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She sat back with a defeated look, sighing as she took another sip of her Earl Grey. Her preference for tea allowed me room for my enchantments, which I’d worked in without a thought in the hopes of keeping disruptions to a minimum. Hopefully she’d be as susceptible to my magic as her parents had been, and ideally follow them into early retirement. The unpredictable energy of youth, however, often complicated things.
There was nothing to do but wait and see.
Bailey
Second Steep was becominga real problem.
I sat at one of the heavy rectangular tables at the back of my parent’s coffeehouse, bowed above the worn, java-stained binder like it was a dirty secret. And maybe it was— the numbers didn’t make sense at first glance, but when I rested my eyes and looked again, the columns seemed perfectly normal. I needed to take a break every other page, sipping my milk-heavy Earl Grey when I wasn’t squinting at Mat’s tidy handwriting. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear the damn account books were gaslighting me in real time.
A business degree was supposed to have been my ticket to a new, exciting life in an unfamiliar city, working for a high-powered firm on small business development. A month before graduation, my future position went up in smoke as an expose piece in CEO Monthly sent the company’s stock into freefall. With my diploma came a boot out of the dorms, and with nowhere else to go, mom and dad insisted I come back home to regroup.
They were busy traveling abroad anyway, enjoying their oddly-early retirement, so it saved them the cost of a housesitter, mom assured me. I knew their “house sitter” was just an elderly next-door neighbor peeking in now and then, but I wasn’t about to sleep in my car out of pride. Dad reasoned I could check up on Second Steep and apply some of my new professional education, too: at the time, I’d agreed. Side-eyeing the pages again, I was unsure how much help I’d be.
Sighing, I finally closed the binder and massaged my temples, trying to work out some of the stress radiating from my overworked eyes. Itfeltlike everything was running smoothly, finance-wise, but something just wasn’t adding up properly and I couldn’t root it out. Accounting had always been my Achilles’ heel, though, so it was possible I just wasn’t cut out for this. At least Mat was.
A steadfast worker that had stayed on after my parent’s purchase of Second Steep, Mat had worked for years for the former owner, a loud, vivacious woman that passed away unexpectedly. I was very young when it all happened, so I only remembered the basics, but even then I could tell Mat had been close with the woman and missed her. But my parents offered to keep him on more out of necessity than pity; the stoic young man had known all the suppliers and quirks of the then-teahouse and my parents had jumped feet-first into ownership. The 90s were a time of financial optimism, earned or otherwise, and mom and dad had their first date here, so they impulsively applied for small business funding when Second Steep went up for sale.
Since then it’d felt a bit like Mat was the mysterious older brother I’d never had, brilliant at everything he touched, unfairly attractive, and a constant point of comparison with my parents on our sporadic phone calls. I’d constantly have to hear howMatdid this andMatfixed that and in my teens, the jealousy drove me to study like my life depended on it. I’d mellowed since, able to begrudgingly appreciate all he did to keep my family’s business afloat, but my former one-way rival was still an enigma. Stupidly handsome too, but I’d thought that since we were both much younger and he’d only gotten better with age. But even though my dating life was drier than the pastry case after a slow day, my business ethics professor had drilled into us that this exact situation was aterribleidea at best and lawsuit bait at worst. No thanks.
I startled as the scrape of a chair popped the daydream bubble I’d zoned out in. Mat set his mug of tea on the table, sitting down across from me. A quick glance told me the customers milling about had all cleared out while I was lost in my thoughts, and now I was alone with the man who’d been my first childhood crush, sitting only inches away.
Mat reached across the table lightly, sliding the closed binder over to his side with a small smile. Strong shoulders and a stronger jawline were softened by his swimmer’s build and feathery red-brown hair, but there was still something about his presence that seemed to loom. I wasn’t afraid of him or anything, but I definitely got the impression I ought to stay on his good side. His eyes were some of the most piercing I’d ever seen, an unusual hazel color that gave him an otherworldly vibe. I’d wondered a few times if they were some sort of contacts, but if they were, he’d been wearing them the entire time I’d known him.
“Everything in order then, Bailey?” A long finger traced the top edge of the binder, an idle movement that was distractingly sensual.
I had a question about one of the columns, but an overwhelming sensation that it wasn’t important swept it away like so much dust. “Oh! Yes, thank you for letting me look it over. I just want to reassure you it isn’t a trust thing, Mom and Dad are totally confident this place is in great hands, I just needed the practice because, you know, learning about business and actually doing it are really different…”
Mat chuckled, reaching across the table to pat my hand and stop my rambling, a gentle smile curving the side of his mouth. The feeling of ease and companionship bloomed between us, and I relaxed into the worn wooden chair back. “Bailey. They’re very proud of you, you know.”
I waved a hand in the air, brushing off the compliment. “They have to be, I’m their kid. Honestly, I think they’re prouder of you, Mat, the way they talk. You should hear them rave about all you’ve done here.”
Rather than the satisfaction, or at least happiness, I’d expected to find in Mat’s features, his brow furrowed briefly. He looked almost…guilty? That was odd. Maybe he was just being modest.
