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1
Brady
Imademywayto my office and found Dane sitting in the visitor’s chair, tapping his foot on the floor impatiently. He was the newest hire at my café, and I was starting to regret hiring him at all.
He looked up as I came into the room, but I ignored him and walked around the desk, leaning my hip against it so I was facing him. Being barely five foot three in height, I’d always had to make sure I had a presence so people noticed me, and once I’d discovered the kind of clothing I liked, it had been an easy feat. But my looks also meant that sometimes, people mistook me for a flaunty twink, and though Iwasa flaunty, glitter-loving twink, that wasn’t all I was. And people, especially guys like Dane, needed to know that. I stared at him impassively, cataloging each of his twitches, and waited.
One.
Two.
Three.
“What’s wrong, boss?” And he broke the silence.
“Dane, I’d like you to remember that the only reason you have this job is because I adore Kasey. I’ve just about had it with you treating my customers like crap because you don’t have your own shit sorted. Remember that these customers pay you. The tips you get from them will help you more than what you earn as a salary. If I find you treating anyone, staff or customer, with anything but the utmost respect, you’re gone. Am I clear?”
Dane opened his mouth, and I could see that he was about to justify his actions with some shitty excuse, so I raised my hand to stop him from speaking. “I need a yes or a no, Dane. Nothing else. Am I clear?”
He stared at me for a few seconds before sinking back in his seat. “Yes, I understand.”
“Good. Now, get back to work, please.”
Once he was out of the room, I relaxed and shook off the tension in my shoulders. I fucking hated acting stern and professional like that, but it was a requirement when running a successful business as I was, so I couldn’t avoid the need for it every once in a while. Three years ago, my aunt Molly had died and left me this café. She’d been my favorite person in the world and the woman who introduced me to makeup. When she left me the café, my parents expected me to sell it and continue on to college so I could become a therapist like they wanted me to. That hadn’t been what I’d wanted, though, and so I hadn’t gone back to college and instead focused on getting Bean Yourself up and running. My parents still hadn’t forgiven me for that.
After taking a few deep breaths to center myself, I left my office and headed back into the café. Despite being a good baker, my favorite part of the job was working behind the counter and interacting with my customers. Talking to people, even if it was just a few pleasantries exchanged, fulfilled me in a way nothing else did. In that sense, becoming a certified therapist wouldn’t have been such a leap, and I might still do it someday, but for now, I was happy as a coffeeshop owner.
My love for talking to people, along with my drive to support others, was what first led me to the doors of Voice Out three years ago. Now, it was as much a part of my life as Bean Yourself was. Talking to all those kids and helping them out in whatever way I could made me feel like I could do something, make a difference for someone.
Add to it the fact that I’d made so many close friends through the nonprofit over the years, and I couldn’t imagine a life where I wasn’t a proud member of Voice Out.
“Boss, your stalker is back,” Kasey whispered to me as I stepped in beside her. I turned to look at the table he usually occupied, and there he was. The man had been showing up at the café for the past week. He would come, get a coffee, and sit at that table for hours. Now, that in itself wasn’t anything unusual,buta) he had no laptop or phone or anything that could possibly hold his attention for so long, and b) I could swear on my life that every time I turned around, he was staring right at me.
When I’d told Luke—one of my best friends—about him, he’d said the man could be a homophobe looking to hurt me and I should be careful. I’d spent a week trying to figure the man out, but nothing about him screamed homophobe or danger.
He also didn’t look like a stalker to me. After working at Voice Out for so long, I knew a lot about stalkers. Usually, a stalker was someone you already knew, and if not, they went to great lengths to make sure you didn’t see them. But I’d never seen this man before, and he wasn’t hiding. I still couldn’t put my finger on what he wanted from me.
With his baby-blue eyes that he always kept lowered unless he was watching me, brown curls that framed his face in a mess of waves, and a nicely trimmed beard, he looked everythingbutthreatening. If I saw him at a club, I’d try to flirt my way to taking him home with me.
His good looks did not give him the permission to gawk at me, though, and I’d had enough of him watching me like a creep. This needed to end now.
“Gimme a minute,” I told Kasey and headed toward the table. I heard her mumble something that sounded a lot like “run, idiot, run,” but I ignored her as I reached the table.
The man looked up at me, and his eyes widened when he realized who it was. Placing my palms on the table, I leaned forward and made sure he met my eyes as I spoke. “All right, I’ve had enough. You have five minutes to explain why you’ve been watching me ever so intently for the past few days, and I really hope you have a good explanation.”
He opened his mouth as if he was about to say something but then snapped it shut. His cheeks flushed pink, and he looked kinda adorable as he scratched his beard. “Holy shit, I’m so sorry. I didn’t even realize what I was doing or how it’d look like to you. God, I…” He trailed off, unsure how to continue, but I could see in his eyes that he was genuinely mortified, so I softened my stance and gave him a half smile, switching into Volunteer-Brady mode.
“Okay, so I’m going to go back there and get you some tea and a slice of my best chocolate cake, and then you’re going to tell me whatever it is that made you come here, okay?”
The man nodded immediately, his shoulders slumping in relief as he returned my smile.
“Stay here. By the way, my name’s Brady Knight,” I told him, extending my hand.
He shook it with a firm grip as he introduced himself. “Charles De Luca.”
If not for my work at Voice Out, I wouldn’t have noticed the way he twitched as he said his name. It was something I’d seen a lot of, and it gave me an insight into the person before me. I walked back to the counter to set up a tray for us. I’d worked with a lot of people over the years, and I prided myself on being able to judge whether a person could be believed or not. And my instinct told me I needed to hear Charles out. Maybe, he had a story to tell. And if he did, I’d only be too happy to listen to it.
“Wow, you left him alive,” Kasey said in mock-wonder as I cut a slice of the chocolate cake I’d promised him and asked her to make the tea.
