Page 84 of Snowed In

Although I’d come out as bisexual a few years before, I hadn’t dated many men. Life in rural Wales didn’t offer a lot of options on that front.My experience in that arena had been limited to hook-ups and short-lived romances whenever I happened to be in Cardiff or Bristol.

Please don’t let him be straight, I begged silently.Just for once, let me have this.

Not that it’d matter when I couldn’t seem to get my feet moving.

He stepped up to the counter, and that was when he spotted me. His eyes widened before they swept over me. Head to toe. Back again.

There was no missing the spark of heat in his eyes.

The knowledge that I might have a shot hit me like a blast…in turn making my nerves jangle. Could I make conversation without fucking up?

I moved towards the counter on autopilot, like this man was a tractor beam, pulling me in. It wasn’t until I drew close and saw his lips parting and eyes darting uncertainly that I realised I was staring. Well, gawking, if I was being honest. I flushed and forced myself to stare at the counter. Talk about making a wrong impression.

He asked me for my order and I panicked. I didn’t drink coffee or eat much junk food. What the fuck was I supposed to order?

Not wanting to drag it out any longer and embarrass myself further, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind—my mum’s coffee order. “Vanilla latte and a blueberry muffin, please.”

Unfortunately, my nerves had the words coming out in a jumble that even I struggled to hear.

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” Fuck, even his voice was beautiful.

I took a steadying breath and forced myself to speak slower. “A vanilla latte and a blueberry muffin, please.”

“What size latte?”

I had no idea. It wasn’t like I was going to drink it. “Small, please.”

As he twisted to get a cup, I risked a glance upwards, just long enough to glimpse the name on his badge.

Rory.

His hand was trembling slightly as he placed my order before me. I frowned. Had I made him uncomfortable?

I curled in on myself instinctively. I was a bigger guy and covered in tattoos. Everything about me screamed intimidating, and I knew that. I knew it and I hated it.

I was a lover, not a fighter.

It was a blow to realise I’d somehow fucked it up with this cute barista before it could really begin.

I’d scurried out of there, keeping my gaze fixed to the floor. The whole day though, I couldn’t shake the image of him from my mind.

The next morning, I stepped back inside the coffee shop and placed the same order.

Five days a week for eighteen months, I’d bought a vanilla latte and a blueberry muffin that I knew I wouldn’t consume. It wasn’t like it went to waste though. Paul, a homeless bloke who often frequented the doorway beside the coffee shop, was always happy to take them off my hands. It made me feel a little less weird about the whole situation. I wasn’t buying stuff I didn’t need just to get a glimpse of Rory, I was helping Paul have some sustenance.

Yeah, even to my ears it sounded flimsy.

Still, it was a shamefully long time to be hung up on someone and make zero progress. It wasn’t that I hadn’t tried. There’d been a fewvisits where I’d managed to extract a few words from Rory. The problem was that whenever that happened, it had an unfortunate effect on him. He’d inevitably drop whatever he was holding, turning scarlet and stammering until I was too scared to say anything else.

A few months ago, Rory had tripped behind the counter, falling flat on his face. Without even thinking about what I was doing, I’d hustled around to pick him up and dust him off. With his trembling body in my hands, the words I’d been struggling to form had tumbled out of me like water.

I’d asked him to dinner.

And he’d said no.

He’d been polite about it, but it had been obvious he was mortified by my attentions. From then on, I’d kept conversation to a minimum. Rory’s answer had been clear—he wasn’t interested.

But now, sitting in my van, I couldn’t help my excitement over seeing him outside of his workplace. Sure, I’d glimpsed him around the village occasionally, but he always scurried away in the opposite direction.

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