The man left. Sam watched him go, completely bewildered.Is there a hot guy convention in town?
Maya emerged from the back. “Did that guy just try to tip you fifty dollars?”
“Forty-seven. And yes.”
“And you gave itback?”
“That amount of money for a coffee was insane, Maya, and you know it.”
“It wasamazing.” She leaned against the counter. “Why do all the gorgeous ones come on your shifts? Where’s my six-foot businessman with money to burn?”
Sam thought about pointing out that refusing ridiculous tips was probably why gorgeous men didn’t flock to himromantically, but Maya had already returned to the kitchen.
The man came back on Wednesday. Same suit, different tie. Same absurd tipping attempt.
“Nope.” Sam pushed the fifty-dollar note back across the counter before the till even opened.
“I haven’t ordered yet.”
“Doesn’t matter. I know where this is going.”
Those dark eyes crinkled at the corners. “Black coffee, medium. And you’re very stubborn.”
“So I’ve been told.” Sam made the coffee, accepted the exact change this time, and tried not to notice the way the man was watching him.
“I’m Mabon, by the way.”
Sam glanced up. “Sam.”
“I know.” Mabon gestured at the name tag with his cup. “See you tomorrow, Sam.”
He did come back on Thursday and Friday.
By Friday, Sam had stopped fighting the tips - Mabon had started leaving them in the jar when Sam wasn’t looking, and chasing him down Ashford Lane twice had been enough embarrassment for one week.
/~/~/~/~/
The third man brought flowers. He arrived on the Saturday. Sam got the idea he had to be friends with the other two – in fact, he was sure he’d seen the three of them together in the car the police had moved on from outside the café a couple of weeks before.
The flowers were not a cheap petrol station bouquet. They were an actual armful of late-season blooms - dahlias and chrysanthemums and something blue Sam didn’t recognize, but that smelled sweet.
“These are for you.” The man held them out, somehow shy despite being approximately seven feet tall and built like he could uproot trees with his bare hands.
Sam stared at the flowers, up at the man, and then back at the flowers again. “I...for me?”
“From my garden.” The man had long gray-blond hair pulled back and bright blue eyes. “I thought you might like them.”
“You brought me flowers.”
“Yes.”
“From your garden.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
The man blinked, clearly not expecting that question. “Because they’re beautiful. And you…” He stopped for a moment and then added, “You should have beautiful things.”