The bell over the door pulled our attention to a pair of newcomers, two young men with hair so black it looked nearly blue. They looked both sickly and irritated, like they’d been kicked out of a goth concert or something: the one closest to me even had some kind of weird body modification on his ears. Mat stood up abruptly as they entered, giving them the tiniest shake of his head, so small I barely caught it, his spine arrow-straight. The taller of the two men stabbed a finger in Mat’s direction, glaring and muttering something in an unfamiliar language that Mat somehow seemed to understand. When the shorter man started muttering the same language, dripping with malice, my stomach sank. I slowly reached down into my pocket, carefully teasing my phone into my palm as I double-checked no eyes were on me. I had no idea what the hell was going on, but I knew it wasn’t good.
My thumb was hovering over the “9” when Mat’s body language abruptly changed to a more casual stance, breaking the tension that filled the room. An insincere smile cracked across his face, oozing faux hospitality in a way I’d never seen him do before. He tilted his head towards me as he spoke, indicating me for some reason. “Gentlemen! I’m terribly sorry, but I’m afraid we’reclosedfor the evening. We’re open tomorrow at 8 if you’d like to stop by again, though.”
The shorter man fixed strange, pale eyes on me, his smile so cruel a chill ran down my spine. He turned back to Mat with a casual shrug and more words I didn’t understand, but a tone I definitely did:we’ll be back. They both turned on a heel and stalked out angrily, slamming the door behind them so hard the bell jangled again. Mat quickly followed in their wake, clicking the lock and deadbolt behind the departing visitors and flipping the sign from open to closed. He braced his palms on a nearby table and hung his head, and I realized it was the first time I’d ever seen him rattled—and that rattled me.
“Mat, what the hell was that? Are those guys shaking us down for protection money or something? Whatlanguagewas that?” I stood and walked over to him, hesitantly laying a hand between his shoulders in solidarity when I noticed he was still radiating tension. “Are you alright?”
Mat jumped like he’d been electrocuted, spinning to face me and dislodging my hand from his back in the process. The chair behind him tilted over even though I hadn’t seen him collide with it, startling him again. “Ah! Oh, Bailey, I’m sorry, they just…those guys looked like trouble, you know? I wanted to get them out of here in case they were. Your parents would never forgive me if I let something happen to you. Matter of fact, why don’t you let me walk you to your car? Hang on a moment, though.”
The calm, collected attitude I always associated with Mat was gone, any hint of our earlier shared comfort evaporated. Instead, he strode to the counter and disappeared from view, the sounds of rummaging floating out from the pastry case. After a long moment, he straightened and gestured at the front door with a hand full of the shop keys, that same shaky smile making another unconvincing show. Confused, I let him usher me out and lock the door behind us, the keypad of the alarm system beeping as it kicked on.
“Mat, are you sure you’re okay? I appreciate you walking me out, but you seem…not yourself.” I glanced up and down the street a few times, my own nerves on edge as Mat’s unease seeped into me. Normally I’d enjoy the chance to spend technically-off-hours time with my childhood crush, even if it was just a stroll to the car, but our strange visitors had soured the evening’s mood.
He cleared his throat and offered another smile and a shrug: if I didn’t know him semi-well, I might have even believed the casual vibe he was putting off. “I promise, I’ll be fine, Bailey. Just letting my imagination get the better of me—I’m sure those guys are just low-life sorts that like intimidating pretty girls. Can I ask you for a small favor, though?”
I leaned against my car to face him, digging a hand in my pocket for my keys. “Of course you can, Mat. What’s up?”
He bit his lip, eyes darting to the side as he pulled in a breath, starting and stopping the same sentence twice before continuing. “I’m-I know I’m being silly, but if those guysareup to something, I keep something valuable in the shop. A family heirloom that’s absolutely priceless to me. I can’t explain it, but I-it doesn’t feel safe for me to keep it there, or even with me, right now. Can you hold onto it for me until I ask for it back?” His fingers uncurled in an outstretched hand, an ornately-carved wooden square in his palm, slightly larger than a ring box.
“Well, I mean, sure, but why do you wantmeto hang onto it? Wouldn’t it be safer with you?” I gingerly took the small box from his palm, his eyes following the movement like I’d just plucked the Hope Diamond from his fingertips. “Also, what is it?”
He closed his eyes, wrinkling his nose like I’d just hit him with the question he didn’t want to answer. “I know you don’t know me very well, Bailey, not really, but can I ask you to trust me on this? It’s nothing illegal or harmful to you, I give you my word, but I’d rather keep the contents to myself. And, I know this is going to sound strange, but you’re the only person in my life I can trust with it—I’m a bit of a lone wolf.” He snorted softly, like he’d made a private joke. “But if you’ll take it, you’ll have my unending gratitude, and that could come in very handy.”
I pressed my thumb softly into a corner of the box, giving a soft hum of consideration to cover the fact my heart was racing, an impulsive thought seizing the reins. “I’ll do it if you’ll take me out to dinner tomorrow night.”
