the sketchbook on his lap. With careful strokes he made Finn’s eyes come alive, the blue bold against the black and white sketch. If he thought Finn was wrong for holding on to old beliefs, then Enzo had no damn excuse for not moving forward. What kind of boyfriend could he be if he couldn’t stride toward the future himself?
This sketch? With Finn’s eyes wide and sparkling, his smile open with crinkles at the corners of his mouth? This had to be a painting. Enzo had captured him perfectly. He propped the sketchbook up so he could see and went looking for the right canvas. He’d had a few primed and ready, but this needed to be perfect. Enzo would spend the night doing what he loved most.
And tomorrow he’d finally turn in that job application.
