Page 1 of Leo, My Partner

CHAPTER 1

TYSHAWN

“How do I look?” I ask my roommate, Sam, holding out my arms.

Sam stands from the couch, circling me and taking in the simple blue polo shirt and gray dress pants I have on. The outfit is nothing fancy, but I’m not going to a corporate job interview, so it should be fine.

The look of approval is clear on his face when he circles back in front of me, and I grin at him. “Professional, but laid-back. Like you’re going to give a kick-ass tasting to those uptight fucks at Ray’s Beanery.”

I laugh, dropping my arms to my side and running a hand over my hair, making sure not to mess up my waves. “Yeah, well, those uptight fucks might open a door for me to get my baking out there.”

Sam shrugs. “You can do it on your own. Everything you bake is fucking delicious. Beth wants to come over for your cupcakes more than she wants to see me.” He taps a finger on his chin as he talks about his girlfriend. “Now that I mention it, I’m a little upset by that.”

Rolling my eyes playfully, I step in front of the mirror mounted beside our front door and check myself out. Even though it’s cool in our apartment, my nerves are getting the better of me. A light sheen of sweat coats my forehead and upper lip, making my brown skin look damp and shiny. I quickly dab at it, not really making a difference. Sam hands me a tissue from the box on the table, and I take it with a quick thanks.

I got a haircut yesterday must for this interview, my fade fresh and neat. My barber even offered to make my face baby smooth with a straight razor. I was scared shitless, but he didn’t nick me at all, and it came out well.

Even though I’m confident, nervousness and apprehension shines back at me from my different colored eyes. The blue and brown reflected stare gives me pause, but only for a moment. I look and feel good, but there’s always a chance this won’t pan out. The boss at Ray’s Beanery could tell me no, that they don’t want to exclusively stock my goods.

But why would they return my call about the inquiry if they were going to turn me down? They could have said that shit over the phone or, better yet, replied to the email I sent.

Ray’s Beanery, the only coffee shop that’s not owned by any major corporation, advertised they’d let locals bring in baked goods to sell about a year back. I was hesitant, afraid they wouldn’t not be interested or drop the idea after a few months. But Sam convinced me to give it a shot, and they messaged me promptly with a time for a tasting. I had to read and reread the email before I believed it was real.

I blow out a long breath. I can’t have thoughts that I’m going to fuck up—I haven’t even stepped out of the apartment yet. As my grandfather used to say, “Don’t borrow worry. It’ll be there if you need it.”

Sam must see my mental dilemma. He steps up behind me and rubs my shoulders, his six foot three frame making my five foot seven height appear small. His dark brown eyes are bright, radiating calm that I soak up like a greedy fucking sponge. He takes several deep breaths in and out, giving me a nudge to imitate him. I do, meeting his gaze in the mirror.

“You got this, Ty. This is your gig. Soon, Ty’s Delicious Creations will be everywhere,” Sam says, hyping me up. I give him a droll look. “We’ll go back to the drawing board to figure out a name for your bakery. But the word delicious needs to be in there somewhere. I don’t know what you do to those muffins, but they’re fantastic. Beth loves them too. I think if you were bi, she would leave me solely for your baking.”

That gets a real laugh out of me. Shaking my head, I push his hands off my shoulders and grab the basket that contains what I hope to be the first of many baked goods that Ray’s Beanery showcases. “I’m sure that’s not true. She only has eyes for you.”

Sam waves me away good-naturedly. “You know how long she gushed about your eyes?”

I smirk. My eyes are a noticeable feature. Most people don’t have one blue and one light brown eye. I’m not sure where the blue came from, as both my parents and their parents before them have either light or dark brown eyes. It’s always the first thing someone notices about me. It gets kind of old.

Checking myself over one more time, I nod and turn to Sam as I’m pulling open the apartment door. “Wish me luck, Sammy.”

“Good luck, even though you don’t need it. Beth and I will take you out for drinks after you nail this shit!” he shouts to my back just as I’m closing the door. The faith he has in me makes my heart light. I need to shake the nerves off and have faith in myself.

The drive to Ray’s Beanery is short. I don’t have time to worry that this is a mistake or they won’t like what I baked. Baking is in my blood. Hopefully the owner thinks what I prepared tastes as good as Sam and Beth do.

Before I go inside of the coffee shop, I blow out a few long breaths, trying to center myself and build up my confidence. “You got this, Ty,” I mutter to myself. “You got this. Even if they only showcase your baked goods for a few days, that’s enough. Even one person tasting and wanting more would mean the world. This is your stepping stone. You got this.”

If I stay in this car much longer, I’ll put in in drive and go back home. I grab my basket and throw open my car door, ready to blow Mr. Ray away with my treats.

The coffee shop is busy, even though it’s a little after noon on a weekday. A college crowd is bustling about, laptops open and books littering the tables. The shop has a nice vibe.

The aesthetics are nice too, reminiscent of something I’d see on a movie or TV show. The chairs and tables don’t really match, but they’re the same color scheme made up of earth tones—browns and different shades of green. As I look around, splashes of color peek out that give the shop an authentic feel. It not only speaks but shouts the impression that this is a coffee shop owned by an individual rather than a corporation. You can’t buy this kind of down-home feel. I love it.

When I approach the counter, the Hispanic man behind it smiles at me. “Welcome to Ray’s Beanery. I’m Marco. What can I get you?”

“I’m here to see Mr. Anderson. I’m Tyshawn Glassby.”

The man’s face furrows in confusion, but his smile stays in place. “Um … Is he expecting you?”

“I think so?” Fuck, the nerves are back. I figured the boss would have told whoever was at the counter that I had an interview today. “I have these?” I hold up the basket and kick myself. He doesn’t know what’s in the basket, so that answers nothing. And why am I ending all of my sentences like a question?

To his credit, Marco doesn’t laugh or call me a dumbass. He simply nods. “I’m not sure Leo is in. Give me a moment, and I’ll go check the back. You can have a seat by the stage. That’s usually the least crowded place.”

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