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He nodded, biting that sweet temptation of a lower lip again.
“Then I guess we’ve got something in common,” I said as we finally reached the counter.
He ducked his head and quite obviously tried to hold back a smile as I placed an order for my standard grande triple-shot Americano, and—feeling unaccountably generous—ordered a drip coffee for Paul and one of the decadent pastries that I always warned him would be his downfall, as well.
Then I turned to Dashiell. “And what do you want, pretty baby?”
Another endearment that slipped out without warning and earned me another one of those sweetly startled looks of his. Dashiell didn’t call me on it, though. He just shot the barista an adorably bashful look, and then mumbled something under his breath, looking down again.
“What was that?” I asked, tipping his chin up to force him to look at me. The faintest hint of soft stubble teased my fingertips, as if he hadn’t shaved that morning—or maybe for a couple of mornings—and rarely needed to yet. And underneath the fine hair, his skin was petal-soft, the feel of it addicting.
“I just said, um, anything is fine,” he said quietly, swallowing hard. “Thank you, sir.”
I frowned. I enjoyed taking charge, but I also wanted to spoil him with whatever he actually liked. But before I could press the matter, I became subtly aware that my boy… didn’t smell fresh.
Normally, a lack of personal hygiene would have been an immediate turn-off, but for some reason, with him, it sparked a different reaction. Was he okay?
I didn’t like the sudden suspicion that popped into my head as the small signs of dishevelment that I’d been noticing ever since I followed him inside started to add up. My knee-jerk walk-of-shame conclusion from earlier didn’t feel likely, not with the boy’s sweet personality, but with a flight to catch soon and a long line of customers waiting behind us, it wasn’t the time to push him for answers. Not for his drink preference, and not for anything else yet, either.
I turned back to the barista, deciding I’d find out everything I needed to know about Dashiell later, but soon… and not letting myself question that I was already assigning us a “later.”
“And a mocha latte,” I ordered briskly, because what boy didn’t like chocolate? And then, noting how Dashiell’s eyes darted almost desperately toward the pastry case, I added, “And a breakfast sandwich, please.”
“Sure. What kind?” the barista asked as her fingers flew over the keypad in front of her.
“Just give me one of each,” I said for expediency.
Now Dashiell was looking everywhere but at me—everywhere but at me or the food—and his face the bright red of true embarrassment instead of the pretty pink flush I enjoyed seeing on him so much when his stomach rumbled.
He was hungry. Dammit, something was definitely wrong with his situation. Why wasn’t someone taking care of him properly?
He was young, yes, but he didn’t seem reckless, and he worked at one of the nicer restaurants in the city. The conclusions I was jumping to couldn’t be right, though. The idea bothered me on too deep of a level to contemplate.
I needed more information.
I paid for the order and pulled him over to the pick-up counter to wait for it. “Where are you going from here, Dashiell?” I asked. “To school?”
“Uh… sure,” he quite obviously lied, looking down again. “Mmhmm.”
I tipped his face up, searching those pretty eyes. “Please don’t start getting in the habit of lying to me, sweetheart.”
Not that “habit” should be a word I ever allowed to apply between us. And “sweetheart”? I could honestly say that, before today, that particular endearment had never crossed my lips before.
As soon as I got our drinks, I needed to walk away.
Instead, before Dashiell had a chance to come up with another lie for me, I found myself saying, “I’ll give you a ride to wherever it is that you’re headed next.”
“That’s really nice of you,” Dashiell said softly, his eyes growing suspiciously bright all of a sudden. “But no. Um, thank you, though.”
It was the right response given that we were virtual strangers and I was more than twice his age. Besides—I resisted a shudder—I was flying commercial today. The plane wasn’t going to wait for me if I had Paul take an unnecessary side trip on the way to the airport, and I really did have important meetings to get to at the other end of my flight.
I definitely didn’t have time to deliver this boy wherever it was he needed to go.
“Why not?” I pressed him anyway, unable to drop it.
“I… I’m actually not going to school,” he said, swallowing again but then subtly straightening his shoulders. “You were right about that, okay? But I’m going to be looking for work today, so I’ll just be walking around.” He blinked, looking a little lost for a moment, then looked up at me with a hopeful expression. “And maybe… maybe I’ll even ask if they’re hiring here? Do you think they might be?”
I frowned. “Here? Why? Did you quit your job at La Vigneta?”
